Storytelling

A week ago, I was in the bath listening to ‘Today’, on Radio 4, when a piece about chatting to strangers on a train came up. They said that, according to scientists at the University of Chicago, proper, profound conversations with strangers are not as awkward as one might imagine, that they can be deep and meaningful, and those involved can feel better for them. A reporter went out to test this and, indeed, had a meaningful conversation with people he hadn’t met before. Lying in the bath, this brought tears to my eyes. Why? I think, because it was about the need to tell one’s story, and this is something that I can understand in my grief.

It reminded me that, after I ceased being a Community Palliative Care Clinical Nurse Specialist, I had reflected upon what I had been doing for all those years in my job and that I had come to the conclusion that I‘d been listening to people’s stories. I would go into a person’s home as a stranger and I would leave having heard, at least part of, their life story. I learnt that telling our story is how we make meaning of what is happening to us. Generally, I have always been quite a reserved person, and try not to show my feelings in public, but my grief has changed that. It exposes me. It is scary showing my vulnerability, but I’m coming to accept that, at the moment, my grief is just a part of who I am. I can’t alter it, though it has altered me.  

The other evening, I plucked up my courage and joined a ‘bereavement meet-up’ that was happening in a reasonably local pub. I arrived a little early, and wandered about the pub looking for the host. I could see a couple of people standing at the bar and knew they had noticed me, but I didn’t realise that they were there for the same reason. Later, one of them said something like, “I thought you might be here for the group, you were looking a little lost”. And the thought struck me that, ‘yes, I am lost; and I guess that’s probably why we’re all here’. Here I was, hearing the stories of strangers, and sharing my story with them.

We talked about the facts of our loved ones’ deaths but more importantly, at least for me, we talked about our experiences. We could relate to each other. It made me realise that my story is now different to when B died; it changes each day. As mentioned previously, I stopped looking at groups about grief, as I found they made me even sadder than I already was, because I just kept reading other people’s stories of loved ones’ deaths. Don’t get me wrong, it is important to share these, but what I needed was to read about the experiences of others who were bereaved, and how they were coping, or not.  So, it was good to talk with strangers, to share about ourselves and how we were finding things, and to be with people that were going through a similar thing. And it wasn’t all doom and gloom! There was laughter as well as tears. It was also notable, that however sad we were, there was a consensus that there was hope for our futures, despite the fact that we might not be able to see it just yet. I left with a positive feeling, and was glad I had plucked up the courage to go.

In a similar vein, let me just say, I am grateful to you, my readers, as I realise that my blog is another way for me to tell my story, and I am grateful for the support I receive through it. I am also grateful for all those friends that are able to ‘just be’ with me, with no expectations, and who are happy for me to share my story with them, and all that that means. It is a real gift, and one I know that not everyone has. I have learnt which of my friends are able to do this, and those that can’t. I understand that for some it may seem scary but, perhaps paradoxically, although I’m different, underneath it all, I’m still the same person I always was.