Things I’ve learnt about grief two years on from losing my dad
My dad died two years ago when I was 26 years old. He had been unwell for about five years before his death with an undiagnosed degenerative illness and in the months before had been rushed in and out of hospital so it felt like I was preparing for his death over and over again. Before he died, he had been doing much better but he died unexpectedly when I had just seen him a few hours before, told him I loved him and would see him again the next day. That night my mum put him to bed and he passed away instantly in her arms.
The two weeks after his death and leading up to his funeral almost felt like I was in a bubble. Friends were constantly checking in, I was off work, everyone expected me to feel awful and to an extent everyone around me felt the same too. When that passed and the funeral was gone, the frequency of calls and visits and messages dropped drastically.
People would still check in on big dates (birthdays, anniversaries, Father's Day) but the 'how are you' messages dwindled off. The start of the third year has hit me the hardest. I thought the first year would be the one to get through but my mental health plummeted the day the two year mark hit. I reached a stage of complete burnout, cried myself to sleep every night, cried constantly throughout the day, lost the ability to focus on work, slept for hours at the weekend but not at all at night. I felt exactly as I did in the moments after I lost my dad. I thought I was back at square one and that scared me – but those feelings are starting to ease and sometimes looking back on things is how you move forward again. So I’ve taken some time to look back at just how far I have come over the last two years, given myself some much needed grace, and reflected on everything I have learn in the two years since losing my dad:
Grief takes a toll on you physically as well as emotionally.
There are changes to your body that you won't understand. The brain fog, tiredness, aches and pains are exhausting. I think a lot of people expect you to be over it with a few weeks, or even a year and trying to carry on day to day is physically and mentally draining.
You’re not just grieving the person, you’re grieving a life. I am not just grieving losing my dad, I’m grieving the life I thought I was promised with him. I don’t get to see him become a grandfather, even know I know he would have been the best one ever. I don’t get to call him up when I need advice or help. I don’t get to share if I get a new job, or a promotion. I miss my dad and alongside that I miss being able to pick up the phone, pop round to see him, get his opinion or share a joke or a new song with him. You grieve everything that you should be doing with that person too and that means than everything good is filled with a tinge of sadness. To combat that I try and keep him included in it all – I talk to him, visit his grave, write to him and I know that somewhere out there, he knows it all and he is cheering me on.
Time doesn't heal but you get better at dealing with your wounds- no time away from my dad will make me feel better, it will only make me feel worse. But you get better at dealing with the pain. Your world around you becomes bigger and the pangs of grief are typically less frequent. The analogy people tend to use is that your grief is like a bouncing ball in a box that hits against the sides of the box, each time it hits a side you feel those grief pangs. The longer time goes on the bigger your box becomes and the frequency of those pangs is typically more spaced out. That doesn't mean that when they hit they are any easier and that some days your box will shrink straight back down and those pangs will feel more frequent again but you know that progress exists and even if it isn’t linear, you will be ok.
Not everyone will give you the support you need and that is ok, you need to focus on those who will. I remember every person that has never once mentioned my dad dying in the same way I remember every person that has showed up for me time and time again. As supportive as work try to be there is still a long way to go in adequately supporting bereaved employees in the workplace. Whilst I was never pressured to return to work and I actually returned of my own accord, the offers to take time off stop eventually and instead I've found myself using my holiday allowance to try and rebalance my mental health. If you have a headache, or a bug, or a cold its easy to say you need a day off to recover - but its not easy to say 'I need a day off because I really miss my dad'.
People say stupid things because they want to help but don't know how. They will tell you 'he's in a better place', 'everything happens for a reason', 'at least you had those years with him'. The worst one is 'he wouldn't want you to be said' - well I didn't want him to die. Half of your job after losing someone is guiding people who don't know how to deal with it. It is always better to say something rather than nothing, no matter how misguided it is - because there is nothing worse than someone who changes the topic of conversation when I bring up my dad because they don't know how to deal with it.
Offers of help are genuine and you should accept those, if you want to. If someone asks if they can do anything to help, its ok to accept that. If you need someone to talk to or if you need someone to sit with you or make you a cup of tea – you can ask and you should not feel guilty about that. You are absolutely not a burden.
In the same way, if you don’t feel up to something then you can use your ‘grief pass’. If you don’t want to do something or go somewhere or whatever else, you can absolutely say no – when I do have the energy and enthusiasm I encourage myself try to say yes, but if I am in the depths of grief – I have learnt that I am entitled to say no and I know that doesn’t mean my real friends will stop asking.
Grieving looks different to everyone and even looks different depending which day you are on. Some days feel like hiding away from the world and crying, others feel like doing something that person loved, others feel like laughing over your favourite memories. There are days when I grieve my dad quietly and alone, the nights are the hardest because you have time to be alone with your thoughts There are days when he is all I think about, and there are days when I don't - and both of those days hurt. There is no wrong way to grieve and anyone who tells you otherwise is projecting their own insecurities and inability to process their own emotions.
You should talk about them, it keeps them alive. My dad was funny, smart, caring, generous. He was the type of man that would light up any room he walked into. He had a soft spot for the outcasts, the misfits, the quiet ones in the corner. He had the best taste in music and films and TV. He was an amazing listener and offered the best advice. He would do anything for anyone and never expect anything in return. He put 110% of his heart and soul into everything he did and everyone he met. He was not perfect – no one is – but he had more love and compassion within him than anyone I know. He lived life to the fullest and I know he would want me to do the same.
Grief shapes you and it changes you and the way you look at things but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. If there is one silver lining to all of this its that I have become stronger and more resilient and I have re-evaluated what is important to me, my priorities have shifted, and I know who my true friends are. I still have a long way to go, I will be processing this for the rest of my life and I never expect it to get any easier. What I have learnt though is that life is short and precious and you have to make the most of it and I know deep down that for every bad day I have, I will have so many better ones. I will spend longer without my dad than with him but I would take 26 years with him as my dad than 100 with anyone else.