Grief and the aftermath

My beautiful, youngest sister Von has been dead almost eighteen months now. Even reading that sentence still feels dreamlike, as if I’m reading someone else’s words, but no, they’re mine. Much has been said about grief, thousands of books are available on the subject, but until you breathe and feel every facet of it, no one has any idea how and if they’ll cope, until and when they experience it themselves.

I’ve read many articles and books trying to make sense of my feelings. But after a while I thought, these are words (well meaning words) but they’re not mine. So twelve days after my sister’s death I sat down and wrote in a copybook how I felt. I didn’t hold back, sometimes I couldn’t even see what I was writing as the tears were falling as fast as the ink coming through the pen, but afterwards I felt a bit better. Some pages took the form of open letters to Von, all the questions I never got to ask her when she was alive came tumbling out, the stark amount of question marks spoke volumes and upsetting as it was to write these, there was a sense of openness, if that makes sense. Not much did to me in those early days.

I filled two copies over the following weeks, maybe not writing for a few days, but always returning when the grief intensified, bordering on being unbearable. I always reminded myself that the next day and the days after may bring a difference, I hung on and those days got easier, to a degree.

I scribbled in notebooks, on scraps of paper and it was such a release for me to get this sadness out. I wrote so many poems about her illness, her addiction and her death, what it now meant for me and how my world just turned completely on its head. The searching for her really upset me, looking for her in crowds, on the street. My heart will skip a beat if I see someone ahead with a similar hairstyle and walk to Von’s. That still astounds me, that I look for her to this day. Obviously for me, truly accepting Von’s death is a long way off. I’m not ready to let her go, that’s okay.

My husband and friends have been great, so supportive and always willing to listen if I needed to talk, but the act of expressing my pain, through words and art has always helped me. Healing through creativity is how I survived, I realise everyone has different coping mechanisms, but it has and is continuing to work for me.

Keeping busy has saved me and I mean that in the truest sense of the word. Sometimes I just have to cry the sadness out, or write it down. Of course that’s not always convenient when I’m unloading a shopping basket and hear a song that reminds me of Von. Even seeing a packet of noodles in someone else’s basket, or the smell of toast can set me off. Those tiny details trigger the most profound memories, the grief’s always there, hovering like a shadow, ready to prod and poke and remind me it’s not going anywhere soon. The dark stuff seems to overwhelm the good memories. Hopefully time will allow us to embrace the happy times. Von brought so much happiness into our lives with her huge kind heart, her generosity, her unwavering optimism and energy (in earlier years), wacky personality and by just being herself.

I hear her laugh just before I fall asleep and that wee Derry twang she had. I hope that never fades, nor her smile from my memories. The finality of death is one of the most difficult aspects – the realisation that I’ll never hear her voice, or her big infectious laugh. We’ll never speak to one another again, give each other a hug, it’s those little things. I’ll never see (those ‘big biscuit letters’ as I jokingly called them ) her handwriting on cards / letters. She’d write the most beautiful, heartfelt messages – how she loved me with all her heart and that even though we were so far away from each other, we were so lucky to be sisters because we always had and would always have each other. She was truly wonderful with words and so expressive. I’ve found so many birthday cards from her, they turn up like little treasures when days are tough.

I wish recovery had happened for her. I wish a lot of things. People say you never recover from the death of a loved one, especially when death occurred in such tragic circumstances. It’s true, to an extent, the loss just becomes a part of life that you carry with you. There are days when that loss feels so heavy, those days will come and they will pass. There’s a new kind of normality to life when grief becomes a part of it.

Death cannot and will never take our bond away.

I’ll never be the individual I was before the 19th August 2015.

Recovery takes time. It’s hard when the sadness manifests itself and life’s hustle and bustle continues on, detachment seems easier and a form of protection. Sometimes it is, but we need to keep going, we have to. We have to wade through grief, a little bit at a time and hope one day inner peace will find us, bringing with it memories of happier times. It’s the journey there, that’s the daily battle. As long as I can write it out, I’ll be okay and that is enough now, for me.

Read Lorraine’s first A Lust for Life article ‘The loss of my sister – A journey of grief and beyond’ here.