Life without my parents, living with grief
Tags: Grief, Bereavement, Death And Dying, Grief And Loss

My mum died in March 2020. Still feels surreal to even type those words. Since my dad died over 30 years ago, this eventuality was at the back of my mind, but despite the anticipatory grief I’d experienced and being advised to “brace myself”, despite her being 90 years old, nothing could prepare me for these depths of grief. On that note — please don’t tell grieving people “she had a good innings!” — it makes not a jot of difference to how deeply her death has affected my family and I, and I can say that having lost my dad when he was in his fifties. I’m kinda managing, but some days it feels like a herculean effort. Following on from my dad’s death, I’ve learned that one day the pain won’t be as acute, but I also know I’ll never stop missing them.

I’m not always comfortable talking about it, I don’t want to drain others and sometimes I’d just rather not verbally acknowledge how hard it is. I’m not in denial yet not wanting to go on about it either, but still needing to express myself somehow, hence me deciding to write about it. For some reason, writing about it feels safer to me. Maybe because whoever reads this chooses to, and can click away from the topic rather than having to engage out of politeness. Or not deal with that awkwardness that many people have with discussing death, dying and bereavement. I feel almost self-centred talking about my losses, maybe that’s something I should deal with if I have therapy some day.

I was 13 when my father died from cancer on Father’s Day of that year. I went back to school a couple of days later, and of course I shed many tears but I’d never really considered how this loss affected me, and I’m still not even entirely sure in what ways it did. I didn’t talk much about it then either, I remember jotting down a few thoughts. It wasn’t until earlier this year when my eldest child reached the age I was when he died that I realised how young I actually was. It’s still strange to me that I’ve had many more years without dad than I did with him. Being in quarantine, I suppose I’ve had more time to be reflective on things.

I was very much a daddy’s girl, and was devastated when he died. Though he was strict, he was the one quicker to be silly with me, playing records and encouraging me to dance along with him, while mum was more the “law and order” parent. He worked nights, so he was with me throughout the days while mum was at work. Looking back, it could have gone way left with my relationship with my mum, but somehow it didn’t. As they had me much later in life, there was a big generation and cultural gap, them being born in 1920s Jamaica, me being born and raised in London. I was an adolescent, a typical stage for rebellion though I was quite a timid child. I recently pondered why we managed to grow closer and have few moments of discord.

Crucially, my mum reached the then retirement age of 60. She was home a lot more and that must have had a stabilising effect on me. Dad was the one who always there when I came home from school, now she was. He was always there to watch TV with me, now she was. I now realised she must have been much less stressed as she didn’t have to juggle working very long hours, home, kids. I don’t know how on earth she managed that while my dad was also terminally ill, but she did. Stopping work coincided with her being much more softer with me, and in many ways she became the mum I needed. She wore black for a year and mourned him for the rest of her days. We were united in grief, but she carved out a life for herself and I greatly admire her for that. She had several great friends as well as family who helped her on that journey.

After dad died, it was many many years until I could even play music he liked without bursting into tears. When mum died, I found it comforting to sing songs and even hymns that she liked. It goes to show that no two reactions to loss are exactly the same, even within the same person. It’s still early days, not quite a year yet since mum has gone. Her birthday was hard. Christmas has been very hard, though I kept it festive and jovial for my kiddos. From when I started seasoning the chicken on Christmas Eve, I was reminded of all the activities we’d do together that I’m now doing solo. Though I’m in my forties, I don’t feel ready to be a “matriarch”! New Year’s Eve is the one I’m low-key dreading as that was the time it was usually just the two of us seeing the new year in.

The World Health Organisation declared that the novel coronavirus became pandemic, then Mum died a few days later, the country soon went into lockdown. Thankfully my siblings, my best friend and cousins were there with me in the hospital room the night she died. I’ll never ever forget them for that. When my brother had to leave a few days later to fly back to his home, then it hit me hard that mum was no longer here. In some ways, the social distancing we then had to follow made everything harder — funeral planning, family not being able to visit, not being able to have the church service mum would have wanted. In other ways, it made things easier too. I didn’t really want to socialise, I didn’t have the pressure of keeping up appearances as the extra “pandemic pounds” I’ve acquired show.

As I said earlier, I went back to school a couple of days after dad died and I think that was the right thing for me to do at the time. With regard to mum’s passing, I could not deal with work at all, even though I would have been working from home more due to lockdown. I took compassionate leave then sick leave, and went back to work two months later; I felt I needed some sort of routine again. My sleep is better than it had been — my sleep had become severely disrupted being part of the “sandwich generation”, looking after mum and my children. I’ve honestly never known stress like it before and I hope I don’t ever again. Looking back, I have no idea how I kept it up and things were actually heading toward breaking point, I was considering changing or reducing my hours at work to cope. However I still find myself waking up too early, unable to fall asleep again most of the time. Though I’m open with my children about missing mum and I encourage them to express themselves and talk about their Nana, I save much (not all) of my tears for when they’re not around. It’s not good to repress my feelings so I just let loose and have a good bawl when they’re out. I’m finding it difficult to be motivated to do domestic tasks beyond the essentials of keeping the kitchen and bathroom reasonably clean, something I’d never struggled with before. I’ve stopped exercising altogether and am quite unfit and unbothered. I love running but now I am not motivated at all. I do know though, that waiting for motivation is a trap because sometimes that feeling never comes. Discipline and consistency is superior to motivation, because at least then things get done regardless.

Some would point out that these may be signs of depression. I don’t feel this way, I do think that these are somewhat normal, outward signs of my grief. I did have a moment where it all got too much, the collision of the demands from work and life in general made me just want to disappear or flee. I shut off social media, my phone, left the house for several hours and just sat in the park even when it rained. I even wanted to physically leave the country even for a couple of days but thanks to the pandemic, it wasn’t possible. I still don’t feel quite “right”, but the pain of losing someone who was the closest person to me is bound to affect me and my family in some ways. Even as dementia began to steal my mum from me, we formed many precious memories in that time when I was her carer.

Some days are easier than others. I find myself muddling through, as my mum must have done at some stage. I don’t feel hopeless. Though I have some dark moments, I do find myself chuckling at some memories and repeating certain phrases my parents spoke. It feels very strange and painful to be without mum AND dad. Though I’m far from alone in that many others are in the same circumstances and many are going through it at a younger age than I, you often feel very alone, like a ship without an anchor. I’ve had to be a grownup for a very long time, in some ways I suppose that began when dad passed away, but now I feel like the rug has been pulled from underneath me and I’ve got to figure out how to navigate this world without them. Sometimes that makes me feel vulnerable and unsure how to deal with this new normal. It’s a cliche, but I’m going to take each day as it comes.