Three and a half years - layers of grief

A lot has happened since my previous post. Sadly, B’s sister died unexpectedly in April and exactly a week later her husband died after a long illness. In June my Mum died, after a long period of physical incapacity. And then a cousin, whom I rarely saw but was fond of, also died. More grief, but different grief…

I’m not sure I’ve processed my Mum’s death yet. For her, her death was a blessing. She had been bed-bound for some years with her quality of life slowly deteriorating, and so in some ways it was a relief for all of us. I know, though, that when I feel at my saddest I am also aware of the absence of B’s comforting presence. This then this makes me feel more sad, confused and guilty… should I still be grieving for him when I should be grieving for my Mum? But I reassure myself, rightly or wrongly, that it’s alright to feel what I am feeling…

Of course, my sister-in-law and brother-in-laws’ deaths were so much harder for my nieces than for me, and I was glad to be able to support them through the hospital visits, visits to the undertaker and vicar, and both of the funerals. I was glad to be there for my own sake, and I am grateful for all my sister-in-law and brother-in-law added to B’s life and to our life together, and it is sad (such a little word for such a big thing!) knowing that they are no longer with us. I realised, though, that part of my grief for them was that more links with B have now dissolved. The people who shared a longer history with him than me are no longer around, and it is no longer possible to share memories with his sister, the person who probably knew him best after me. It makes me especially grateful that I was able to visit when I did and share some of those precious memories.

All this reinforces for me how different grief can be in different situations, at different times, and for different people. Grief is not black or white, or linear. There are multiple layers that encompass the horrendous awfulness of it all, the ability to celebrate the lives of those we miss, and all the difficult shades of grey in-between. We all react in our own way, in our own time, but the important thing is just to experience it and not try to push it away. 

A little while back, I found myself writing this in my journal: 

        “I realise that I am now used to B not being here. I am carrying on with my life without him and
        it’s… What? Now okay?? I miss him but I am used to that now. I can live without him. That feels
        such a horrible sentence to write, but it is true… and I think he would be pleased. He wouldn’t want
        me to moulder away like Miss Havisham.” 

So, have I reached my goal? I am carrying on living and trying to make the most of my life. This doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes feel sad, I do, but I know that’s alright. My other bereavements have made me miss B more, but that’s okay too. But I also know that I mustn’t let that hold me back, that I have to continue to move forward and live my life the best way I can without him, even though it still feels hard to write! 

I remember going to a bereavement café 2-3 years ago and wondering what a man there meant when he said that he felt that his relatives were with always him. At the time, I couldn’t understand this – they were dead, how could they be with him? I get it now though! Those continuing bonds have appeared! B is with me, in my heart and in my head. The fight between my head and heart has mostly disappeared. B has been, and therefore is, a huge part of me and my life, and he always will be. No one can change that fact. We were a unit – we belonged together. His having been in my life affects who I am now. I am a different person to who I might have been because of him. Of course, his absence also changes me; my grief has changed me but, accepting that he had to die, I actually wouldn’t want it any other way. I have learnt that grief is a companion not an enemy, despite the fact that it can be so awful! And, all this applies to my Mum, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, and my cousin as well. B and they were and are all part of my life and I grieve for them at different times in different ways, but I will carry them all with me, and I am now slowly beginning to see that that is the gift of grief, albeit a hard one.

        “It's taken years for me to understand that dying doesn't end the story; it transforms it. Edits, rewrites,
        the blur, and epiphany of one-way dialogue. Most of us wander in and out of one another's lives until
        not death, but distance, does us part - time and space and heart's weariness are the blander
        executioners of human connection.”                Gail Caldwell