How life is never the same following bereavement, but still, there is life …

"... tonight in my kitchen 
as summer rain finally fell 
I listened to your playlist 
sang my heart out 
feet tapping 
hips swaying 
embracing the joy of life 
thankful for what we had 
and for all that is yet to be ..."

I expect that everyone reading this will have been impacted by the loss of a loved one.  It’s a funny thing, bereavement, you never know how it will affect you and each time is different. The circumstances will be unique for both the person who has died and for you who lives on.  Experiencing bereavement as a young person will be very different to how you approach it as you get older.  And, of course, your relationship with the person will shape your response to both the process of dying and their ultimate death.   

You may lose someone suddenly and the shock of it can rock you to the core.  You’ll probably regret all the things you never had chance to say; the things you planned to do together that never happened; the questions you always meant to ask but never found the right time or place.  I’ve lost count of how many people have said to me, over the years, to remember to tell people that you love them and to say the hard things before it’s too late.  It’s not easy advice to follow. 

Then there are the anticipated losses: loved ones that have a terminal diagnosis.  You foolishly think you’ll be prepared and you brace yourself for the worse.  But no matter how much you think you’re ready to say goodbye, you won’t be.  Even when you know that letting go is the best thing for them, it’s still hard.  You grieve whilst they are dying and then you grieve again when death comes. 

In my experience, you’ll be guided by them. When my dad was given a diagnosis of less than 6 months to live, he was very matter of fact about it, which meant I had to be as well.  Loving a person means you respect their wishes, no matter how much it goes against your gut instinct.  

I’ve always believed that the best way to honour the dead, is to live your life to the full.  That’s what they would want for you, I’m sure.  That’s how I’ve tried to approach every bereavement I’ve experienced and it does help, particularly when you go through tough times.  It’s the best prompt there is to make the most of every day you have. 

My best friend died from a rare cancer that she was determined to fight.  Even when she went into the hospice for what we all knew were her last days, she was sure she was there for respite only. She died when she was just 49 and it felt utterly tragic.  I didn’t think life would ever be the same and, true, in some ways it isn’t.  There’s a hole in my life that no one else can fill.  But lots of life carried on regardless, as it must.  We did have the opportunity to say the things we wanted to say, and I’ll always be grateful for that.  I’ll never forget the wisdom she bestowed, which has guided my days without her.  

There are so many times I wish I could talk to her, but can’t.  There have been rare occasions, since she died, when I’ve felt her presence so keenly and even heard her voice.   At times that has brought me comfort, other times it’s given me a kick up the backside; always it makes me grateful for what we had. 

I wrote this poem some years after Karen died. It was my way of telling her I was okay.  We’d listened to a lot of music together, danced and sang our way through many a favourite track. For a long time, I couldn’t listen to the music we shared; the fact that I was able to enjoy music again reminded me that healing does come, life does go on and you do recover parts of yourself that you feared you’d lost.  If recovery feels far from you right now, then be patient.  It will come in time.