Name: Claire  Mear

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Award Category: Inspirational Mother

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Brian and I met in June 2010, while we were both working as medics on frontline ambulances within the county of Royal Berkshire. In 2000, Brian created a local rock and metal festival, raising funds for various cancer and hospice charities under the name Rockstar Productions. During 2010, he renamed the event Mearfest, in honour of his mother, who had sadly passed from cancer in March that same year.

From 2011, Brian and I joined forces, working on these events together, as my first successful career was as a creative/fashion stylist working for magazines and dressing bands in ‘90s London. Not long after meeting Brian, the desire to start a family became an obsession and, after many invasive medical investigations, a stern-faced fertility nurse looked me square in the eyes and told me that, due to my grand old age of forty-three, there would be no chance of ever being able to have any children of my own. I had left it too late.

Fast forward to 2012: I was 45 years of age and completely surprised and beyond delighted to be expecting my and Brian’s first naturally-conceived child. Despite my ‘geriatric’ years, everything about the pregnancy was textbook. At 18 weeks, it was advised we looked into a private Harmony blood test which would determine if the baby had Down Syndrome. The test came back two weeks later as 99% positive for T21. After an excruciating few days, the decision was made to continue with the pregnancy. This was my last chance to become a mother and this baby had already defied all medical odds, so it felt as if she was coming to us for a big reason.
At the same time, our hospital consultants in Berkshire were completely baffled by this latest diagnosis, as they couldn’t find a single thing wrong with our active and healthy baby girl, claiming that the Harmony blood test had given a false positive result. All her bone and organ measurements were on target, but due to my age and her questionable physical condition, it was decided that she would be induced on the 40th week. Unfortunately, on the fifth day of the 39th week, tragedy struck. I was unable to feel any movement. Panic set in, as we drove a frantic 30-mile cross-country race to our labour ward. Once there, it was confirmed that our baby’s heart had stopped beating.

Molly had died and so had all our dreams.

On the day of induction, after a very painful and messy natural delivery, 12th August 2013, Molly Mear was born sleeping at 20.52 pm, leaving us both adrift. At that moment, I had become an old broken childless mother, guilt-ridden and ashamed that somehow me and my body had killed her. How could this be after nine months of mindful healthy living? I had felt so much excitement knowing I was to have a daughter, whatever her condition would be, and at 20 weeks, I was already in love with this tiny being.

Brian and I left hospital with no baby: our family incomplete. I was taken back emotionally to my early teens, when I’d been placed in the care system with no family to speak of. Growing up had been tough, but I always believed that something good would come of my misfortune. I never surrendered back then and now, at the age of 46, I wasn’t going to surrender now. There had to be a way of creating the family I so wanted.
Normally, a devastating experience like stillbirth can see the strongest of couples separate, but it made Brian and I stronger. In fact, eight months after losing Molly, we got married. Day after day, my empty arms ached and our house became a morgue of stillness. Someone suggested fostering and adoption and, after registering, we swiftly completed all the courses, with a new vision of a ready-made family. We attended many interviews with lengthy detailed statements taken from watchful social workers. It was not until a mandatory in-depth medical was carried out and our GP noticed blood in Brian’s urine, we discovered that Brian had two Stage Three non-invasive malignant tumors in his bladder. This was a complete shock as there were no physical symptoms. Brian said he’d felt nothing at all, and we put that down to him being deep in grief, numb after Molly’s stillbirth.
Over the next year, after a tough battle, the tumors were successfully treated and Brian made an incredible recovery. In April 2016, we decided to tell our heart-breaking story to the entire world, in order to bring awareness to the possible causes of stillbirth and the emotional devastation it leaves behind. With struggling optimism and raw, sometimes crippling, emotion, we poured everything we had left into doing what we do best by putting on another great rock show.

Mearfest continued with the genre of new wave of British heavy metal or NWOBHM, its concept rebranded with a strong focus on stillbirth and baby loss. Molly’s handprint was the only indelible part of her left, so it made sense to turn this into our new logo. Creatively, it gave us both something positive to focus on.

Our first show in Molly’s name was to be held in central London a day after her third birthday when, together, we conducted a small ceremony and scattered her ashes in order to set her spirit free. Saturday 13th August 2016 arrived too soon. We were ready to be open and public about our terrible heart-breaking trauma? A few rock-promoting sceptics vowed that it would never work…

Stillbirth and metal music? No way.

But it did work and 350 strangers turned up to celebrate Molly’s third birthday. We sold every single ticket and our first 100 T-shirts with her little handprint on the front were worn, not only by rock and metal fans, but by every person who showed up in support of us. Both of us were overwhelmed in seeing our daughter everywhere. Professional bands traditionally only played beneath their own elaborate banners, but since that day, over 50 bands have proudly played in front of our now-legendary handprint backdrop. Since that first event, the custom-made Molly-shirts have been produced in unique colours, with a contrasting coloured hand, becoming the United Colours of Mearfest. This goes against the rules of metal and rock music where everything is traditionally black. The collaboration brought many people of all ages and backgrounds, from here and abroad, closer together. (The furthest a supporter travelled to be part of Mearfest was from Mexico City to Newcastle for Mearfest North!)
Molly’s memory, along with this genre, has created something quite unexpected and remarkable. It has, without a doubt, evolved over the last three years.

Who would have thought that rock music and stillbirth could work together so beautifully?

Our social media is not all doom and gloom; not all statistics and heartbreaking stories about giving birth to death. We share these stories every now and then, especially during August, which is Molly’s special time. Brian only signed up to Facebook in 2016 and his page currently has 5000 friends. This page is our main platform. We also have a Mearfest community page and this currently has 3500 followers, a following that’s growing every day. On our website www.mearfest.org we get an average of 15,000 views per month. We keep posts colourful, positive, real, and very much alive and engage with our supporters on a daily basis through all media. We do a lot of promotion for every band, especially when they play for free. Our photographers have the best eyes and we have artists creating incredible pieces of work for us to auction. Poetry is our new release too. Throughout it all, we aim to maintain a level of humour and mindfulness. We also aim to be respectful and compassionate and understand that people who engage with us often also have sad stories to tell.
Molly’s story has now been read over 70,000 times in different formats. The Mearfest experience continues to assist many silent grieving still-fathers, as there are many dads who have never had a chance to express this kind of loss openly. It’s not a subject most men can freely talk about over a pint, but at Mearfest conversation flows and the pain is released. Brian experienced a lot of ignorance at the beginning: many people would ask after me how I was doing, but not ask about how he was doing. He made Molly and he lost her too. We know these kinds of attitudes are changing and Mearfest wants to support that and provide a positive open platform where still-parents, friends and families can connect, as well as seek council, understanding, kindness, support and guidance, in a more relaxed and, in some sense, unconventional way.

Mearfest now has its own resident chaplain – the inspiring Reverend Carl Flynn Edwards, a Church of England vicar, and a huge metal fan, who named his Harley Davidson Molly. Carl kindly created a prayer for us before every event, and he will soon be available for counsel.
During the past twelve months, Mearfest has expanded, as it has been endorsed by rock and metal legends, Diamond Head, Venom/Inc/Abaddon, Steve Grimmett’s Grim Reaper, Girlschool, Jon Mikl Thor, Lips from Anvil, Thunderstick/Samson, Weapon UK and many others, all proudly wearing their Molly-shirts on world tours, playing in front of thousands of fans in packed-out stadiums. Music videos have her small hand in prime position, songs have been recorded telling her story, a little part of her imprinted-on album covers.

Amazing how this tiny image has appeared in more than 30 countries and how 600 shades of Molly have been worn and photographed in all continents on earth. She has sat on idyllic beaches, ridden safaris, cruised the oceans, shaken Mickey’s hand at Disneyland, danced all night at Glastonbury, trekked the Himalayas in Nepal, meditated in Thailand, been sightseeing through New Zealand, and been on tour and on stage in the USA, Canada and all over Europe. She has run marathons, climbed mountains, been mentioned on air via USA and UK radio stations and podcasts, has had articles written about her in Fleet Street newspapers and magazines. She has given hope to patients in hospital, reformed bands, healed rifts between long-lost friends and helped many charities to keep going.

Her handprint has become a symbol of good fortune and new beginnings to so many people.

Molly has been embraced by every faith, religion, and by non-believers too, because stillbirth happens to everyone whichever God you pray to. She did not draw a breath; we dream to hear her cry, see her eyes open; she made no sounds; she spoke no words; her hand only held mine and her dad’s for a brief moment before her cremation. More and more people are now hearing about Molly and Mearfest: we have truly set her spirit free as it continues to bring people together through music and compassion. Her little handprint is a subtle reminder of the reality and sadness of stillbirth.
Molly really did come to us for a big reason. Brian and I had a choice: separate and bury the loss and pain, or stand together as one voice. We are both resilient and strong in spirit, calling on all our combined skills to spread the word. From hosting just two events a year, Mearfest has raised £30,000 for various stillbirth, child disability and Down Syndrome charities. (Molly was born with T21: the tests were right.) This may not sound like much to ardent fund-raisers, but as this all started as something to take our minds away from the emptiness we both felt as we walked in silence away from that hospital. The end, in hindsight, was just a new chapter beginning.
I woke from a nightmare one morning early in 2016, screaming that this was not how my story was going to end! I’d been organising our first Mearfest, but was also on a mission to find anything – mind, body and spirit – which could me help release myself from the internal pressure of grief, shame, and anger, which I was carrying around within my abandoned womb. Suddenly, the craziest idea came to mind…

In July that year, we flew to Serum in Athens, Greece, for a consultation on IVF. They did not age-shame us in any way. I was 49 and Brian was 52. They believed in us and that helped us to believe in us too. The IVF resulted in an incredible pregnancy and C-section birth of our beautiful ‘rainbow’ baby Amélie, born in May 2017, when I had just turned 50 and proving no one is ever too old to do anything.

Both our daughters’ journeys have inspired still-parents and older couples to never give up hope. Mearfest continues to set spirits free by turning loss into legacy. Brian and I wish to move forward during 2020 in turning Mearfest into our own organisation, where we can create a more malleable support system for bereaved parents. We have a lot of work and planning to do first, though, and are taking each day at a time. Baby steps, as they say.

Our video is titled Darkness into Light this is a 2.39-minute video complied of still images and film of the journey we have taken having Molly and then going on to have Amélie after IVF. The Images start with Molly followed by a similar photo of Amélie, this runs throughout the film, Molly, Amélie, Molly… I created this to show the similarities of both Pregnancies, demonstrating the deep emotion, sadness of Molly, then the happiness and joy of Amélie. This demonstrates our long journey from darkness into the light.

What Others Have Said

Brian and Claire Mear have turned their loss into legacy after their daughter Molly was born sleeping. They tirelessly raise both funds and awareness for neonatal charities, mostly by putting together heavy metal festivals in the North and South of the UK, where multiple artists perform under the banner of Molly’s handprint. They are a truly inspirational couple and deserve a thank you for all that they do.I lost 2 children to still-birth and a daughter who lived until she was four months old and received no support or help of any type and wish I’d have had someone like Brian and Claire fighting in my corner all those years ago.