Grief is like no other emotion I’ve felt because it isn’t just one feeling. It’s every feeling you can imagine, amplified. It can creep up on you some days in a quick burst and can linger like your shadow on others. Grief can disguise itself in so many forms and influence you in ways you never dreamed would be connected. They, whoever they are, say there are five stages to the grieving process. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance and although they seem to be placed together in a nice sequence, it really isn’t that straightforward, or at least it hasn’t been for me. Grief evolves. It changes with you because it isn’t something you get over. It’s something that becomes part of you that you co-exist with and adapt to, to the best of your ability.
I heard a loud noise, which I now know was my father struggling to breath. In the moment I had no idea what was happening. My mother and two of my brothers tried to help him with CPR and by calling him hoping he would respond. The ambulance took far too long. Terror, fear, confusion and complete panic are all I can remember. I waited at a neighbour’s house but somehow I knew the worst had happened. The man I idolised was gone. That’s it. A heart attack on Christmas Eve at 3.30am two days after I had turned twelve. He was 52.
Cue stage one of my grief, over a decade of being numb cleverly disguised as being absolutely fine. It was pretty convincing I can tell you, completely had me fooled. With the exception of a few memorable fits of crying in 10 – 12 years, I genuinely believed I was okay. It wasn’t until I hit the age of 23 and found myself incredibly sad that I started to question things. I blamed a fall out with someone I was close with at the time. I decided to go for counselling and shortly after the knots started to unravel and it became clear I was starting to thaw from my numb state. My grief was beginning to evolve.
What I describe as the second phase of my grief is difficult to pinpoint. In hindsight, the first stage is now so clear. I was frozen. But the next part, that was different. It was a blurry concoction of disbelief that I was only beginning to digest the loss coupled with a reluctance to continue down the road at all.
I’ve had a few panic attacks that I can remember around that stage. This was around the 14 year mark or thereabouts. I’d start out crying and before long it became difficult to breath. I would gasp for air and all I would want was for my father to be there and for that night to never have happened. I started to feel. It’s a strange sensation trying to comprehend that you really haven’t been okay all those years, that your body and mind have tricked you into a false reassurance. Then again, it was a necessary coping mechanism. I couldn’t process the magnitude of what had happened at age 12. That period of grief was sporadic. It’s like I was hovering between the state of being numb and realisation. Almost as if I was literally dipping my toe into the water to see what lay ahead of me.
That gradual awareness that he really isn’t coming back is overwhelming. That moment of epiphany has happened time and time again throughout the last 16 and a half years each time as painful as the last. I have tried on so many occasions to express that feeling and I can never quite achieve a description worthy of it. It’s like a sudden jolt in the pit of your stomach mixed with a profound remembrance of what is was like having that person around. It isn’t just a memory, it’s far more powerful than that.
Louise with her Dad Frank
The stage I’m at with my grief now, and I say my grief because everyone’s grief is different, is that this is the most that I have truly felt the loss. It’s a loss so vast that it can only ever be felt and never described accurately. Others will attempt to say the right thing, they may get it right but they may not because grief is something so profoundly personal to each individual. I’ve progressed from over a decade of being completely numb and under a false guise of “fine” to a confused state of limbo and of realisation to where I am today and that is a place of continued growth. That growth, although beyond painful, has in a strange way enabled me to feel at times empowered. I know that thawing from that numbness is a massive step forward and although there are many times of anger, frustration, sadness and even jealousy I accept that I’m human and trust that I will continue to adapt.
Ultimately what I have learned from my journey so far is there is no correct timeline to process loss nor is there any one way. I find great solace in writing and just being out among nature. I try and make time for both. It’s my nod to my grief that I’m not ignoring it. I know it’s there and that after years of being ignored it will finally be heard and hopefully gradually healed. Grief isn’t something you get over despite what you may be told. Your grief will progress and you will progress with it and you’ll find a way for it to walk alongside you in a positive light.
The key thing to remember I think is that although you won’t be the same… you WILL be okay.
Help information
If you need help please talk to friends, family, a GP, therapist or one of the free confidential helpline services. For a full list of national mental health services see yourmentalhealth.ie.
- Samaritans 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org
- Pieta House National Suicide Helpline 1800 247 247 or email mary@pieta.ie – (suicide prevention, self-harm, bereavement) or text HELP to 51444 (standard message rates apply)
- Aware 1800 80 48 48 (depression, anxiety)
If living in Ireland you can find accredited therapists in your area here:
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