The 'right kind' of grief

I wasn’t sure how I would write this one because it seemed so strange to be writing about it and I wanted to get it right. Then I thought about it and decided that ‘hang on a second…. I’m the one who decides whether it’s right or not!’ And so here we are, me just doing my thing.

A year ago, I wrote about finishing my first week at my job post-uni. It was an odd week. At the beginning, I was finally starting my post-uni life and embarking on a career, I’d bought my own car, COVID seemed to be somewhat under control. Sadly, on the Friday morning, I woke up to discover that my grandma had passed away asleep in the night.

It wasn’t a death which came as a huge shock to us. She was 92, and had suffered for a number of years with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, which got markedly worse over the year before she died. But of course, it hurt, because she was somebody so very important in my life, a figure who had been there throughout. In my mind, I don’t remember her as she was, I remember her as the woman she was in my childhood. Someone full of strength, who had lived a long life and could be counted on for wisdom and support. That was her. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, because it takes that person from you, without consent from anyone. And despite the anger you have for it, there isn’t yet anything we can do to stop it.

I don’t think I really knew how to deal with a loss like that, because it was the first loss I’d faced on that level. It wasn’t one which felt somewhat distant or detached, it was someone I felt I knew well and someone I loved dearly. It was a strange day. I was fine on the drive into work. It was only when I parked up outside the office that it hit me like a punch to the gut, and tears came from nowhere. It felt like the bottom had completely dropped out of my world, like I was adrift, unable to get control. And yet somehow I managed to get it together, hold myself together through a day of work. I didn’t even know how to tell the people around me, my new colleagues. It felt like it would have been too much, or some kind of odd burden. I don’t think I ever did tell them. I regret that a little bit now.

The year since that has been one of the strangest. My grandma lived with my aunt, and so when we go to visit, her chair is there. It’s still her chair in my mind. I sat on it once when we were there, but I don’t think it lasted very long before I had to move. It just wasn’t right, a little voice in my head was telling me that she would want it back any second now. I’ve visited her grave, where she was buried next to my grandad, who I never knew. I don’t think there’s been a time yet I haven’t ended up crying. I never quite know what to do at a graveside. Should I say something? Like… out loud? Should I just think things? Or am I meant to just kind of… stand there? I don’t know what to do at all, if there even is a ‘right’ thing to do.

Sometimes, I find myself suddenly filled with immense anger or sadness, which just has a different quality to any I’ve felt before. It seems to last for a few days at a time, and I don’t know how to cope with it. At first, I don’t realise it, which leaves me snapping at people and reacting strangely to things. Then it hits me, and I feel bad that it happens. But I’ve come to understand that some of that is just… grief. My brain telling me it still hurts, that the wound might not be open anymore, but it’s left a painful scar. And of course it did. I shouldn’t be harsh on myself. It’s someone I loved, who I lost.

But you know what, sometimes there’s things that bring me comfort. Whether she knew what was going on or not, she was alive for me to complete university and get a degree, to find a job and buy a car. She was alive to ‘see’ (in one way or another) me become an adult. Sometimes it’s nice to think that perhaps she held on long enough to know I’d done it, finally grown up. I’m glad I was able to know her at all, because I think the memory of her will stay with me forever. She left such a mark on my life. And, even though it feels narcissistic or conceited to say it, I think she would be proud of the person I grew up to be, the person I am now. I think I made her proud, and I hope that everything I go on to do will make her proud too.

As she would say, “come on now, let’s have no more tears!” So, I’ll raise a glass to her, and remember her with a smile. She was an incredible woman, and if I can be half the person she was, then I’ll probably have done all right.

 

"It’s a simple plot but I know one day, good things are coming our way” – ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ by Coldplay