16 Comments
Jul 18, 2022·edited Jul 18, 2022

Catriona, this is a beautiful - and true - piece of writing. My Dad died of cancer when I was 19, after five years of living with the disease; it was a painful watch as his tide receded further from shore. He was only 53; I’m now 54 and that’s a head-spinner in its own right, to have reached an age that a parent never attained but to still feel like a child…

How I describe the loss of my Dad is this (which requires a wee bit of visualising gymnastics, but I’m sure you’ll get the picture!):

Our family - Mum, me and my sister and brother - are on a motorbike, with my Dad in the sidecar. We’re on a wide, open road and can see the path straight ahead of us. But we come to a crossroads, and out of a side street comes that juggernaut called “Death”, and sideswipes us all. The sidecar is sheared off and Dad disappears out of sight, down another road. The rest of us, battered and bruised, remain on the motorbike - but now our direction has been forcibly changed too and for the rest of the journey, we’re very aware that this road has a different view, a different perspective than the road we thought we’d all be travelling on together.

And while we can no longer see Dad, or the scene of the collision, in our rear-view mirror, we remain aware of its impact and how we came to be on this road.

Does that all make sense?

And Raymond, I *loved* your description of grief and loss and hardship being like dark threads in the fabric of our life - they offer a contrast against which the brightest threads are all the more vivid, and we can better appreciate them. Thank you for that leitmotif 🙂

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This is such a beautiful honest and brave piece of writing. l love and admire you so much for it.

It is taking me on a journey to difficult places where I need to go.

What especially hit me hard about this piece was the memory of how much i wanted to shield you and your sister from this pain.

And could not....

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I just read this and thought to share it here as follow up to my previous comment. Naturally, the bard pens beautifully the truth that it's love and rembrance that wins over death.

Sonnet 30: When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

By William Shakespeare

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,

And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end."

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This is so beautiful and just so right. Thank you so much for writing this and being so honest about what grief really feels like. Your words touched me 💜

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Jul 18, 2022·edited Jul 18, 2022

Thank you for writing about your experience of grief, I knew your family and can appreciate the continued sense of grief you all carry.

You ask if there is a right way to grieve that might be told to our old selves, I'm not sure there is any singular answer to that question, but we all will have an experience that speaks to us individually and if shared may build a useful pattern of response to loss in our lives and the feelings we endure.

The way I chose to perceive this inevitable emotion, which appears in all of our lives at some point, since loss, including the loss of all those we hold dear is part of life, is as a dark thread that once picked up we must weave into the fabric of our continuing lives.

These threads of loss and grief become the dark background against which we contrast others threads also picked up, or at least given to us in life, particularly threads gifted to us by those that love us most dearly and to whom we gave love in return, our family, partners, friends, even the myriad of breif lovers and beyond. These are the threads of joy and happiness, which we also weave into the fabric of our lives, their radiance of colour sits along side the dark threads of loss and grief, which are made all the more vibrant and radiant because of the darkness they sit against. The darkness has a purpose, it reminds us of the transience and loss of all things, that ensues we treasure and value and brightest joys and happiness that we recived all the more.

Jo once wrote of 'The Leave to Remain', it maybe said that this to is a thread given to us by the departed, which we must pick up and use with grace to ensure the continued possibility of joy and happiness they would wish for us, I'm sure this is a last bright thread and it sits next to the dark threads of loss and grief, indeed it intertwines with them and perhaps gives the fabric of our lives strength, least I like to percive it that way.

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Thank you Catriona, for such open and honest words. The process of grief fundamentally changes you as a person and the wish and will to be who you were before is impossible to achieve. But to acknowledge the grief. To sit in it, walk with it and to talk with it will shift your perception of who you are to a far greater extent than to live denying it. That greater extent allows you to become much stronger. So much more aware of your body and mind. A deeper connection with your soul. I’m so grateful for the grief I have experienced, because the world I live in now, whilst hard watching what’s happening on the outside, is so much calmer, kinder, self loving, forgiving towards myself. I’m still learning to use these gifts towards others, but like you said, if it is a 5 step journey, it’s a journey for a life time, so I know I will learn to become more like that towards the outside world. So, again, thanks for speaking out about this. It’s so important our world begins to express pain outwardly so it can help others to heal. Karl Macrae ❤️

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Thank you, Catriona for sharing your personal experience of grief. I think if there is one constant about the process, it’s that it is so personal. We each have to navigate it alone and in our own way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get some solace from learning another’s experience. Your mother would be so very proud of you. Much love.

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