Grief is odd.
I was 16 when my granny died so despite feeling the sadness really deeply, the memory of how awful it is to lose someone you love had faded slightly, but in July 2017 I lost my grandpa after a decade long fight against prostate cancer. And in March this year, I lost a childhood friend to suicide. Whilst my experience and feelings following these losses were quite different, there were common things that I found remained the same.
I remember “going through the motions” after my grandpa died; speaking at the funeral, greeting family members and doing all of the admin bits which I naturally find myself doing (in hindsight – avoiding dealing with how sad I was really feeling). This all felt weirdly manageable, I decided to go back to work within a week and felt that life kind of resumed as normal. I didn’t really let myself have any time to sit and process and work my way through how I was feeling or how I’d been affected.
It would come in waves. It’s so strange how you can go from holding it all together; going back to work, going to the gym, making dinner and feeling like life has some vague recollection of ‘normal’, to a programme playing on TV, or a smell from a stranger in the street and suddenly you’re catapulted back into the depths of sadness that feel completely impossible to see a path through.
I think it’s the small things that you notice the most when you lose someone. Eating watermelon for the first time since my grandpa died (he always used to meticulously take the black pips out of it whenever we visited in the summer time) made me well up and supporting Nadal in the tennis (who my grandpa disliked with a strong passion) seemed wrong. Sometimes, when I see a short man walking around in a tweed flat cap, I forget for a second that he’s gone and then the moment of realisation that he is, is harder than I can describe.
Another thing I realised that I do, is suddenly start saying things like “they would have liked that…” or, “they would have found that funny…” or even “if they’d have been here then they’d say…”. I suppose it’s a way of keeping them alive for me; helping me to feel that they haven’t really left forever. This is sometimes accompanied with what I would call an idealisation of the person.
Let’s be honest, people can be difficult, and we all have faults, but these often seem to be forgotten about when people pass away. I think that it comes from the saying that you should never “speak ill of the dead”, people often feel really bad saying anything even slightly negative about someone they’ve lost, as it seems really disrespectful. For me, it’s actually become important to make sure not to forget about these little things that I found difficult; they were part of the person and actually help to keep the memory alive – all of those little things formed part of who they were and the person who meant so much to me.
Life has this funny way of going on. After I found out that my friend had died in March, I remember looking out of the window and the sky was blue and there were people laughing in the street. I didn’t understand how the world hadn’t frozen for a minute to share in my sadness. I remember meeting with a friend a few days later to chat and support each other and both of us said how getting on the tube felt a bit like we were watching our lives happen around us, going through the motions.
I think it’s probably one of the beautiful things about loss, that whatever happens, tomorrow morning the sun will rise, people will laugh and live their lives, and things carry on. It’s also one of the hardest things. It doesn’t feel right or normal and it takes a long time for anything to feel ok again, and that’s ok! It’s ok to sit at home and binge on Netflix and not want to leave the house, but one day, with the support of those around you, you just have to put one foot in front of the other and venture out – to the shops for milk, to the gym (only to promptly leave again but hey – you made it there!), or just for a walk around the block. Just to remind yourself that one day you will be ok again.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have even wanted to write this all down because it would have just been too sad and confronted me with really difficult feelings, but I’ve learnt that a lot of people feel these things and it is totally normal. Days filled with grief are dark and sad and confusing and strange; life seems suspended temporarily and it’s really only with the love and support of those around me that I’ve grown to realise that it’s ok not to be ok, and that the sun really will come out tomorrow.