Ossian Nicolas McIntosh

As some of you will know, Vérène and I had been greatly looking forward to the birth of our child at the end of February.

When we awoke on New Year's Day, Vérène could no longer feel the child kicking and playing as usual. An emergency scan at the Southern General Hospital confirmed that he had left this world.

The child had to be delivered stillborn by caesarean section. There was no obvious reason for what had happened, though it was a difficult operation because the placenta was low-lying. The hospital's labour ward under Drs Pringle, Ramsay and Matthew and the team of midwives were absolutely amazing. It was astonishing and heartwarming to see such medical and emotional resources mobilised by the NHS.

Our little son was born absolutely beautiful. We have named him Ossian Nicolas McIntosh. Ossian was an ancient Irish/Scots Gaelic bard who spent most of his life in fulfilment of love and art in the Celtic otherworld. His name means "little deer" because his mother was turned into a deer and he was found on top of a mountain. We are pronouncing the name in a way that sounds like "ocean" - o-shee-an.

Vérène made such a good recovery that she was allowed home yesterday. She will now be on maternity leave. Our contact details are below, but as you will appreciate, she is needing to rest a lot just now. Please do not feel a need to send flowers - we must be gentle on this Earth that Ossian might have grown up into. Suffice if you wish if you would hold all three of us in your hearts.

We are both astonished and heartbroken at the love we feel for this child. We have always seen our work with human ecology as being profoundly spiritual work, as it concerns the foundation of the human condition, and somehow we feel that his short and unborn life will carry that work forward in a world where so many people experience suffering.

In a few days time we will probably place a deeper reflections on a special webpage to share, especially with friends and family. We may include one or two photographs depending on how that feels nearer the time (all of this is rather unfamiliar territory for us). A link to this special webpage will be added below this announcement when it becomes available.

Because none of you knew Ossian, we are not planning to have a formal event. We expect simply to scatter his ashes at some wild place in the West when we feel the time is right - ashes to ashes, dust to dust, life to life, love to love.

Update as of 5 Jan: Verene and I are very aware that some folks, we understand, have emailed, but as yet we have not wanted to venture in to looking at our email in-boxes since this happened. We feel it is important to stay in a different space for a while longer, and so, whilst I have been sending out emails saying what has happed and I think Verene's going to be doing likewise later on today, we have not downloaded any of the new ones of the past week. It would feel too much like letting the world in prematurely. I just wanted to say that because one relative at least was anxious yesterday that we'd evidently not got her message and she was worried about not having heard further from us. Another friend's wife mentioned her husband's email in a card, and we look forward to reading these, but are aware that there'll also be all our "work" emails waiting there, and we just don't want to go there just now.

So, folks, we are both doing really well. It is easy to say that at this stage when being kept so busy with seeing doctors and midwives, registering the stillbirth, and so on, but we were both discussing last night how strange it is that we also feel a lot of joy and peace, amongst the sadness, and immense love towards our little boy. The reason we're staying shy of emails for today, or this morning at the very least, is that both of us want to do some writing about things while in this very creative-feeling space and that will eventually contribute towards the deeper reflective piece we want to link to this message for those of you who'd like to share more of the spirituality of what has been and is going on. The bottom line of this is a double meaning in the term "stillborn". The additional meaning is, "still born" - and we have a palpable sense of his presence a bit like the wee boy flying along with the snowman in the Raymond Briggs story, except here there's Mum and Dad snowpeople on either side, and Ossian's now a permanent spiritual part of the journey we're on.

Yesterday I received from my literary agent the contract for the short (40,000 words of polemic) book on climate change, Scotland and the human condition, that Birlinn Press had commissioned to be completed by mid February for publication as part of the debate in the run-up to the May Scottish elections. I wrote to the publisher yesterday saying that Verene and I think we'd like to stay on course with this, and sending him what I've already done, but giving the option of cancelling the contract if Birlinn feel it's too risky, as their next catalogue goes to press on 8th January. It feels good just to be dead honest with people (? live honest ?) and drawing them into our discernment as it will affect them. [Ps. since then, Birlinn have said they'll postpone publication to the autumn, which is really good.]

Verene also heard yesterday from Human Resources at Strathclyde University that her maternity leave was all OK. The person she spoke to conveyed a wonderful supportive spirit, which is not always what you expect from a big institution.

Two of our neighbours here in Luss Road tell us that they've had similar things happen. One lost two children in the womb, and subsequently lost a teenage son. She says she doesn't know which is worse - to lose them after you've know them or before. That surprised me to hear, but she was quite insistent that it is her experience. Certainly, I am surprised how deeply this affects us and some people around us. For example, I told our postman yesterday, and he just said, "Oh f..., oh man, I'm so sorry, oh f..., oh f..." Great to hear that I'm not the only one to use that word in its full theological sense! That's the sort of thing that's so warm about the people round here. That's the kind of gut-level support we now need.

Well, that's enough here for now, except to add that medically Verene is doing brilliantly. You wouldn't think she's had such a big operation. The midwife yesterday said she'd actually lost 1.7 litres of blood, so technically it had been a haemorrhage (thank God for spellcheckers on these computers!), but her recovery is remarkable. It must be all the yoga and Biodanza. Also, we are very grateful for the way people are evidently discerning our need for space, and so the telephone has not been ringing non-stop. We have had calls, of course, but just the right number and all very fitting. And one last thing, I remember my father often used to say how his patients in hard-pressed circumstances would describe feeling "upheld on a bed of prayer". The word "prayer" is one of those that often makes me cringe because of the way it has often been trivialised and abused in my past. It is not a question of words and pleadings, but of presence of the heart, and we are feeling this kind of solidarity very strongly from our friends, relatives and colleagues just now. That might be a big factor in the recovery dynamic and this sense of peace and joy running like a gentle fire through the grief. V. & A.

Update with a Photo Link, as of Monday 8 January (with a Ps. from 9th): It is now exactly a week since we woke up to find that Ossian had flown the nest. These past few days have been very quiet. We have been mainly keeping to ourselves as we have just needed space to take in what has happened, and to go very deeply in. On Friday we’d been getting on so well within ourselves with doing this that we found ourselves starting to get busy with interacting with the wider world. That night we both got exhausted, and found the connection between ourselves and with Ossian becoming thin. It remained like that for much of the next day until we realised that we (me, Alastair, especially!) had got back into the head again, and this was premature for the heart. We’ve now put that right and are back in wonderful inner space with each other and our child. But some of you would laugh … would you believe it (yes!) … I was so much thinking I’d be able to keep juggling various balls in the air, that when we went up to the hospital last Tuesday, I even took the laptop with me, naively thinking that I’d be able to get a few urgent matters dealt with while Vérène was asleep in recovery! Ho ho ho … how the gods must have been almost rolling out of their heavens with laughing!

Vérène’s physical recovery is remarkable –the midwives are astonished. I don’t think they get many practitioners of yoga and Biodanza. We vary between periods of profound peace, joy and thankfulness, and times when suddenly everything crashes and the full weight of tragedy bears down. It is strange, when we never knew him out of the womb, how deeply we find ourselves feeling for this child. We are spending a lot of our time writing reflectively, reading, listening to music, listening to things like Ram Dass tapes on life and death, talking about our lives and how Ossian now affects them, and trying to focus neither on hindsight nor foresight, but on insight – on being here now.

Ossian is to be cremated on Wednesday at 9 am. Vérène and I will be going to this and then perhaps spend the rest of this special day wandering out in nature. At some later stage it is possible that we may also have a small gathering with friends and family in sharing of his presence. We thank you all for holding the three of us in your hearts as we inwardly journey with Ossian in being received amongst our ancestors.

We have not yet felt ready to share deeper reflections on a separate webpage. But what we have done is to create this page on Vérène's website and place a photograph of our dear little son there.

He is in his Moses basket, just as in a very deep sleep. If you feel that you would like to share with us in seeing this memory of him, please click the link below. Some of you might be wondering if we'd mind you printing a copy of the picture or forwarding the link, and of course, you are most welcome wherever you feel this would be appropriate.

Once the text has been written to accompany this picture, and any others that we might decide to include, we will make a further announcement here. We hope to have this done in the next few days.

[Ps. These updates have now been shifted to a special section in Vérène's website since my homepage felt like too much of a public space for anything more than the initial announcement. Ossian's photo has been placed on a special page on its own, together with a gem of reflection that came to us as we said goodbye to him. Some deeper sharings will be added there soon. Also, the more we are thinking and talking about what has happened and what is coming out of it for us and many of our friends/colleagues, the more we are feeling that some sort of a gathering of grieving, thanksgiving and celebration would be good at some future date. If so, it will be announced here.]

As I can’t contact or write to you individually yet, I am moved to write a few words on what’s happened since Alastair’s latest update.

Just over a week ago, we were back from hospital and were entering our journey of grief and recovery following the death of Ossian. Even if we are both off work, time is going at a faster speed than feels comfortable. Days are too short to complete the tasks at hand and there never seems to be enough time to just be, rest and go deep in the emotions of the moment. My need for space and quiet is still enormous. Being careful not to take on too much is something both Alastair and I have had to learn. When too busy with visitors, emails or phone calls, and especially if we stay ‘in our heads’ for too long (being on the computer, mainly), disconnection from each other and the deeper spirit of life occurs; and that is when grief is given space to strike hard.

For both of us, the last 10 days have therefore being like entering into a spiritual retreat, allowing plenty of space for sleep, creativity, meditations, rituals, and sharing words of wisdom. Until yesterday neither of us had felt the need to go out. The comfort and familiarity of our house has been holding us very deeply. It feels like our ‘Ashram’.

Yesterday was our special day to say goodbye to Ossian. We had a beautiful ceremony in Clydebank crematorium at 9am. We both brought his little white coffin inside. Whilst Alastair was playing music of the otherworld on his whistle, I decorated the coffin with flowers and plants I had gathered from our garden as well as a St Bridget's Cross and a young eagle feather. We said a few words in English and French and spent some time in silence. We ended by playing ‘The Lost Child’, a song that The Waterboys adapted from W. B. Yeats’ poem of a child who’s taken away by the fairies because “the world’s more full of sorrow than [he] can understand”. We then went walking outside as we knew that Ossian was going to be incinerated immediately after the ceremony. We watched as vapours started to appear, causing the air to shimmer above the chimney. We then noticed that the light in the clouds was particularly striking. There was a big dark cloud that took the shape of an eagle, and as we watched it, a magnificent rising sun slowly rose from the clouds between it and the chimney. We were heartened by a feeling that our little boy was receiving from the Universe a welcome fitting to his mythological name, and to the poetry that it was playing in our minds.

We then headed to Aberfoyle and visited Doon Hill, the most famous faerie hill in Scotland . We knew that Ossian would have loved going up there. It’s a peaceful place and all around nature is vibrant and beautiful. At the top, we attached 3 pieces of Harris Tweed on a branch of evergreen holly.

We collected Ossian’s ashes on our way back home. They are now on the altar in our spiritual room until such time as we scatter them to the four directions – to Glasgow in the East, in the garden of our house; to France in the South, where my people are from; to Ballintuber in Co. Mayo, Ireland, in the West, where Alastair and I met in 1996; and to Isle of Lewis in the North, where Alastair grew up and where his father rests amongst the old folks of the community.

I felt deep grief throughout the day, yesterday. Losing one’s child is possibly the hardest thing that someone can be confronted with in life. I also felt deep peace because I know how transformative this journey has been and will continue to be. In this regard I’d like to quote the words of Alastair’s Auntie Ann (on his father’s side). She’s now in her mid-80s and lives in Glasgow . Her words really touched us.

My dear Vérène, I know you must just want to cry and cry and cry, and I am with you, all the way, in your pain and grief and disappointment. Alastair will be crying with you too. I can only pray that you will quickly get well again, and be blessed. You will never be the same again, but you will be strengthened. With much, much, love, Ann.

I’d like to finish by thanking you all for your warm and deep words of support. I will respond individually but it might take a little while. Some of you have asked if there’s anything I need. The only thing that comes to mind is music! Music has grown in importance in my life in the last 2 years and it’s become a crucial element of my grieving journey. I am listening to music a lot at the moment. It soothes my heart and helps me to go deeper into meditative and creative space. Right now, I feel I’d like to listen to and discover new musics. If there’s a mellow album that you particularly like listening to when you feel sorrow or need quietness, please send me the title and I’ll try to get hold of it. If you can easily copy a CD please do so, but don’t go out of you way to buy anything. That’s not what I am asking for. Any book that has inspired you in times of difficulty would also be good to hear about.

Thank you for being in my/our life. All in all we are doing well. This is an incredible journey we are invited to walk and you are all part of it.

Update as of Friday 26 January, 2007: We have now added an invitation page for an event on 14th February to celebrate the gift of Ossian - click here. We have not yet managed to complete the deeper reflective piece that we've been promising, but it is on its way and will be intimated here soon.

Update as of 19th March 2007: Dear everyone ... we are very aware that we've kept promising to add here a deeper spiritual reflection on what Ossian's influence has been. We had expected to be able to write this quickly, but both of us got bogged down in our efforts. Clearly, the time has not been quite right yet . If any of you have been checking back on this site in anticipation, our apologies.

With various other things now catching up on us and needing done, we are not sure when this will be written. Probably the best thing is that if you are particularly interested in seeing this piece when it is written, then send an email now to either one of us, simply bearing the words, "Ossian reflection", as the subject line. Once we've got it written, InshahAllah, then we'll know to alert you with an email.

We're also very aware that so many people have written to us over the past few weeks, but most of these are unanswered. Most don't need an answer, but some perhaps do, and we'll gradually be getting around to that. It touched us very deeply to observe how important all these cards, letters, and and other judicious connections were to us at the time. The postie arriving was always a special time of the day, and it was amazing and inspiring to see how many of you felt that something in your own life's journey had been deepened by Ossian's presence, and, sometimes, just by the photograph of him.

While we will not be trying to reply to everybody, it might please you to know that, already, there is a kind of multiplier effect going out. Just this past week we have heard of three examples of people who had recently suffered neonatal loss in their family being helped by what's on the web about Ossian. One of these is a lovely friend in England, Katie, whose child was born brain damaged in November and died at two months. We are reminded that, as these things go, we've had an easier time than some. We are by no means immune from days when the well of sadness and a kind of empty loneliness fills up to a somewhat debilitating level, and yet, it is also very humbling to be in a position to write to people like Katie, and to feel that this is somehow sharing around what all of you have given to us.