Simon Blake

As we approach the end of the year I always take a few moments to reflect on what I am grateful for. Over the last few years those thoughts have moved from the back of a diary to this blog. For me 2021 started off rough. Mum died on 31 st December 2020 which was devastating. It was also a relief because I couldn’t bear to see her suffer any more, and had she lived even days longer I don’t think we would have been able to honour her wish of dying at home. I miss Mum enormously. Even though we don’t yet know how yet and we continue to live with enormous uncertainty, the impact of 2021, like 2020 will be felt for years to come globally, domestically, in cities, communities and families.  However the old saying goes whilst each day may not be good, there are good things in every day. If we apply that to the year there is lots I am grateful for.   Here are some of my top ones: 1.  Memories of my darling Mum: in one of our last conversations she said when you need...

This is a guest blog from Polly Neate who is Chief Executive of Shelter    Those of us in leadership roles in civil society, who strive for change and stand for social justice, found our lack of action to tackle structural racism exposed and rightly scrutinised in the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020. For years, we could and should have been doing more. Alongside others leading civil society organisations, I’m writing this blog following many conversations about racial justice since then. Loose collections of us have come together in various ways to discuss, share and learn together. We have been taking a long hard look at ourselves, our organisations, our sector and the power and responsibility we can use to address systemic racism within the various different roles we hold. Our conversations have centred on a determination to understand the everyday impact of structural racism wherever and however it manifests itself, and to get better at disrupting the st...

 My darling Mum died peacefully at home yesterday (New Years Eve) at about 6am.  It wasn't quite how I had imagined it. Dad and I were asleep, Dad in the same room as Mum, me less than 3 metres away and I heard a gentle knock on the door. Alison from Marie Curie had been with us a few nights before and I knew she only knocked if there was something wrong.  I also knew from the gentleness of this knock that she was going to tell me Mum had died. Those dreaded words we knew were coming but never wanted to hear. Alison had woken me so I could tell Dad. Dad's first reaction through howls of pain was exactly the same as my quiet thought had been. 'I wasn't there. I wanted to be there, I should have been there'. He was there. He was in bed right next to her but we weren't awake and holding her hand.  Truth is we had started the day time vigil but we didn't think she was going to die that quickly. And we were both knackered. We had been awake for over 48 hours beca...

Every year, normally in between Christmas and New Year I settle in to reflect on the year and think about what I am grateful for. It used to be a back of the notepad list and then over the last few years I have blogged about it. This year I don't think that period is going to be a time for quiet reflection.  2020 has been a bit of a beast of a year for so many reasons, and the impact of this year will be felt in so many ways for years to come globally, domestically, in cities, communities and families.  That said if we apply the principle that each day may not be good, but there are good things in every day to the year there is lots I am grateful for.   So here is my top ten; 1. My gorgeous Mum and Dad:  After Mum's diagnosis with late stage cancer in August, I have had the privilege of living with them both as we walk together writing Mum's final chapter. It hasn't always been easy emotionally or practically, but every single day they amaze and delight me. I am...

Very soon after I found out Mum was dying a colleague and friend wrote me a letter about their own experience of a parent dying and what they had learned from their experience. I was grateful when I got that letter through the post. So much wisdom. And I read it often. When children are born we know what to do. When people die we know we have to register the death and have a funeral. As a society we know a bit about grief and bereavement even though we can get much better at talking about it and supporting people through it.  We talk less about the process of dying. There is still, it seems, a worry that if we talk about what is happening we make it happen, which is poppycock of course. If we talk about death and dying we pass on the knowledge, we learn from the person dying and we can gain great comfort which will help us through the grieving process.  I have learned that having conversations about dying do not necessarily get easier, but the more we do it the easier it becom...

In the summer of 2019 Julie and I went for supper on the South Bank (remember those lovely times we could be together!). Julie's brother Roy had died a few months earlier. That night talked hard about our experiences of our brothers dying.  A month or so later I was on holiday at a health retreat. It was a place I have been to several times, and had been there shortly after my brother Andrew had died on what would have been his 46th birthday. Consequently Andrew is always on mind whenever we go back there. At MHFA England we were working with an innovation consultant Alex Pellew, and his book  The Idea in You was a holiday read (I recommend it) .  The overwhelming message I took from the book 'if you have an idea and you feel it, go for it and don't delay'. As I read the The Idea in You  I knew I wanted to use my experience of my brother dying to help others. I had felt very alone when Andrew had died and in my usual way I had tried to find things to read and wa...

It is over three months since Mum's diagnosis of late stage cancer. Three months since our lives changed and we started adapting to a new version of reality.  The words have perhaps not quite yet sunk in, but whether they have sunk in or not, the truth is there in our day to day lives. Mum is dying and the best clinical prediction at the time of diagnosis is that she had 'months rather than years' to live. Three of those months gone already.  As Doctor Kathryn Mannix says in this brilliant short video  https://www.bbc.co.uk/ideas/videos/dying-is-not-as-bad-as-you-think/p062m0xt    'we have stopped talking about dying and that is in fact a problem'.  That is why I am writing this blog. W e have to talk about death and dying so we can take better care of the dying person, help them prepare for their death and ensure their wishes are heard and taken care of; so we can take better care of each other through the process of a loved one dying and prepare ourselves...

It is almost eight weeks ago that I went to the kitchen, picked up my phone to see 43 missed calls from Dad and my niece, and learned that Mum was in the ambulance on the way to hospital. Almost eight weeks ago that I threw together the biggest bag of clothes I could find, instinctively knowing I wasn't going to be going home any time soon.  In the cold light of day it turns out I over-estimated on socks and t-shirts, underestimated on pants, warm clothing and work clothes, as well as how long I was packing for. I didn't know as I drove west that we would be soon be coming face to face with Mum's terminal cancer diagnosis. We know it is real and we are still learning to accept it and absorb what it means. I am grateful for the kindness, empathy and care of folk as we do so.   I am writing this blog to share my experience in the hope that it does just a small bit to encourage a more open culture. Death and dying are still taboo, and the silence and stigma that accompanies ...

A couple of weeks ago, the ever wise, Julie Bentley wrote a blog about the end of life https://juliebentley1969.wixsite.com/website/post/thinking-about-the-end-of-life, and why we need to talk about illness, the end of life, death and dying.  Unsurprisingly given how wise Julie is and that we share a lot of values, I completely agree. My brother died 5 years ago, and I was surprised just how hard some people still find it to talk about death, about dying and about grief.  When Andrew died lots of people acknowledged his death, asked questions, asked me how I was, and shared their own personal experiences. There was also a lot of silence or skirting around the issue. Other folk seemed to want to make it better with warm and incredibly well meaning platitudes: I was regularly told 'he wouldn't want you to be sad' or 'at least he isn't hurting now'.  I was (and still am) sad, and I am glad he isn't hurting any longer, but it still hurts. Few people seemed comfo...

A few weeks ago I was in a race equity peer training session led by the very brilliant Tessy Ojo. As we talked and listened I was reminded of the dilemma I faced when invited to accept an OBE. I want NOTHING at all to do with the Empire, yet I DO want the work of my organisation and the people who worked tirelessly for young people's sexual rights to be recognised.  Poppy Jaman and Polly Neate both honoured by the system were in the same session. We talked afterwards. All three of us had decided to accept an honour despite our absolute rejection of our colonial past. We want a clean break from the past. We want all links between the British Honours System and colonialism to be broken because we really value the high level recognition of the social justice work of our organisations and ourselves. The letter reproduced below was published in the Times on 30th July 2020. We are now inviting anyone who works in the civil society and public sector who has received an honour to a...

This time of year I always get tense about Andrew being dead. I use the word tense deliberately even though it may be an odd word to use, but it describes how my mind feels. Since Andrew died I have had a recurring nightmare. In it I always have the chance to save him and I choose not to, or wasn't able to - it varies. Sometimes I couldn't and sometimes I wouldn't. Either way I wake up breathless, angry and upset.  Initially this happened every night, then three or four times a week and now only occasionally around his birthday and the anniversary of his death on 7th July. About two weeks ago I started having the same dream and the same feelings again.  Now familiar with the pattern of the grief I have taken to comforting myself with happy memories. Of course I wish Andrew was still alive, but the cold brutal fact is he isn't, and I want to be - and am - grateful for the fun times we had.  I am writing these for two reasons - who knows how long I will re...

5 years ago I was on my annual summer jollies in Cornwall. My brother Andrew was in hospital. He had on several occasions been in hospital over the previous few years with water retention connected to his pacemaker. I wasn't thinking anything about it as I went in. The sun was shining. A quick visit, some Lucozade, a few magazines and then off to the beach. This time was however different, the nurse with his permission told me that he may need a heart transplant. I still shudder remembering that moment and realise how fragile and uncertain everything really is. As I have written previously on this blog everything accelerated quickly over the next few days. Two weeks later we sat together as a family while the doctors turned off the machines. The first few days and weeks felt like they went on a lifetime, so it is hard to believe that was 1,811 days ago. I don't have any words to describe how much I miss what we had or what I hoped we would have together for another 20, 30...

Today is the international day against homophobia, transphobia and biphobia. An international day of solidarity with LGBT+ people around the world. It is an important day because we are so bloody far away from where we should be in terms of safety, equity, visibility and representation for the L, the G, the B, the T and the plus plus pluses. To put just how far away in context, I am a white cis gay man with enormous privilege. I live in London, one of the most liberal cities in the UK, one of the most liberal countries in the world. But I am not safe to walk down most streets in London holding hands with my husband. We are conscious of not looking too intimate in public spaces or on public transport. When I leave our local - or any other - gay bar I am hyper vigilant. Every day I see a scar on my chest, an ugly reminder of being attacked leaving a gay bar because of who I am (or who they thought I was). Yes, that attack took place about 20 years ago but we must be under no illusi...

A week or so ago we were instructed to continue with the #COVID19 Lock Down for at least another three weeks. I didn't flinch when I heard because this reality has become normal so quickly. I am lucky to have a safe home that enables me to say that. I do not for one second underestimate the heartache the pandemic is causing around the globe: there is a person and family behind every single number; there is grief, loss and worry. People are bravely working in difficult circumstances and there is an exponential increase in domestic abuse. COVID19 is not the great leveller those in positions of privilege and power claim it is. It discriminates. There is a disproportionate impact on communities already experiencing social, health and economic inequalities including those from Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic Communities. The immediate and longer term financial impact on individuals, families, charities, social enterprises and the economy more widely is, frankly, eye-wateringl...

Today I am 46 years old. I never want to wish time away, however I found the last few months of being 45 difficult and I could not be happier to be 46. My brother Andrew died when he was 45. My 45th birthday felt important and I celebrated it well. All the literature tells us that grieving is an individual process - that it is not an A to B. My experience of grieving for Andrew has taught me first hand that is true which is annoying because I quite like to be in control. He died of bi-ventricular cardiomyopathy (heart failure) in 2015, and the grieving process has been - and is - a ride. It has shown me the full power of my sub-conscious: horrible recurring nightmares, survivor guilt (he has children and grandchildren, I don't), a dramatically altered perception of risk, a huge sense of responsibility for my parents happiness and much more. I can often get overwhelmed by panic - which creates breathlessness and worries about my heart health - when I run which is really bl...

As the curtains close on the year, for as long as I can remember, I have written down things I am grateful for or have appreciated in the back of my diary. Over the last four years or so I have started practising gratitude more regularly and have learned more about the positive impact it can have on your life which I wrote about here https://mhfaengland.org/mhfa-centre/ceo-blog/stress-awareness-week-simon-blake/ . Last year I read some gratitude blogs from other people that I was inspired by, so I took a deep breath and made the back of my diary public. Some folk fed back that my blog setting out the things I was grateful for it prompted a them to reflect on their year. Gratitude is a practise I believe we can all benefit from, so here I am again: ten things I am grateful for in 2019 in no particular order. 1.        My job : I have really enjoyed my first full year at MHFA England . It has been a joy getting to know and work with the MHFA Englan...