Loss, grief and growth
One of the reasons I started a journal-style blog years ago called Mind Your Self was to be a journal for myself, a look at how and why I did what I did so I could reflect and share. This is what I wrote back in 2017.
It's now nearing the end of 2024, and 2025 is the 30th anniversary of Pete’s death. I have been sober for 8 years. Grief evolves.
We talk about life a lot don’t we- what it should be, how it should be, when we will get this and that. We set goals, plans, and schedules, and time goes by, and we talk. A lot about doing, then don’t, we say we will and won’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we are, why we say what we do, why we don’t do what we say. I have been coaching for a long time now, and I learn every day something about myself, how it impacts me, influences me, my words, actions, choices, and reactions.
Twenty-five years old, I was oblivious to reflection and reviewing -that was an action I did in my job when I had an annual appraisal at work. I also never thought about my weight, shape or size. I lived my life spontaneously, working, resting and playing. I was opinionated sometimes, not for the good, and I was strong, direct, fun with others, said without consideration, and had no fear or doing as I just did, I was me who I wanted to be. I would do what I wanted and did it, I got on with it, I loved working, I was good soul, I had a good life.
A young married woman, mum of 2 babies, 3 years and 8 months. I have been married for 4 years and 7 years with my husband, Pete; we had our own home we were renovating, good jobs, money, balance, and friends. I had arguments, temporary fallouts, moodiness, and lots of love, laughter, and genuine pride in what I did. I didn’t doubt I truly recall that. I lived life fully and happily, breezily really; I don’t recall any self-doubt; my life didn’t feel pressure by my own internal self or externally from others. If I was pissed off, I would say move on; if I was happy, I would say and move on. I had an everyday, balanced life.
THEN THAT VERSION OF ME DISAPPEARED. GONE. FOREVER.
AUGUST 18TH 1995, was the day my world changed forever.
EVERYTHING.
My thoughts, feelings, behaviour, attitude, self, home, normality, breathing, life, love, role, place in the world changed. Every minute, every breath, every movement, every thought, every action taken so breezily before that day now hurt, and it was like a flashing, annoying neon light and tannoy going off in my head. Sad, bad, pain, agony, guilt, shame, doubt, worry, upset, pure self-hate, loss, grief, shock, horror, panic, and a sadness that I can carry somedays heavily, 24 years later.
This isn’t’ about Pete, I could write about him. I am not Pete. I do not know what it must feel like to believe that the only way is to leave the earth, to choose to leave. The pain I had and still have, I can only imagine he bore it worse; it must have been so painful for him, so much that he couldn’t bear it. I will never understand his choice, yet I have always respected his decision, and I can’t explain that either. I loved him. He was my best friend. He was my world at that time.
Pete died by suicide. He was 28 years young. He didn’t die straight away. He passed away, his final breath on me, several hours later in hospital. This itself made me sadder for him. He left behind debt and doubt.
I have never felt anger towards him, never hated him; I still feel, after all these years , so sad that I wasn’t enough; I didn’t see his pain, torment, anguish, agony that was so much he chose to die. I didn’t see it, I was his wife, his soulmate, his best friend, his forever friend. I didn’t see it.
I didn’t hear it.
I didn’t doubt it.
I didn’t fear it.
I thought love was enough.
We were a team; we could do anything.
We were invincible. We weren’t, aren’t and never will be.
SUICIDE IS A TERRIBLE THING FOR THE ONE THAT CHOOSES AS THAT IT IS THEIR ONLY WAY TO EASE THEIR PAIN. FOR THE ONES LEFT BEHIND, WE CARRY THEIR LOSS FOREVER, AND ULTIMATELY, THEIR PAIN BECOMES YOURS.
We can’t tell them, help them, see them, hear them, touch them, love them, or care for them; we are left to work it out, step forward, and live.
Thats hard.
I drank.
I fell.
I broke.
I got up time and time again.
I was sad.
I stayed in this place of pain for so long.,
Made worse by the fact Pete’s family deserted us. They didn’t want us. They wouldn’t see us. I lost it all. I cried, like a howling dog some days it felt like someone was tearing me from the inside. It felt so heavy, like dragging my pain around, and that’s when I put on a show. I drank more. 23 years later, I stopped drinking. It did take that long. I didn’t need to mask it anymore. I didn’t want to feel ill, shame, sadness anymore. I wanted to love, live, and truly laugh. I wanted to see just the good. I wanted to be me. I couldn’t; she was gone. I needed to find me. I was lost.
Through the drink, the sadness and lots of fun were experienced, the smiles still exist when the pain is ripping through you, which itself hurts more, the duplicity of pain, and the desire to be “normal” and to have a good day.
I had another baby, a disastrous relationship that should never have happened as he couldn’t care for me, couldn’t bear the pain for me, couldn’t share it , couldn’t love my precious girls, and he couldn’t love me, I was never going to let him either. I self-destructed, and so did he. The duplicity again of grief, creating a fantastic baby in amongst all that, the pure joy of motherhood.
The choice to keep going.
Single mother of 3.
I drank still.
The hurt was now layered, and the guilt was validated.
The pain grew with time, not dissipated.
People get bored when they think that time has passed and that you should be alright now; they also expect you to be who you once were. That person dies when you lose someone you love. They don’t exist, they can’t. You, no one, can be that same person who changed in that instance, that moment, or that day. When someone dies and I can only talk about suicide loss here, a part of you, your life, your present, your future dies with them.
You are grieving for not just them but for the future you had planned, which then carries more guilt, as it’s selfish; its a cascade of suffering that bares down on you. It feels overwhelming. Then I drank. I got strength and carried on; it became the crutch, the habit, the grief bearer, the carer, the disguise, the mask.
I could share more of the horrors of real grief and loss.
What people do and say to you as they have no idea how to help. Yet when you are amidst of grief yourself you only see black, darkness, grey, badness, and you cant see that others maybe struggling too, as you cant even see through your own struggle quite yet.
People ignore you, tell you to move on, tell you to get a grip, and are embarrassed by you.
People don’t stay around.
The very very select few do. I have 4 of those people. I can call on even now, 24 years later. 3 no more.
I am still healing. I am still working it out 24 years later.
It’s easier. It’s been easier the past 13 years as I have my husband, another best friend, another soul mate, and another human connection I never thought I would ever have. It blows me away, it scares me, the pain sits between us somedays,
I have made Daves's life hellish at times as I have borne the pain on him, rained it down on him, the agony, pushed it towards him as I had no one else too share it with, I couldn’t carry it somedays, so I shoved it his way, and he stood firm, he didn’t waver, he didn’t leave, he didn’t choose to go. He stayed. He has shown me that love is good and that I am enough.
He allowed me to see Pete's wonderfulness when I could only see pain. He breathed the magic of memories I had with Pete and the girls. He saw the real me and waited till I permitted myself to be me. I married Dave in 2009, 3 years after meeting Dave, 14 years after Pete passed. It was one of the happiest and scariest days of my life. I was still in the depths of grief, and Dave just accepted it, and I wasn’t. It’s also the best decision of my life. My marriage has been the most revelatory, transformative experience to happen to me since Pete.
I can see, feel, hear, desire, want, need, love, share, care, accept, and allow now; I couldn’t do that before.
I don’t drink; I have been sober now for over 10 months.
The drink was a veil, a mask that I no longer needed.
This story will live on, Pete’s life gave so much to us.
Dave carries that forward so bravely and lovingly with us.
I cherish the memories.
I accept the tears when they come.
I see hope, love and happiness, memories and joy.
The pain sits alongside now and is bearable, doable, and acceptable. I will never be that 25-year-old woman; I am better now. I like me. I am growing and changing every day, which continues to astound me.
LOSS AND GRIEF ARE PART OF LIFE, AND NO MATTER HOW MUCH TIME PASSES, ALLOWING OURSELVES TO GROW THROUGH THE GRIEF AND LOSS IS A TRUE GIFT TO OURSELVES.
