impossible to explain

 ‘impossible to explain’

t/w death and grief 


This article is dedicated to Ginge- my incredible Dad, I miss you very much.


Index: 

*Grief bubble-  A made up term used to describe the initial weeks after losing a loved one, where you receive an influx of flowers, meals, letters, and face masks to soften the blow.

*Griefy b- Grief breakdown, as a menty b is a mental breakdown.


The further away I get from January 17th 2024, the more I feel sorry for (and kind of envy) my past naive self, for thinking I had even the vaguest clue about how the next few months were going to pan out. On this day my Dad died unexpectedly whilst he was away working in Australia, and before I could even begin to try and process this loss, my first thought was yess I get the car all to myself! (That is a joke). My main thoughts were worrying about what life was now going to look like for the four of us. The plethora of emotions felt in this time and the extent that things have changed since, makes it feel like it’s been the longest five months of my life. But at the same time, it feels like only yesterday that I was hugging him goodbye before what was only meant to be just another work trip.


This dichotomous view of time seems impossible to explain; a recurring theme within grief, as it is unfortunately something you have to learn the hard way. But still, I write this blog in the hope that it somewhat helps with understanding the inexplicable and also offers some light relief to something so tragic. 


There is no way I would be able to categorise the waves of grief that I have gone through over the last six months into time periods. The only feeling (or lack thereof) I could place into a time frame is the numbness I experienced during the ‘grief bubble’*. Almost everyone you’ve ever heard of messages you with their condolences and lots of those kind people continue to check in. As comforting and thoughtful as these gestures are, in my experience the grief bubble occurs when you need it least. The shock of events delayed my emotional reaction so during this time where our house looked like a converted florist or I was receiving more messages than I ever had done before, all I could really think was awww those tulips are soo pretty or omg that guy I fancied six years ago just messaged me. 


It doesn’t take a grief expert to appreciate that the sadness of death isn’t something that goes away after a month, but naturally life goes on for everyone around you so it's unsurprising that the bubble pops around that time. I would encourage anyone who knows someone bereaved to keep checking in after these initial stages. My personal favourite forms of ‘thinking of you’ messages are weird GIFs or reels, these tiny gestures really go a long way.


It’s strange to think about how I used to imagine what grief would be like before this year- admittedly not something I did very often, but wow was I clueless. Needless to say it looks different on everyone, but I think I used to imagine there would be a lot of solo crying in your bedroom sessions about how much you miss them, and as much as the four walls of my university room and beloved housemates have witnessed a fair bit of that, in my experience the majority of grief goes unseen. These daily moments of countless reminders, internal cringing, and forced suppressing go unnoticed, making grief the lonely place it is advertised to be.  


For example, I find the days where I am functioning are often when I’m feeling it the most. Sometimes, keeping it together after constant triggers from simple reminders of that person, or feeling on edge in a social situation worrying that someone unknowingly is going to ask you about your parents, is more draining than the emotional days. The other day I was innocently asked what Dad does for work, “Not a lot these days” I quickly replied to shut it down. Or a few innocent people at work who knew him have asked “How’s he doing!!”. I think I just replied "Yes!" in my flustered state. The present tense 6 months after they've died is a real kicker. 


As someone who has always had aspirations, routine, and quite a high social battery, having to surrender to the notion of taking each day as it comes has been one of my hardest adjustments of grief for me. Not being able to book in plans with friends, work shifts, or even know whether I’m going to be able to complete my degree, in the knowledge that there is a probability I will be having a meltdown, is quite a scary way of living, and having to accept this has been one of the toughest pills I’ve had to swallow. In my experience though I have managed to become better at predicting those griefy bs* and preserving my energy. That is where the constant emphasis on self care comes in. Initially in my numb state I thought self care was just chilling and doing a face mask, I thought I’d nailed grief. A few weeks later I was humbled when my mum interrupted my 3 day movie marathon and suggested "Why don’t you have a shower darling?" (it really helped).


I’ve touched on navigating social situations; it can be difficult to find the balance between wanting to acknowledge it but also wanting normal time with your friends and to distract yourself. Having been at uni, I am grateful for the fact that the majority of people I hang out with I see most days, so they know how I work and can often judge when I want to talk about it. It also means I can avoid new second hand grievers giving me puppy dog eyes and tilting their heads with a pitiful look saying “How are you??:(“. I got a lot of this at my Dad’s funeral; people I hadn’t seen in 15 years asking how I’m coping. I would just stare at them whilst cracking open my eighth beer of the day and let them figure that one out. 


The funeral day was 100% the most surreal day of my life. It was such a nice day and we received an overwhelming amount of love. My older brother and I did the eulogies and the praise and support we received was incredible. Although a common theme in feedback I received was “Wow you and your brother were both amazing, you were great but Sam should really be a TV presenter he’s just sooo good looking”. Sick mate I’ll stick to radio. 


Leaving uni at the best of times is unsettling but being a novice of the real world and the grief world at the same time really is a lot. But I’m a glass half full kind of person and as much as I wanted to share this, I was conscious of coming across negative and draining. Grief is shite but it’s not all bad. My dark humour levels are at an all time high and the powerful perspective of experiencing how short life really can be is incredible. I really am so lucky in so many ways. I hope this scatty, intense, and real article has offered some light insight and understanding to anyone else going through grief or those who know people who are!! 


Lots of love, Ruby  

:)

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