The Jester

I am The Jester, otherwise known as the grief of my author. That part of her that she needs but doesn’t want. You won’t know me, although you will probably know some of my family, I have millions of siblings, cousins, and distant cousins. We are the biggest tribe in the world, although none of us are quite alike. We are each as unique as the person we live with.

So, let me tell you about myself. I am now 6 months old, although I don’t feel like a young thing, I feel as though I am old and grey and heavy. It’s quite funny really, initially, my author thought I would just sit on her shoulders, admittedly at times more heavily than others, but she has now cottoned-on to the fact that I am actually a part of her, and at the moment a substantial part of her, and that I’ll probably be with her for the rest of her life (she doesn’t know it yet, but I will become easier to live with over time, but possibly not as quickly as everyone else thinks it should be). 

My job is to help her experience and express the pain – she doesn’t like it, but that’s just how it is. I am with her all the time, waking, sleeping, eating, in the shower, with friends, on her own, and so forth. There’s little escape from me. Once I’m here I can’t just disappear, as much as she would like me to. I affect her whole life. I am here because she loved, and I am the ongoing relationship with that love. I am a little less prickly than when I first appeared, I don’t make her cry so often and she is a little more able to deal with me, but I don’t make her life straightforward. I can still become fierce at any time and, let me tell you, I can howl, internally and externally. Although she might think it, though, she wouldn’t want me not to be here, as that would mean her relationship was meaningless. I exist because she loved.

She’s done okay so far, she’s survived those first weeks with the funeral, the Service of Thanksgiving, the scattering of ashes, the necessary (s)admin. To start with I just made her feel numb but then I started to change, and I became raw emotion. Now, I’m evolving again as she gets used to being on her own. I did make her feel as though she was in limbo for quite a while, as many of those necessary big ‘firsts’ were delayed because of the lockdown, but she’s managed some of those now: the birthday, going out on her own, the first time back at church, the first visit to an exhibition, the first meal out, etc, etc. Have you noticed that little word, ‘big’? That’s what I’m really good at. I can turn all those little things, those things that were previously just ordinary, everyday things, into monuments; hurdles that have to be encountered and got over and, let me tell you, I don’t make it easy. 

I am very good at ambushes. I can hit her quite hard, for example, when she’s driving along a particular piece of road; when she hears a particular song or hymn; even when someone just says something; or, sometimes for just no reason in particular. Other times, I just insidiously let myself creep up inside her until she notices that I’ve reached her chest, her throat, her eyes. I’m quite clever at that. I don’t like making her feel like that, but it’s my job. She doesn’t like it either, but she is learning that the way to deal with pain is to feel it, to go through it.  I confess, it does make me horrible to live with!

Clearly, I affect her psychologically but what I don’t think she expected was how I could also affect her physically. I get into every little corner of her, for example, I infiltrate her shopping, her eating, her appetite so, consequently, she’s lost weight (not necessarily a bad thing, if you ask me). I’m very good at disturbing her sleep – I can make her thoughts go round and around if she hasn’t distracted herself enough before she hits the pillow; and have you noticed how she keeps falling asleep with the light on, and how she keeps waking up at 5am. That’s me! She thought I was beginning to wear off, but don’t worry, I’m back with a vengeance, and she doesn’t really understand why! Not to brag, but I can even make her feel sick. She’s not unfamiliar with this feeling, but now I can make it appear for no apparent reason, which mystifies her. I can also give her an odd feeling in her stomach or chest. She doesn’t like these things, but she’s beginning to realise that they are all part of my package.

There’s no easy way to hide this, I am physical; I am psychological; I am the tears and the sadness; I am that God forsaken howl inside her body; I am the darkness; I am the anger; I am the emptiness; I am the sleepless nights and the tiredness; I am the gaping hole in the universe; I am that wave of exhaustion; I am the dread of the coming day or event; I am the inability to make a decision; I am the unwillingness to explain; I am the thing that wants to spill, bloody, all over the other person, but resists (as most people wouldn’t be able to cope with me); I am the loneliness; I am the nausea; I am the empty future; I am the thing that wants to hide away; I am the inability to make a simple phone call; I am the feeling that rises in her body, ready to burst out; and on it goes, I have lots of facets, BUT, and it is a big but, I am also the thing that will help her build a new life, whilst always remembering. So, I do have good bits too, I am in all the memories, the stories of their life together, and I know she likes remembering these, even though they can sometime cause pain. I can be a vicious circle. 

It is beginning to dawn on her that I’m going to be around for quite a while, if not always, and that I can make myself known at any time. She’s right, I won’t be going away any time soon. I can still have the last (ironic) laugh, as I know I will still be able to make those tears appear when she doesn’t want them. I’m beginning to notice, though, that she’s learning some strategies to contain me, for example, various distraction activities, counting innocuous things to divert her mind, digging her nails into the palm of her hand, but I’m still there in the background, ready to pounce. 

Just to point out, I’m not the devil you might think, I’m actually her companion, and so I do feel bad making her feel like this, but this is my work. She has to experience me now, otherwise I will come back to bite her later on and, let me tell you, I would be worse, then. The thing is, you can’t make me go away, you can’t fix me or mend me, and neither can she. I am her pain, and I am the expression of it. The one she loves is dead. I am not an illness, there is no cure. As I said before, if she hadn’t loved I wouldn’t be here, and she wouldn’t be in pain. I hope it helps her to remember this. She has to learn to live with me and carry me. Others can help, though. The ones who really support her are those that let her talk about me, her loss and her feelings, and / or those that are prepared to spend some time with her with gentle distractions. Those are the ones that soften the effect I have. I realise that not everyone can do that, though. I don’t make it easy for people, I‘m quite good at making them nervous or at making them question what they should say.  The big secret is, though, that they just need to be themselves and just be there.

At this point I must recommend Megan Devine’s book ‘It’s OK That You’re Not OK; Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand’. (It was one of the exercises in the book, that inspired me to personify my grief.) This is the best book I have read about grief, and I think it will be helpful not only for those of us who grieve but also for those that want to support us. It’s very easy to read and, I think, makes so much sense. (I bought it online from W. H. Smith’s.)