“When the Smile Disappears”: Phil’s Story of Love, Loss, and Finding Strength at St Mary’s 

There are moments in life that knock the wind out of you — times when the world shifts so suddenly, so deeply, that you’re left trying to breathe through the ache. For Phil, that moment didn’t happen just once. 

He lost his son, Aaron, and his wife, Michelle, in a heartbreakingly short space of time. The grief was unimaginable. “Loss, lonely, and don’t know where to turn to — don’t know who to turn to,” Phil says quietly.  

Aaron couldn’t speak, but his smile could fill a room. He had a way of connecting with people that didn’t require words. His mischievous spirit showed through in the little things — that pouty bottom lip he’d stick out just to get a reaction. When Michelle walked in and said, “Hello sweet pea,” it was gone in an instant, replaced by the brightest grin. That was Aaron — full of charm, full of love. 

Music was their bond. Phil would bounce Aaron on his knee to the rhythm of Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Kylie Minogue, Girls Aloud — “All the female ones,” he laughs. It wasn’t just music — it was joy, shared between father and son. 

Michelle, too, had her own kind of magic. A lover of books with shelves stacked three deep, she had a sense of humor that made life lighter. Phil remembers coming home to her “decorating” — not by taking the pictures off the wall, but by painting around them. “I’ve left that bit for you,” she’d say. That was her. 

Then came the silence. They were both gone. And Phil was left trying to figure out how to live in a world that had gone quiet. That’s when he found St Mary’s. 

“St Mary’s really helped me,” Phil says. “Kelsey with the massaging — that helped me feel human again. And she put me onto an art class with Lex. That helped me get out and meet people going through the same things I was. That really helped.” 

At first, Phil was unsure. “I thought, is this going to be heavy? Like — boom — do I have to say what happened?” But it wasn’t like that. “You just relax. Sometimes people open up, and sometimes you don’t. And that’s okay.” 

He found peace in the gardening group, too. “I love the gardening group,” he smiles. “We meet up, we have a brew, we talk. You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. You’re just around people who get it.” 

Tuesdays became a lifeline — packed with purpose and connection. 

“Tuesday’s a big day for me,” Phil explains. “Gardening group from 10 to 12. Then I’ve got to rush to Barrow, do a bit of shopping, then 1 to 3 is the art group. Then straight after that, I’m making brews for the chair-based exercise group, chin-wagging with everyone. I’m talking to loads of people. It’s great stuff.” 

It’s not just activity — it’s reconnection. It’s finding laughter again in the middle of sorrow. It’s being seen, understood, and supported — not just as someone who’s lost so much, but as someone who still has so much to give. 

“I’d come out of myself recently,” he reflects. “And people noticed. It’s because I had that space. I had people around me. St Mary’s gave me that.” 

Phil didn’t go to St Mary’s because he was ill. He went because his heart was broken. 

What he found there was more than therapy or scheduled sessions. He found community, dignity, and new reasons to smile. 

If you or someone you know is navigating loss, or even just struggling to find your footing again, St Mary’s isn’t just a place — it’s a lifeline.