21. Feb, 2019

Loss and connection

There is a sense of emptiness to life without a mum, and although I was lucky to have her around for 52 years of my life, the void her death has left behind can never be filled by another. I didn’t just lose a mum, I lost a part of my life. Another home to go to, a door I could walk through without knocking where I could amble to the fridge and make myself a sandwich, another place where I was always welcome because it remained a part of me.

This week as I stood in a chapel of the same funeral home with the same celebrant who conducted my mum’s service, her death came flooding back. However, my grief was twofold, because I sat there watching on in sheer horror at grieving parents farewelling their beautiful 35-year-old daughter who just happened to be my second cousin, the tragedy of her death was so unfair and incomprehensible. Jess lost her fight to cancer and left in her wake was one of the closest and bravest families I have met.

Left behind were a mother and father and brothers and sisters who should never have had to stand beside the coffin of their stunningly beautiful daughter and sister, two amazingly brave and grief-stricken children and a husband who although utterly devastated, proudly recounted how he fell in love with Jess the first moment he set eyes on her. He was so smitten at first sight he went home and told his family that he had met the girl he was going to marry. They had thirteen short years together, so many short of a lifetime.

And not to compare grief, but it is one thing to stand beside the coffin of your 82-year-old mum, to farewell a full life lived and another to be paying tribute to your young daughter.

Grief is grief though and when I saw Jess being taken away in the same white hearse my mum left in it brought me undone, tears cascaded down my cheeks as I wondered and hoped whether there is a place where mum’s and Jess’s spirits will meet and I couldn’t help thinking if that is so, then mum would welcome Jess in her maternal open arms and help her settle in to watch on as her family coped with her passing.

Embracing my cousin, whom I have always loved, I realised there were no words and “I’m sorry” would never cut it, but I remembered what it meant for me to be surrounded and supported by my family at mum’s funeral and I took some comfort in knowing we were at least there to help in some small way to share in carrying the burden of their loss.

For me, grief feels like I am living under perpetually cloudy skies, with the threat of rain always present all I can do is hope that at some stage those clouds will part and in time rays of warming sunshine will touch my soul.

It’s six months since mum left us. It is hard to believe. They say time heals all wounds. How much is enough? The aftermath of death and loss is difficult to come to terms with, for me, the reality of her departure didn’t really set in until all the well-wishers, although well-meaning returned to their lives and with nothing left but crickets sounding, the emptiness and the reality of life without my mum really hit me. To be honest, I have struggled to come to terms with our loss, she was much more than my mum, we spoke almost every day, I am however blessed with an incredible sister and brother and our connections have become even stronger since mum’s death.

I sat with my dad and stepmum, my sister and my brother at the funeral and thought this is my new family, my relationship with my dad has also deepened and it is lovely to have him play a more active role in my life. This is my new “normal”, my life without mum. It is at times like these the importance of family comes to the fore and I know my cousin will need every connection she has to get through the storm of emotions that will follow her daughter’s death. She is strong and resilient but also human. My therapist once said, “we all need somebody Nic” at a time when my depression was causing me to push everyone away, and those words stayed with me. They remind me it’s okay to reach out and ask for help when we are down and that the people who truly love you will always be there to help pick you up.

It’s been a tough week, I have pondered on the indiscriminate nature of life, how someone so seemingly fit and healthy can be struck down with a diagnosis and be no longer with us three months later. Why others live to see a centenary of years and why so many souls don’t make it to their first breath.

All I can do is look to the sky and seek solace in the thought that their souls have met and they are not alone, and us, well it is up to us to make sure we don’t find ourselves isolated, to reach out and grab that offered hand or the leg up because without connection we are at risk of losing ourselves to an emptiness and a void too deep to climb out of.