Adapting to life after loss.
Life after loss is a daunting prospect for loved ones, charting unknown territory for some, re-experiencing feelings of loss for others. How do we navigate this imposed journey that given a choice, would not be welcomed? I can only tell you about my experience, which will be different to yours, but you may take some comfort from knowing that you are not alone in your journey; there are people around us everyday that have experienced loss, some choose not to talk about it, but I have always found that talking is exactly what I have needed, and I encourage others to share their experiences also.
As an adult child of two parents who were happily married for over 40 years, I felt my world crumble when my mum announced she had stage 4 cancer. I had just given birth to my first child, a longed-for first grandchild for my parents. I vividly remember the day she had been to see her consultant with my dad. They came straight to my home, and she told me the news. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry, and I didn’t know what to do, so I put my arms around him and told him it would be ok, we’ll all get through this together because we always do.
My mum was a big character, the lynchpin of our family, the gatherer of friends and relatives. She would greet us with her fantastic smile and a hearty laugh, then scoop us up into her arms for a hug and as usual we would be welcomed into her warm heart. She was safety, she was home, she was my role model for life, and I had never contemplated losing her. But it was now going to be reality, and we needed to prepare together as a family, which is exactly what we did.
When she started to lose her hair due to her chemotherapy treatment, she gathered my dad and I into the living room and bravely said “today is the day” and handed my dad a pair of scissors and a razor. We gathered round and together we did what she had asked. Losing her hair was a huge deal for a lady who styled it every morning without fail. Her hair was part of her identity, almost like it had its own personality!
As a family we spent a lot of time together during the last year of her life, partly due to me taking the decision to move in with my parents after my relationship broke down with my child’s dad. This arrangement offered many benefits, I could help with caring for mum and she could spend many hours enjoying her time with her longed-for grandchild. They absorbed each other, their bond was special, and it still gives me joy when I recall those special times.
When she passed, we were not ready to let her go, we were not ready to live life without her; were we even capable of living without her? This brave, courageous lady knew that the end was coming; she had made peace with death, she told me she was not afraid of dying, she viewed it as a much-needed sleep. She told me that she wanted me to live a fantastic life with my child, but she never once mentioned what she wanted for my father, apart from laughing and telling me if he was to meet someone else, she would haunt him. That was her humour, sometimes dark, but often slapstick. However, I knew that she loved him so much that the thought of another woman wounded her deeply, but she was also aware that my dad was still young, with many years ahead of him and I now know that she did not want him to choose loneliness, living without companionship in the shadow of the love he lost.
In the 12 months that followed my mum’s death, my dad and I, along with my now toddler ploughed on haphazardly navigating our sadness, sometimes despair and awkward lunches out together, not knowing what to talk about. My mum, as I’ve already mentioned was our lynchpin, but what neither of us had realised was that she had also been our conversational intermediary! As a teenager I would often say “mum, can you ask dad……” and dad would often say to mum
“…. will you have a word with her about……”, and this had continued into adulthood. We had not directly communicated with each other for years without mum’s intervention.
I soon found that I wasn’t just navigating loss, I was navigating a whole new relationship with my dad. However, I recall thinking to myself, “well, now mum isn’t here to do this for me I can begin to build a solid relationship with dad”. However, the excitement at the prospect of a newfound closeness with my dad was soon to be turned on it’s head when he announced he’d been thinking of going on a date!
I distinctly remember the pit of my stomach dropped suddenly, “What do you mean you’re going on a date?! Who with? Oh my god, I can’t deal with this, I’m not ready”, and with that I scooped up my son and ran out of the door in shock, tears streaming down my face. Another loss, my dad, I would lose him to some ‘woman’. Fear running through me, grieving for mum stopped at this point and I now had to deal with something real and tangible, real and yet unreal all at the same time. I was spinning, the world felt different again, an invader into our lives was about to enter my world and I did not want anything to do with it.
I tried to have an adult conversation with dad about my feelings, but I would always retreat into child mode, he into father mode and both of us were lost in a swelling, swirling pile of words and emotions that neither of us knew what to do with. At a time when we both needed our conversational intermediary, she was no longer here to guide us through what became the most turbulent and distressing period of my life.
For a good 12 years my dad and I have battled, made-up, battled again and hurt each other without intention; circumstance and not meeting each other’s needs dictated our behaviours along with not knowing how to approach each other for resolution. It was easier to sit back and let it happen, if that meant not having to face each other and confront the pain we’d gifted one another.
Becoming familiar with self-reflection when studying to become a Counsellor has enabled me to look at my behaviour through a new lens. A vision I was not comfortable with at first; having to admit your failings as a supportive daughter was difficult. I was wrapped up in my own thoughts and emotions, not considering what my dad’s needs were. My dad equally was wrapped up in his own needs and emotions, not sparing the rest of the family from his newfound happiness when we were still feeling so sad. It was a confusing time for all. It was a time of divide to protect; to protect ourselves from those emotions none of us were eager to confront….and so we continued with our separate lives for many years, both of us wishing it was different, wishing we could find a new way of being.
My child now being a teenager reminded me of the years that had passed between my dad and I, and I felt a sadness sweep over me, one that seemed more urgent to address. My need to repair and rebuild was strong, my need to have a dad again was important. I decided to contact dad and to my surprise and relief he agreed that we should build a way forward together.
We still don’t speak in any detail about what happened between us, I think we have now settled at an unspoken contract, a peace treaty that serves us both well. I have now accepted dad’s new wife, and although I can never bring myself to refer to her as my step-mum (she is of a similar age to myself and always referred to by name or “my dad’s wife”) she is welcomed into my home for a coffee and a chat, along with my dad.
I have learned that through loss we change, we do not remain the same. We might learn a long hard lesson that benefits us eventually, allowing growth and healing to occur, new connections can be made, forming new relationships that alter existing relationships. Change is not always comfortable, but it is necessary for growth, and for some it can take longer to accept than for others. There is not a one size fits all approach to grief and loss; it involves evolution of self and acceptance of others around us. As Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler say in their book On Grief and Grieving “grief is a lifelong process, and that you learn to live with loss rather than “get over” it”.
Footnote from the author:
My initial reason for writing this blog was to give the perspective of an adult child losing a parent, however whilst writing I felt it was important to mention the grieving partner perspective. My writing didn’t feel whole without this, so I would like to thank my dad and his wife for giving their blessing and allowing me to post this publicly, and as always, I would like to thank my late mother for being a wonderful inspiration to me as always.
Talk · Heal · Together
If you have been affected by this article or found yourself identifying with any of the perspectives from which I have written, or would like further support with bereavement issues, please see the resources below:
Counselling (face to face and online/remote) www.aspenmorgan.co.uk
Cruse Bereavement www.cruse.org.uk
Young people living after loss www.hopeagain.org.uk
Moving forward with companionship, friendship, dating for bereaved widows & widowers www.chapter2dating.app
