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Early Grief
- grieveandgroove
- Apr 4, 2021
- 11 min read
TW: grief, loss, death, relationships, parental loss
Early grief. It probably means very different things to each of us. Meg, Kya and Charl have taken some time to reflect on their ‘early grief’. We hope that in sharing some of our experiences, it might help others navigate their early grief. Whether you lost your loved one very recently or even years ago. Because we know that whilst life goes on and time passes by, thoughts and feelings of grief very much remain.
MEG
I can remember the majority of what happened in the first weeks after my dad’s death, from the moment I found out what had happened up until his funeral a few weeks later. After that, the memories get hazier. I think that the reason I am able to remember such a tragic time so vividly, even four years on, is because my bereaved mind is still healing from the suddenness of his death and searches for ways to control what happened.
Immediately after being told I went into organisation mode and became the person for my family to lean on. Before the day was up, I had listed all friends and family who needed to be contacted personally, drafted a Facebook post to be sent from his account and searched for how to make his page a memorial page. I ordered my mum and auntie some pizza, we cried and laughed, reminiscing about dad’s life. They went to bed, but this all happened during January exam season, so I stayed up until 2am revising just to prevent myself from sinking into this new hole of grief that dad had left behind.
A few days after his death, my auntie drove myself and mum down to Sussex, where he had been staying, to collect anything important from his campervan and arrange for it to be towed to a friend’s house. When we got to the recovery yard and found his camper we quickly realised how messy it was and that only I could fit in through the driver side door. This was possibly one of the worst experiences of my life, having to clamber through weeks of washing, dirty bowls and mouldy food to get any key documents and valuables out. What made it worse is that I knew that dad had died in the very spot I was now half-standing in, the campervan was so cold and dark, and the tears came as soon as I grabbed the last of his paperwork.
I had to return to Leeds for my exams, despite my school offering me to postpone and defer – I had already revised well for these and I just needed to feel normal for a bit longer before the inevitable funeral planning began. Now I’ve been to my fair share of funerals but having to plan one at age 19 for your father was something else. My mum and auntie gave me a lot of control, thinking it would probably help, but we all needed each other at that point. We sat with the celebrant and told dad’s life story for her to repeat at the funeral and we laughed over what songs we should have in the service; dad’s karaoke go-to’s were Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond and Angels by Robbie Williams, so they had to make an appearance. I struggled to pick out flowers for the casket – what kind of flowers did dad like? Did he like flowers at all? What colours? FYI: I went for a simple white arrangement, because he wouldn’t have been that fussy about them anyway. As a tribute to his awful joke telling, we also asked for a floral snail to be made and we bickered over whether to tell his infamous ‘how do you invite a snail to a birthday party?’ joke at the funeral. My mum had seen an Ashes into Glass advert at the funeral directors and asked if I wanted some of dad’s ashes as a keepsake in jewellery. At first, I thought this was a horrendous idea because I hadn’t fully accepted his loss; thankfully I later agreed and now I will always have a small piece of him in a purple glass-topped silver ring. As funerals go, dads went smoothly, and we held the wake at the pub where he had worked. We left a pint of cider up on the bar for him and everyone got absolutely mortal.
I think from sharing what I experienced in my early moments of grief, I want to say that everyone does it differently: some will embrace loss straightaway, others will postpone that inevitable feeling of grief and a few may go a lifetime without ever wanting to acknowledge what happened. There’s no right or wrong here, there’s no manual to losing a parent whilst trying to navigate your way into adulthood. For me, I tried hard to postpone my grief so that I could stay at university and do well, I forced myself to be social and continue the way I was before dad died. The truth is that grief caught up with me and I was so relieved to speak to other people who had been through a parental loss too. It was like ‘I’m not weird for having lost a parent, I don’t have to keep the feelings inside anymore or just for myself whilst laying in the dark’. Four years on and I got through my undergrad, a Masters and now I’m in the 2nd year of my PhD – who knew you could get so much done whilst still grieving??
KYA
If I am being perfectly honest, I can hardly remember much from the initial period of when my mom passed away. I remember the moment that I found out and my reaction, but further on than that I can hardly remember the day and the days that ensued. I remember the funeral, and some aspects of the day but a lot of it is a blur. I think part of the reason why is because I went into auto pilot mode during those few weeks between my mom passing and her funeral (as well as the following months). I was between two countries, and had my studies to focus on, so I just used those to keep me going.
I did not get involved in the funeral, wills, flowers, speeches, any of that stuff was of no interest to me. I knew none of that stuff would be important to my mom and I frankly was meeting my own edge every day just by opening my eyes and getting out of bed in the mornings. The only thing I contributed to the funeral was that I asked that a poem be read during the ceremony, it was one of her favourites as she always said it described our love for each other perfectly.
When I flew back to the UK for the funeral I don’t remember how I felt at the time other than just complete numbness and a constant aching in my chest which I kept away from people because if I brought it up I thought I would just shatter into a million tiny little pieces, this feeling lasted for months, very rarely going away even during sleep. It was only at the very moment when we pulled into the funeral home where my mom was going to be buried that I realised I could not hold it in any longer. I remember turning to my dad and saying that I couldn’t do this and that I needed to leave, sheer panic and hysteria coursing through my entire body. Of course he kept me going and we got through the funeral but it was one of the most painful things I had experienced. And then before I knew it, it was all over and we were back home eating KFC at the dinner table. I almost felt upset that that final stage of her death was over, she was in the ground and officially gone. I felt like I was expected to be back to normal, that life was moving on and I was stuck in my place both voluntarily and involuntarily. The latter because the weight of the grief was so overwhelming that I felt like I would be stuck there forever, the former because I wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
The feeling of numbness stayed for a very long time. None of my smiles or laughs felt real, when people asked me how I was I always said I was okay, never good, never great, never fine, always okay. Because I was okay in the sense that I was a functioning human being, but other than that everything hurt. It took a long time for me to have a truly good day, not that all the other days were bad, but it had just never felt genuine to say that I was happy in one particular moment, despite me spending lots of time with friends, making nice memories and acting like I was happy. This was just so that I could show the people around me that I could still be the same Kya as before, I had to prove to them that this experience had not changed me when it so clearly had. In comparison to now, I am able to have guilt free and genuine happy days, and it’s so much lighter than before. I honestly never thought that I would be able to feel like this in the future, let alone a mere four years later. But I am fully aware that had I not put in a lot of effort to work on my grief, I would not have reached the state I’m currently in so soon. I also know that if I don’t continue to work on myself and my grief that I could very easily revert back to those numb days. So my main focus is to concentrate on one day at a time, not tomorrow, not yesterday, today. This is my biggest piece of advice to anyone going through grief, simply one day at a time.
CHARL
Hello lovely people, this is my take on early grief. For me this means the immediate minutes and days after my Dad died. Followed by the feelings that ensued in the weeks and months after.
Somehow the day that Dad died, I felt like I knew it was going to be ‘the day’. That morning, I had seen dad in a lot of pain somehow the same man he always was but also not, soldiering on none the less. I left the hospice to go into town in a bid to get something to help him (a story for another time). Because I, blinded by grief thought I could help medically, or at all. But none the less as I left, I looked at my mum, tears in my eyes and said to her ‘please don’t leave him’. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone, especially if he passed.
Fast forward to late that night and Dad passed with Mum, my brother (Ollie) and myself by his side. And the minutes and hours that followed were beyond surreal. Dad had been gone for less than an hour, literal minutes and before I could even register what had actually happened we were swarmed by people. I’m talking thirteen other family members, all in one room alongside Mum, Ollie and myself. A room that was now filled with everyone else’s grief as well as my own, which I hadn’t even begun to process yet. I was now surrounded by my Mum and Ollie (heartbroken). But also thirteen other family members sobbing and upset. I understand that this was because every single one of them adored my Dad. BUT, I was overwhelmed, maybe I was in shock. I don’t know, but I wasn’t crying.
Now, people only mean well, and I understand that. However, I remember at least three family members telling me, ‘it’s okay to cry’, ‘let it out Charl’. What did they want me to do? Force tears out? I was angry, for a whole host of reasons. I was shocked. I was lost and confused. And in hindsight (of 3+ years) that was totally fine. But for a while after I thought, maybe it was weird I didn’t cry immediately. Now I know it wasn’t weird at all and I was grieving in my own way. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve cried plentyyyyy since that day, but even if I hadn’t, that’s my prerogative. I don’t know how many time’s we’re going to have to say it, but we’ll keep saying it. Everyone grieves differently. And the point being, don’t let anyone tell you how to grieve.
The couple of days following Dad’s death were just as surreal. The very next morning I distinctly remember a close friend and neighbour coming to visit, me and Ollie sharing a laugh about something (I have no idea what), and going to get a McDonalds breakfast. How could we have laughed? How could we be going for a McDonalds, as if nothing had happened? How were we laughing? For a little while that haunted me, one of several sources of guilt. But, who says what’s wrong and right, when is the right time to laugh again? I’ve laughed countless times in the – almost – four years since we lost Dad. None of them were wrong, despite feeling guilty sometimes. Again, don’t let these misconceptions trick you into thinking you’re not grieving ‘correctly’. There’s no manual, and even if there was I doubt it’d be much good. Much after the first couple of days following Dad’s death is a little bit of a blur, you’re off work, you’re not studying, you’re not going about your normal business. You’re in limbo, either arranging a funeral or often just waiting for one.
In the months that followed, I couldn’t stand to be around people, and on occasions that was certain people. It wasn’t their fault, but I just didn’t want to be around them. These days I make no secret of the fact that I have found and continue to find a lot of things very difficult following the death of my Dad. For a period of time, this included being around overtly happy people, and my very happy loving family, who had every reason to be happy. Growing families, happy kids, happy cousins, happy aunts, happy uncles, happy grandparents, happy parents witnessing all sorts of milestones in their 20 something kids’ lives. So for a while I made the choice (more than I realised) not to be around family. And for the most part, that was and is fine. Maybe that night at the hospice smothered with grief and love has a lot to do with it, maybe not. But what I want to reiterate, is that was and is my journey with grief, and I get to choose how it goes. It may not be nice for some people to hear, but if you need or want to distance yourself from certain people for whatever reason, you do that. Family can be a great source of love and happiness and all that good stuff. But with grief, I personally found it at times to be hot iron staff right to the chest. The pain it could inflict was crazy, and so, I chose to avoid it. Until I was ready and able to be around that love and happiness without it feeling like someone had just hit me with a ten tonne truck. I did what was best for my own physical and mental wellbeing. And you should to, whatever that means for you.
What I want to share with this piece is this, it’s been nearly four years, and I can already see how my journey with grief has changed year on year. I’ve had angry stages, I’ve had upset stages, I’ve had distant stages. I’m not sure what the current stage is just yet. Maybe I’ll let you know next year if I find the right word for it. There’s no knowing what you’re going to feel or at what point, or if you’re ever going to feel certain emotions at all. But please know, whatever you feel, it’s allowed and it’s the right thing for YOU and YOUR grief.
We hope you can see how everyone has a completely different idea of early grief. Some may remember what they had to do, where they had to go, the stuff they had to organise. And some may remember what they thought and felt. Some may have a heightened focus on both.
No matter where you are in your grief journey, we’re sending so much love to all,
The G&G team x
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