The Hardest Heartbreak: Notes on Grief

Illustration courtesy of @thepaperose on Instagram.

“I just sobbed to a Craig David song. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was an emotional one, but the outburst came out of nowhere. Some days, even five years on, I still struggle to control my emotions. It’s like there is this dead weight on my body. Lowering my resilience and ability to cope, and it all comes back to grief.

Grief. Loss. Death.

It’s not something we talk about as a society. It is almost a taboo. And I am not here to depress or scaremonger you, but just be real. It can be something which rarely happens around this topic. 

When my Dad died from lung cancer on 2 November 2014 everything collapsed. I felt orphaned and the whole world looked different. I knew that nothing would be the same again. The day it happened, I called my best friend and she said, ‘this is f***ing sh**’. You know what? To this day, this is the most accurate thing anyone has ever said to me. People don’t know what to say, they give you these glances, they go ashen whenever you mention death, they say ‘they’re at peace now’ or ‘they’re in a better place’, when really, there aren’t any words to summarise loss, apart from how truly heart-breaking it is. 

Nothing about loss is ok. Not one thing. And there is no way to prepare you for the feeling. However, if I had to give any advice on this subject, it would be to go with what you are feeling, when you are feeling it. A week after I lost my dad I started a new job. It was one of the worst decisions I ever made. Of course, to work through grief can be a coping mechanism for some and at the time I think it somewhat provided that service to me, but what it disabled me from doing was processing recent events and taking time to recognise them. I dragged myself through the following ten months, failing at my job and consequently spiralling into a depression. I left that place and then fell into another job, until 18 months after losing Dad I hit a wall. The red mist of anger had cleared and I simply felt numb. Nothing mattered. I had gained weight, I did not want to leave the house, I struggled to socialise; everything came to a halt. At this point, I knew I had to do something. I had consulted the doctors a couple of times prior to this but it was the third one who recognised that my depression was largely grief related and she recommended a grief counselling service called Cruse. This changed my perspective on everything.

The first session was hideous. It dredged everything up again and it felt as real as the day it had happened. I didn’t know what to expect initially, but to plummet back into the depths of fresh grief was not it. However, the following four sessions were enlightening. The counsellor listened and untangled a lot of emotions, but she also gave some practical advice. She told me that grief will never get smaller, but that my life will grow around it. This was sobering. The feeling that it would be my companion forever was terrifying, but it enabled me to gain some control over it. This feeling would pass, at least at some points, and everything I had felt and was feeling was completely normal.  

Six weeks after the sessions with Cruse ended I secured a job at Cancer Research UK. Daily, I was presented with images which were close to home, but to be indirectly doing something about it, putting up some sort of fight, felt liberating. It relit the fire in my belly which I needed. Being able to feel as though I was doing something proactive to aid other families losing loved ones was cathartic and it is something I will forever be grateful for. 

 Do I have any advice?

There isn’t a cure for grief. Each person deals with it completely differently and that is ok. But if I could give any advice from my own experience, this would be it: 

Take time.

Recognise how terrible it is that this has happened and address whatever you are feeling at whatever moment. Emotions will come in all shapes and sizes, in different intensities and at different times - what is important is to acknowledge this.  

Get help if you need it.

There is help out there. It could simply be telling a friend or family member that you need them or it might be in the form of something more professional, like counselling. Whatever it is, don’t be afraid to ask for it. 

Look after you.

I found charity work helped me feel proactive in fighting the disease which stole my Dad from me. For you it could be anything: eating healthy, exercising, binge-watching Netflix dramas - do things which help you cope and feel more you, it’s important. 

 The grief journey I was on has continued. The heavy weight still presents itself. That feeling of nothingness rears it’s head even a few years on. And I know that it will come and go in differing strengths. If I have a day where I am tired or hormonal, when my ebb is low, the grief will often be my most evident emotion. But the difference is that I don’t feel as though it has me in its grip anymore. I have felt the searing anger, the feeling nothing, the pure heartache, and I am aware that they could come back for a visit at some point. However, I now feel able to talk openly about Dad and losing him. I want to share my story because grief can be such a lonely place. I would give the world to give him a cuddle or hear his voice again, but though that can’t be, hopefully I can try to help others who might be going through the same thing.”

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If you resonate with Siobhan’s story and would like to get in touch, you can find her at @siobhanm7 on Instagram.