Grief

“It is fitting I should write this today for it marks ten years to the day that my father died. I have written directly about, or referenced him, in a few articles on this site so apologise in advance but to write truthfully, in terms of emotion at least, you need to reference something that has happened to you.

I am not sat in the house in a flood of tears today, I am not feeling distraught or pulling out what little hair I have left. The reason for this is that I know about grief, and I have a mechanism that allows me to deal with it. It works for me, to you it may seem the most absurd thing imaginable. As always though, before any reason or logic can be applied to a situation, you must understand that situation. If jealousy is the green eyed monster of the emotional spectrum, and love is the wild card that runs the length and breadth of it, grief sits firmly at one end. It is the lowest of the low. There is never a time that you hear someone is grief stricken and raise a smile, it is a destination you hope you never have to visit. Unfortunately, if the circle of life spins true, you will, and on several occasions. This is why coping with the emotion is so desperately important, because it can overwhelm a person and stop them living. It can end a life, long before the body decides it wants to stop living.

Grief is associated with one basic concept, loss. The loss of someone or something that alters the very fabric of your psyche. People often assume that grief, real grief, can only be brought about through the death of a person that was loved. This is fundamentally wrong. Grief is a process that takes place when we lose anything that matters to us, be that a relative, a close friend or a family pet. It can overcome us when a relationship ends, or we lose respect for something that once mattered so much to us. There are even some who grieve over materialistic things but other than in very rare instances, this is a mockery of the emotion.

I’ll start with the most obvious form first, grief following the passing of a loved one. Death, by its very nature, has an intrinsic finality about it. One moment someone is there, the next they are gone. It matters little how the end is arrived at ultimately, though the manner of passing is something that hugely affects the bereaved initially.

From personal experience I was incredibly fortunate around the time of my own father’s death, as perverse and uncaring as that sounds. I was in a job that allowed me to spend the last month of his life simply being there for him. We had known my father was terminally ill eight months before he died. Of course, when the diagnosis is given, it is almost unbearable to hear. It does allow for several things to happen though that I personally believe makes the grief on their death to become quickly manageable. Although you can never be fully prepared for that moment, you know it is coming. If you have seen someone riddled with a terminal illness, the moment they are no longer suffering there is actually a mixture of emotions, grief yes, but relief also. Not relief that you no longer have to attend to their daily care, but rather that the pain you had seen etched pitifully on their face, the absolute suffering that they endured, is at an end. When my father died, I did not wish for things to be different, for should he have lived longer, it would only offer a temporary respite to those left to mourn. For him, it would have meant more agony, and death is the most personal of all things. It was right when he passed, he had fought for too long against the inevitable.

You hope that when the moment arrives there is a dignity, a serene moment where a last breath is exhaled and it is over. Unfortunately that is often not the case. Regardless though, even should those last moments be almost peaceful or frantic and upsetting, it is over. Now the emotional rollercoaster kicks in. For those who remember the old style rollercoasters this is the moment when the initial ascent which seems to take forever, turns into the sharpest of descents. In that same manner as a child you are left with a feeling of weightlessness, emotionally now you are empty, but something must fill that void.

In these first moments you don’t know how to feel, and be fair to yourself here, how could you? Tears are common, anger also, and to fight these emotions is wrong. They are testament to how you feel and at no stage should you ever seek to contain them. Cry for your loss of course, if that helps, and shout at the top of your voice if that offers a sense of venting your despair. The most important thing to do though, should you be amongst friends or family, is to hold them. Hold them tight for they are feeling as alone and hurt as you. This is not the time to mourn, that will come. It is a time to offer what strength you have to those around you, especially if they are young, because they are still here.

This is such an important concept to grasp. All too often we mourn and grieve not for what we have lost but for what we never had in the first place. That is why my father and I parted on the very best of terms. There were times in our lives where we both could have chosen to end the relationship both permanently and without a backward glance. Arguments were commonplace and there was never a brilliant relationship until that last month. We had so many hours alone towards the end though, where we talked, and as strange as it may seem, we laughed. My father was so much like me in terms of mindset. He could be stubborn, he could be bombastic, brutal in the affirmation of his opinion and cared little if he offended. The truth was far more important to him than to spare the feelings of someone else. Though I possess more tact than him, and whilst my heart is seen to beat on my sleeve whilst his hid beneath his Victorian like upbringing, we were far too similar not to clash.

We discussed this and far much more in depth before he died, we made right what had always been wrong. I know he died safe in the knowledge that he could be in no doubt about how I felt and vice versa, and to this day I find enormous comfort in that. Do I miss him? Of course I do, every day, but I don’t cry for what was lost, I rejoice in what we found. This is what time allows, forgiveness, acceptance, understanding and the chance to find truth in what was once a cloud of obscured emotion.

I would encourage anyone that when death sends someone close an open invitation to meet in person, you take heed of this and do everything you can to find your peace, for once gone there are no more opportunities to do so. I see people close to me live out a charade, a fantasy behind a smokescreen that they once honoured this man, that he was a saint and that he is missed. He was not a saint, nor is he now, he died as he lived, honestly. They do not miss him and they mourn not for his loss, rather that they know themselves that they never took that chance to redeem their own guilty conscience. You can lay flowers at a spot where a corpse now lies or where ashes briefly settled before being blown to the winds, you can take photos and eulogise, paraphrasing quotes you read on two bit websites, but people know the truth, more importantly, you do, so it matters little. It is a means of flagellating your own soul, and will never erase what was. Forgiveness occurs in life, not death.

I mentioned earlier the fabled ‘circle of life’, that imaginary concept that would see son outlive father, daughter outlive mother. It is logical and as much as we love our parents, and their parents before them, we accept that they will pass. It offers little comfort when that circle turns, but it is understandable. What doesn’t make sense, what is a travesty of biological law is when that mythical wheel turns into reverse gear. I have lost a child, but there is a massive caveat here. That child, my son Seren, was never born alive. He was the victim of a short term miscarriage. To this day, I sometimes struggle with that. I do not say that to seek sympathy for there is very little anyone can do or say to ease another’s grief. I never saw my child, I never kissed him or had chance to celebrate that first birthday. At the stage of foetal development he reached it is uncertain whether some would even consider it to be worthy of grief. This is the strange thing about grief, it is even more personal than love. I don’t question that grief I felt at the time or the residue that I carry to this day, it is a part of me and that is simply that. I mentioned it not for self pity but rather to offer some context to what I will touch on next, the loss of a child, or sibling at a young age.

There seems little that can ever offer any form of consolation in these circumstances. It is simply unimaginable to those who have never suffered such loss. There are few of us, whether parents or not, that can even begin to contemplate how utterly devastating such loss must be. I can’t write words to ease their immediate pain, that would offer insult to those poor parents, or siblings, who lose their loved ones at such a tender age. It would be churlish to attempt to. I do know that the loss here must be unimaginable for I would assume that the grief is aimed not at what was but all that should have been.  That an infant life that could have turned into decades of greatness, of love and fulfilment, is erased at what is often the most ridiculous twist of fate.

I know that two individuals, not close to me emotionally but rather geographically, have suffered this tragic loss within recent times. In both instances their suffering has led to a legacy that has been nothing short of staggering. Charites have arisen and awareness of vital issues raised significantly. Of course this is no substitute for the loss that has been felt, how could it be, but in death those children have impacted on more lives, created more positivity than should be possible. It is a fitting tribute to both these young boys that so much will continue to improve for others because of the love and esteem in which they were, are, held. Does it offer any form of comfort to their parents and siblings? I sincerely hope so, more than anything else. Their loss has inspired so many others to achieve things they would not have even thought of as possible, and in the case of the young boy who died before Christmas in the most foul of tragedies, his organs were used and provided the gift of life and hope to others. There are many adults who will live to be ninety who could not hope to achieve as much as these two young men did.

In both those instances life was taken in a moment, and this is again where grief is almost impossible to fathom. There is no time to allow a protective shield against the inevitable to take shape. One minute the world is perfect, the next it is changed forever, and never for the better. Is there a coping mechanism? Yes, but it is dependent entirely on what went before, more so than what comes after. I will come back to that at the end of this piece.

I also mentioned relationships, more specifically when they end. In my experience this brings a differing kind of grief, but perhaps the hardest of all for me personally in my life. Death has that finality to it. It removes hope, there is no Lazarus like miracle that can recreate what was. I had a vasectomy at age 29 after the birth of my last child. The doctor asked whether I was sure, that maybe one day I would want more children. I was married, we had agreed that three was our limit and I am old school, I see things through and fight adversity in any area. I never thought for even one second I would spend a decade as a single man. He then asked what I would do if one of my children died, and I almost knocked him out cold on the spot. A child cannot be replaced. Ever. Do I regret it? I never did, but I do now. I would love to start afresh, but time is not ticking, it has unless I meet someone incredibly special, tocked.

So now I am 42 and last year was ripped to shreds emotionally. It was entirely my own fault for not allowing myself to follow my own advice. The same person who had hurt me the year before did so repeatedly again, and I struggled to accept that, I was grieving. Often in grief we make ill informed decisions. I was hoping for another chance and I had several. At every turn, in hindsight, I should have run, but for all my supposed wisdom when it comes to others problems, I was blinded by hope that the words promised to me would be born out in reality through actions. They never were. With that realisation what was to follow should not have surprised me. I hope there is happiness for her, genuinely I do, but she knew then and she knows now that there will only be fleeting glimpses.

This is the thing when you grieve the loss of a relationship, there must be such a strong resolve inside of yourself to be able to move forward, to realise that the failings of a relationship are not yours alone to bear. It is so easy to assume responsibility for the loss. Words uttered that once may have been meant can carry no recourse in the future. They quite literally mean nothing, so whereas the loss of a loved one to death encourages you to look back with a means of healing, offering comfort and memories that warm the soul, the absolute opposite holds true when a relationship ends. To look forward may seem incredibly difficult but to reminisce is too painful. Shared moments aren’t painted in the sepia tones of nostalgia they are disfigured into the reality they were never as they appeared.

When you then throw into the equation that one day you will hear the news that, or see the person that hurt you move on then even the future can seem like something that you don’t wish to face. For me, I find this hard. When I commit to anything I give everything or nothing, for to hold back is not something I can do. It makes me a weaker person, this I know for sure but it is all I know. I will live honestly and I will die honestly, and above all else I will love honestly.

So where next then? Pets? This is an entirely voluntary grief that you set yourself up for. Buy a pet and it will die before you, in ninety nine per cent of cases. Whilst the benefits of having a pet are obvious, the reality is that you will grieve for them. Unless of course you own ULF, the little snoring piglet pug. That thing will live forever just to spite me. Buy a goldfish and give it a silly name for it allows you to discuss openly with children the subject of death, to introduce the concept of mortality to an infant mind.

Buy a dog or a cat however and they become a part of family life. When they die you may have a decade, sometimes two, of memories and to grieve over a sentient creature that plays such a large part in your life is right and natural. In many instances an animal such as this is euthanised, and so you are actually the one who makes the choice to end their life. Sadness is part of grief but this soon gives way to memories that genuinely do warm you, which you are grateful for. I will never buy into the theory that childless couples or harridan spinsters who refer to their animals as fur babies are genuinely sane. They are not. They are creatures you love yes, but to compare the loss of an animal to that of a child, as I have seen happen, is a little unnerving. This may sound callous, and I genuinely love both cats and dogs, but they are animals nonetheless. They play a huge part in our lives but if you die alone with one, and they aren’t fed for a day or two, they will eat you. Ces’t la vie, the circle of life, or in this case nature.

Materialistic things are a strange one to grieve over. There is a part of me that feels that anyone who can mourn over a piece of metal or a collection of bricks and wood must a bit simple. If this is true however, then I realised I am the simplest of the lot. I have lost a house. I don’t grieve for that. I have lost plenty of cars. I don’t mourn for them. I wondered therefore if there was something of material value that I would mourn and there is. Those who know me well, are aware of the crucifix I wear around my neck. If I lost this, I would be devastated. Like everything there is a story behind it. I have taken a lot of stick in the nine years, 364 days I have worn this.

During that time it has been taken off only once, when I needed a chest x-ray. For those few brief minutes I was like Frodo Baggins or Gollum, checking constantly for my precious. It would cost me the princely sum of about sixty pounds to replace so the monetary value is not an issue. It is the sentiment. When my father died there was nothing of great sentimental value he left me. The next day after his death, with the last money he ever gave me, I bought the crucifix. I am not religious, I don’t claim to be, but I have always liked the iconography of the cross. That cross is now the only thing I own that I would miss should it be lost, I would genuinely grieve for it. This is where the realisation hit home for me about grief.

We grieve through loss, but what have we lost? We have lost sentiment, we have lost something that was a fundamental part of us. When we understand this we can deal with it. I don’t pretend it is easy. I don’t sit here writing for the sake of it for this is part of my healing process and if, and it is big if, my words can touch someone, offer them hope, than that is a bonus more than an aim.

There are practical measures to be taken as well. An analogy I often use is the shopping bag one. On a rainy day in mid January when your hands are cold and you want to get from the car to the house in one trip you carry seven shopping bags in one hand, one in the other and your keys in your mouth. One bag starts to slip and before you know it the game is over, the bag is going to fall. Let it. It is fate, bad luck, karma or whatever other term you wish to place upon it. Instinct will tell you to reach out for it, to try and grab it before all is lost. By doing just this however you stand to lose your hold on every bag and you could be left with just a set of keys dangling from your mouth looking like a bad Britain’s Got No Talent act. Substitute the bags in the analogy for people close to you and my point becomes a little clearer. Do not ignore what you still possess to try and reclaim what is lost. You will stand to lose everything. Embrace and hold closer to you those that are left. As much as you hurt, they do too and they need you. You may not have the strength as an individual but as a collective you will.

To heal we must accept. In order to move forward with genuine strength, to live a life that is fulfilling we must not pay lip service to FB posters of inspiration but grasp the idea that the time that matters is not tomorrow, or yesterday, it is always today. Today we are alive, and with each passing second we change what will be, never alter what was. Therefore when the time comes to grieve, the only thing that can soften the blow, which can allow the edge to be taken off the pain is to know that we gave everything to the present. If you love someone tell them, and tell them often, for once they are gone, you will not get the chance again. Laugh and find humour and joy in the simplest of things you share. That will validate nostalgia, not allow it be twisted to our whim and torture us. We will have total faith that the things we cherished and now miss were genuine, and rather than bemoan the fact they will never be again take so much pleasure that they once were. “