My 33 year old sister died last August, shattering my life as I knew it.
She’d been battling alcoholism and depression for years. She was on a lot of medication (which to me, just exacerbated her struggles) self-harmed and was diagnosed bi-polar. All those labels. She was beautiful, witty, kind, stubborn, musical, wonderfully creative and the most generous human being both in heart and spirit.
She wasn’t perfect, like the rest of us, but she really was a joy to know, to have in my life and to have grown up with. I wasn’t aware of the extent of her struggles until just before the birth of my youngest son (4 years ago). I live almost 300 miles away but we kept in touch via texts and saw each other every summer.
My sister always used to visit me 2/3 times a year up until 6 years ago, I imagine when her addiction was taking hold. I feel devastated and totally bereft. She must have felt embarrassed and ashamed, but realising she suffered so much alone is heart breaking. I know how insidious and destructive alcoholism is. I ignored my instinct when it told me something was wrong, I didn’t act or voice my fears. The physical distance between us didn’t help matters either. Communication through phone calls masks a lot, the absence of reaction and non verbal body language. These feelings were and are natural, I struggled (and still do) a lot in the aftermath of her death, trying to make sense of this tragedy and attempting to let go of this guilt, regret and helplessness.
Maintaining good mental health is overlooked and there’s such a stigma attached, I feel, even today. Mental illness remains taboo, fuelled by ignorance, fear and lack of self awareness. We as a society place so much emphasis on education / intelligence. Emotional intelligence, being aware and in tune with our feelings, is hugely important for us as human beings to grow. We need to teach our children, the adults of tomorrow the importance of emotional health overall as the framework for our mental health.
I wish I’d acted on my fears and made more time for my beautiful beloved sister, who I miss desperately. Our last texts to each other were so poignant, I asked her to look after her health and told her that I loved and missed her so much, she replied echoing the same sentiment. Four days later she died.
That’s comforting, she knew I cherished her.
I have never experienced grief like it. Relentless waves of sadness feel suffocating and all encompassing. The awful frightening, hollowness that creeps up without warning. These last few days I’m trying to remember the good times. Her beaming smile shines out from photos I’ve placed throughout my home. I can feel myself treading water not drowning in this quagmire. The bond we shared was unbelievable, the physical and emotional longing for her often stops me in my tracks.
Initially I was frustrated, with doctors, psychiatrists in particular who wrote prescriptions like sick notes. Why wasn’t counselling pursued? Despair featured too, why could she not have told me the extent of her struggles. I would have done anything in my power to help. Powerless, helpless, how I feel. How my sister felt. Years of feeling so small and unimportant chipped away and eroded the very essence of who she was. Small steps can lead to big changes.
I tried to empathise and realise even getting dressed is a major achievement for an individual struggling with depression. Exercise, diet, sleep and maintaining good mental health, are so important, in their absence the body begins to crumble. I tried to encourage her to get a short walk everyday and to maintain contact. The issues my sister had were complex and I don’t know what the catalyst was. Did she drink to cope with depression, did depression lead her to self medicate with alcohol and become dependent? I’ve so many questions, but the sole person with the answers lies in a graveyard hundreds of miles from me.
I’m slowly beginning to accept that it was a horrendous battle for her and I couldn’t have done anything more, her fate was out of my control, ultimately it was out of hers. I try to reconcile my despair with the fact she’s not hurting anymore, the pain has ceased. I never gave up hope that one day, recovery could possibly happen. We have to hope, where there’s life, there’s hope.
My saviours have been my friends, reading poetry and writing it, pounding pavements and shore walks, howling into the blustery rain. Acknowledging my despair, fear, loss and sadness even though they’re often the last visitors I want when I’m trying to sleep. My life will never be the same again, but I’m surviving, I’m coping. The void will never be filled, yet I feel a bit of peace. Having loved her, being loved by her and sharing some wonderful, happy crazy memories gives me comfort. I hope it always will.
Grief will visit us all, how we cope with its ubiquity is paramount to moving forward, we need to carry it with us and let go of who we were before, because the grieving experience totally changes us and most importantly the fact that we never have to deal with it alone.
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