This is a very personal post for me to be writing, but I feel like it’s something I need to get off my chest. If anyone has similar problems or needs a person to talk to then I’m always here.
Dealing with grief is probably one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. I’m writing this post early because I know when it comes to it, I won’t have the strength to write this or maybe even post this but I know it’s important to get it out. November 7th 2017 and November 6th 2018, I lost two close family members. It made GCSEs probably the hardest times for me. I’ll explain in a bit more detail about each one and how I felt, and dealt with it.
I had pets die when I was younger, and even distant family members, and I obviously felt sad. But I didn’t understand death. By the next day, I had gotten over it and was back to doing whatever little kids do. (It was me so probably being annoying or reading)
My Nan fell ill autumn 2017, and was eventually admitted to hospital. I’ve always hated hospitals and just thought that she’d recover and be discharged, until my parents came home on the Friday. They told me that the doctors said it wasn’t looking good and that she was put on to life support. It felt like my world was starting to fall apart. I cried for what felt like hours and for one of the first times since primary school, I prayed. I’m not really religious anymore but I prayed to every god and deity I could think of. Nothing improved and a few days later we were told they were going to switch the life support off and to say our final goodbyes. I couldn’t bring myself to go. I wanted my last memory of her to not be her attached to tubes and in the ICU. Wednesday rolled around and my parents had gone up to visit, so I was left to revise in the dining room by myself. It was getting later and later and I just got this gut feeling that something was wrong. I knew what was coming when they walked through the front door and it was silent. They sat me down and everything shattered. I couldn’t stop myself from crying because this role model in my life was gone. It felt like everything was falling apart.
I’ve always cried when characters died in books or a movie, but it happening to you in real life is a completely different story. You understand why the other characters are so distraught and can’t think straight. Sometimes fictional characters’ deaths feel real, but it’ll never be as bad as when it is real.
My cousin’s story is a bit more complicated, and I could probably write entire posts about her, but I’ll keep it relatively short. She was disabled. I couldn’t list the conditions she had because there were too many. With Cerebral Palsy and only one and a half lungs, she was the strongest person I have ever met. The doctors told us that she would never make it past the age of 10, which at the time of her passing, was 9 years on. She defied everyone’s odds and expectations. I’ve seen her on life support too many times to count and been in and out of hospital to the point she had her own specific room. They’ve told us before to say our goodbyes and, by the next day, she was completely fine and recovered. This time, when she went into the hospital, I brushed it off. I just thought that it was going to be like any other time and within a week or two she’d be back at home. The thing that threw me was that she wasn’t in the ICU this time. She was on a normal ward, business as usual. Only this time, she didn’t come home.
It was during my year 11 mocks when I found out. I was already not looking forward to the Wednesday because it was my Nan’s first anniversary that day and I knew I wasn’t going to be in the right frame of mind to be sitting tests, but it’s what you have to do. My parents had gone to visit my cousin in hospital, and I was busy revising for whatever mock I had the next day (I think it was Spanish), but they came home and there wasn’t the same silence but something was definitely off. They sat me down again and yet again my world fell apart. I couldn’t breathe or see straight. 364 days apart. I obviously didn’t go into school the next day. I went in on the Thursday to catch up on mocks and do the next ones so I didn’t get further behind. My form tutor came up to me while I was queuing up for the first exam and rubbed my arm. “You’re so strong,” she said to me, honestly not what I needed in that moment but I appreciated the sentiment. I didn’t have time to sit and grieve, I had to do these mocks and stay focused. It’s probably why it took me so long in the end.
Funerals are horrendous. They were on the same day, a year apart. Exactly a week before my birthday. On both occasions, I had a panic attack. A bad one too. Most, if not all, of the people there were crying. People you never even met would hug you and say they were sorry. It’s hard to celebrate someone’s life if you can’t accept that they are gone in the first place. I think I was mentioned in both eulogies because of how close I was to both of them, which was nice, but at the time, made me feel even worse. The wake isn’t fun either. You’re sat there, eating food you’re not hungry for and forced to socialise when you just want to lock yourself away and cry to yourself or go and curl up in someone’s arms and be held. Safe to say, I was not thriving.
I got extremely unlucky, however. Both years, my first day back after either the death or the funeral, I was taught about funerals and death in RE. I was in no state of mind to being doing it, but they wouldn’t let me leave the room. The only way I would’ve been allowed was if I asked in front of the whole class and ended up crying. I sat by the wall so it made it awkward to get out. I was tempted to just get up and leave the room, not saying anything, but it wasn’t worth the hassle of getting in trouble. The first time I was off for this reason, the only thing I got asked when I came back was “have you caught up on work since you’ve been off?”, not a single teacher asked if I was okay. Now, I was fine with it because I just wanted to get on with it, but my dad was not happy. Turns out the office hadn’t told any of my teachers, so they just assumed I was ill. My head of year was so apologetic when she found out, but I’d moved past it at that point. I got a letter from the head teacher for my cousin’s funeral that was along the lines of ‘sorry for your loss, I will give you permission to attend the funeral and miss school’. It was a nice gesture, but I was going whether I had permission from school or not. I’d take the unauthorised absence happily.
The thing I learned about grieving is that it’s not a linear process. You go up and down, and it’s slow. Painfully slow. It’s a continuous thing though. There are still days where I get really upset about it randomly and can’t get it out of my head. It could be triggered by the tiniest thing or it could be unprovoked. I’m definitely improving though. I’m starting to tell stories about them when they were alive without tearing up or getting upset, it makes me smile now. I’ve been talking about my Nan a lot with my mum recently and I’m really enjoying the memories. When I watch videos we have from when I was kid, I still get that lump in my throat but they’re happy memories. On special occasions, however, I can’t go on Facebook, because everyone’s tribute posts get too much for me and I’d rather not spend too long looking at the them.
I can’t listen to certain songs anymore. Songs that were played at their funeral or really remind me of them are still really hard for me to listen to. The opening chords to ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri plays and my heart sinks. I can’t listen to it. It was the song I picked with my sister for my Nan’s funeral when they carried her in. So I do ask people to please not play that song in front of me. I probably won’t get up and leave the room like I probably want to, but I probably won’t say anything at all either. If I speak, I risk crying. It’s easier to stay quiet or try and change the topic at an urgency that looks suspicious. If it’s your favourite song, I’m sorry. We can vibe to other songs together, just not that one. If you already have it on loud when I walk into a room, I don’t expect you to turn it off or anything. Just don’t actively put it on when I’m sat there. (I don’t know if that makes sense, I’m trying to not come across as bossy).
It’s definitely helped me too, I constantly ask myself when I’m upset, “am I making them proud?” and that encourages to make me work harder on my A-levels or writing a book, or even trying something I wouldn’t usually do. I use the idea of making them proud to spur me on because I know it works for me.
I can’t give advice for a ‘one size fits all’ type thing because it doesn’t work like that. What works for me, might not work for you. Everyone’s circumstances are different, but maybe reading this has encouraged you to speak up about your feelings to someone, to just get the words out there and let someone else piece together what you mean.
If anyone ever needs to talk though, you can reach out to me. If you’ve found this blog and you don’t know me personally, feel free to email it’s at the bottom of this page. None of you are alone, and that’s probably the most important thing to recognise. It’s one that took me a while to accept, but you feel so much better when you do.
~Chloe xx