Secondary Grief

Heading into August was always a horrible time. My dad passed away in the middle of the month and the date used to just hang there, waiting for me. Even when I wasn’t consciously thinking about it, I could feel my mood change and my defences go up. Then September brought my parents wedding anniversary, my birthday arrived in November; and then it’s Christmas. So many reminders of what life used to be like, and how it would never be that way again. It took me a very long time to break through that cycle. I spent a lot of years feeling like I never would. 

I was 15 when my dad passed away. For years I found myself experiencing what felt like a fresh bout of grief at certain times of the year. Secondary grief: when you attach meaning to a date or experience, and you go through that feeling of loss all over again. It’s one of the worst tricks your heart and mind can play on you. I say it’s a trick because in truth, the day or the season make very little difference. But trick or not; at those certain times of year, or at events, it can feel like someone is reaching into your chest and squeezing your heart. Christmas was, for so long, completely unbearable for me.

You wouldn’t have known it if you’d sat next to me at the dinner table, but I would be the last person awake on Christmas day, staring off into space, feeling empty and numb. Another Christmas that didn’t feel right, another year about to pass that my dad hadn’t even seen. This wasn’t a short, sharp, stab of pain or a memory; it was a lingering weight that I couldn’t get out from under. 

Then I would go to a family wedding and feel like I was back at square one, like I hadn’t  made any progress and, for me I think that was true. I hadn’t let myself grieve properly because I was devastated, completely focused on missing my dad, never allowing myself to enjoy what I had. It’s like I had a layer around me that nothing could really break through; every celebration we had reminded me that I’d lost my family when I was a teenager, and nothing was going to bring it back. So, how do you even begin to climb over obstacles that vast?

The answer is, you don’t. When that obstacle is a death of a parent at a young age, it’s impossible. What I did – eventually and with a lot of help from others – is to learn to reframe it. I had to stop thinking of it as something I had to get over. 

The pain I felt was because I was lucky enough to have had a wonderful childhood, amazing Christmases and memorable get-togethers. I stopped trying to replace that. My dad was with me, at every single party and on every birthday, I just had to allow myself to embrace that and be positive about it. It took years, but I tried to look forward and to make new memories. I celebrated having my dad in my thoughts, I thought about how proud he would be of me for making a little bit of progress every year.  

It didn’t happen overnight. It took a long time. And, sometimes, on bad days, I still let the negativity pile up. But when I started to have more good anniversaries than bad, when I was able to enjoy events again without wanting to leave, I realised that the old cliché is absolutely true; the person who you’re missing wouldn’t want you to be missing them. They would want you to be getting everything you can from life. 

I am so glad I got help. I spent a lot of years suffering in silence, believing life would never be as good again. Now I get to be the person who tries to make Christmas and birthdays memorable for my own family. I know how to do that, my dad taught me.