“When we meet real tragedy in life, we can react in two ways – either by losing hope and falling into self-destructive habits or by using the challenge to find our inner strength.”

~Dalai Lama

It’s been a few months (which feels like only yesterday) since I lost my Father. I’ve come to learn about the excruciating journey of loss and grieving thus far but I am also strikingly aware of the fact that I’ve taken only tiny baby steps into my new reality in the scheme of it all.

It’s hard to put into words how difficult it is to lose a parent, but the key thing I’ve come to appreciate is there is no normal way of reacting. I haven’t just felt one emotion since my father passed, my experience has been more like travelling the world. Each stage of the journey can be easier or more difficult than the other stages.

ENTERING THE AFTER OF THE ‘Before & After’ LIFE EVENT
My life is now marked by the eras of ‘while my dad was alive’ and ‘after losing my dad’. Because no happy news will be as happy without getting to share it with him. And sadness will only be deeper without having him in my corner. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve felt like “I can’t believe that my dad died” or “I need to tell dad about this article I’ve read.” I know that sounds daft but he was my dad…my support system. My help in times when things became tricky.

On the flip side I know that on the days my heart will feel it’s fullest, I will still feel the deep hole that his death left in it. My dad will never see me do well, or marry, or even just be there to tell of my adventures (which he taught me how to go and do).

THE EVENT

It goes without saying that shock is such an enormous part of mourning. It’s like searching for evidence on whether or not your nightmare is real and asking someone to slap you to see if it’s something that you’ll wake up from. I think that this is especially the case with sudden deaths. My dad wasn’t in the best of health but he was able to get about with his mobility to a degree. He’d been driving his car right up until the very end. He’d had several strokes over the years that saw him weaken with each recovery. That said I did feel he died pretty quickly. Visiting my father in hospital was hard as the world was going through the Coronavirus pandemic – visiting was at an absolute minimum to not allowed. January 2021 he had a major fall in the bedroom after his knees became weak. He hit his head pretty badly on the radiator that caused bleeding. He went into hospital and recovered and returned home.

Come Mid-February he noticed swelling in his ankles and lower legs. He was admitted back into hospital again. I always remember telephoning the hospital one Tuesday evening and speaking to my dad. He definitely didn’t sound like himself. He seemed as if he was hallucinating. He said he was so bored. I was on the phone for around 30 minutes. My last words were I’d promise to arrange with the nurses a visit to bring him a bunch of weekend newspapers for the puzzles and travel articles. Two days later I received a call from my mother whilst at work. My Father had taken a turn for the worse overnight.

Story shorter he had an oedema: his heart was failing and unable to function the way it should. My fathers body was filling up with fluids from the ankles upwards into his chest. Due to the Coronavirus pandemic the hospital would only permit two people to visit him. My mother was so distraught said she couldn’t face it so I initially went alone. My dad was conscious but was unable to speak, not even a mutter. I sat at his bedside the entire day reading the newspapers I had promised on the phone call, and going through the crosswords asking my dad for help. All he could do was stare. But it was a stare I hadn’t seen before. He was looking at me but through me, if that makes sense. I’d then read the travel articles to him. He loved Malaysia. I read a section on Kuala Lumpur and I told him we’d go when he got better (subconsciously knowing that day was unlikely to come). He nodded slightly but with a vacant expression on his face. Then a tear ran down his cheek. The afternoon passed and the clock read 2100. I told my dad I’d be back in the morning with more papers and his Lotto ticket for Saturdays draw. I felt so guilty leaving him I cried the entire drive back to my parents house.

The following day, Saturday, I went and purchased some newspapers and the Lotto ticket and arrived at the hospital for 10am. My father was asleep. I spent the entire day sat by his bedside whilst he slept reading the newspapers to him and holding his hand. His breathing becoming more erratic as the day passed. He didn’t wake once. I left him again at 2030 that evening crying the entire drive back to my parents house, pulling over at times to try and clear my vision from the tears.

At 10pm that evening, 2.5 hours after I left him the doctor at the hospital told me that my Father had passed away….2.5 hours after I left him. You have no idea the guilt that rushed through me. I felt numb. I drove back to the hospital after hearing the news that same night. I sat next to my dads hospital bed and just stroked his hair and held his lifeless hand until 4am the following morning, racked with guilt that I’d left him to go and eat and sleep. The hospital nurse had to encourage me to go home. I couldn’t believe within the space of talking to my dad promising him the weekend papers he’d died by the Saturday night – 4 days later.

I know that there will always be a part of me that expects him to be sat at the kitchen table when I walk through my parents front door.

THE MOST IMPORTANT THING I KNOW ABOUT GREIVING

Hands down the most important thing that I know about grieving is that there’s no right way to do it. As far as I know, the only way to do it wrong is to NOT do it…to run from it, hide from it, throw a mask over its face or numb yourself in its wake. Like with all truly hard things in life you just have to be in the moment. Sometimes that means putting one foot in front of the other as you walk through heavy, sticky tar and sometimes that means collapsing on the ground and just sitting still in it (or on the floor of your bedroom sobbing). 

EXPERIENCING HAPPINESS THROUGH PAIN

The passing of my dad didn’t really hit me until after the funeral. Ironically, my grief became marginally better once I took my dads ashes and spread them on the Derbyshire hills, that he loved so much. I had a great network of friends that kept sending me messages and phone calls to see how I was coping, and having great banter with my work colleagues kept me going. The sound of my laugh feels a little strange and having a sense of euphoria in my body feels both wonderful and foreign at the same time. Laughter and happiness have not been in abundance recently but I haven’t stopped welcoming them. I search for them. I’m dedicated to finding them. I’m opening doors and creating opportunities for them to walk in. Although to this day months on, I still feel guilty for not making him better but I won’t ever feel guilty for any happiness I find, create, or enjoy because life is for the living and heck I know my dad would agree.

WHERE AM I NOW?

At this point, the fog is still very dense but it’s just starting to lift and I can remember where I put things and what task I was in the middle of doing more so than at first. I feel like I can formulate sentences whereas at first I was sometimes wondering if I’d remember my own name. That grey fog over my world making it hard to see what I was doing or remember where I was heading has begun to lift, and although the skies are not clear, I have a better sense of place and can see what is going on around me.

A simple task of grocery shopping made me feel like I was walking around with this huge secret and while everyone else was just (seemingly) buying groceries, I was looking like I was buying groceries but really just trying not to start crying in the frozen aisle. I still frequently find myself crying. The emotion just literally comes over me like a flash and I can’t stop it. But, I’ve learnt to cry and it’s ok.

The depression has now swept into the place where anxiety was initially residing. Sleeping was impossible at first and now is qualified as ‘difficult’. I know that I will feel like less blood is gushing out of an open wound in my chest as time continues to tick on. I know that one day I will have a whole day where I don’t cry but I haven’t seen one of those days yet.

I appreciate ‘the reel’ keeps playing new slides and I will keep navigating my way through the fog with the blood on my shirt, the hole in my heart, the everlasting love for my dad, and the compassion for myself as I continue to navigate this path. 

WHAT I’VE LEARNT ABOUT MYSELF

When my father died I tried so hard to be strong for my mum showing everybody how resilient I was. I learnt very quickly you can only put on an act for so long. Pushing the pain below the surface is exhausting. It’s OK to lose your composure, to have an outburst of emotion in public or privately at home or to completely fall apart. We take a lot of strength from our parents, so when you lose one of them, it’s crushing.

I’ve come to realise how strong I am. No-one actually knows how they will deal with losing a parent. You only have an idea. The reality is very different. For me, I was completely numb for weeks. It didn’t seem real. There was so much to organise regarding the funeral events. Stuff you’ve never had to deal with before. Questions you’ve never even had to think of let alone ask. Then there’s the aftermath. The clearing out of belongings and all the administrative dealings. You will be surprised how your coping mechanism kicks in without you really ever thinking of it.

THE MILESTONES

When you lose a parent it’s the big milestones that really test you. I’ve just had my first one – Fathers Day. The big birthdays, the achievements, the weddings, the stories. For Fathers Day I bought a card and drove to Derbyshire where his ashes are spread were I sat and read it out to him.

I’m not going to lie, like I mentioned, at times, the pain is just as raw as it’s ever been. But generally, I’ve entered a new stage of my grief. When I’m reminded of my dad, I use it as an opportunity to cherish his memory, and to dedicate a minute or two of my day to him. Now I live every day and my father is there no matter what I’m doing, and I’m grateful he touched my life in such a powerful and beautiful way.