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 🙂
Thank you Linda, that is SUCH a good description. As it's such a hard feeling to describe of being the same... but not the same. I also often wonder how I will feel when (if, I suppose) I pass the age my mum was when she died. I can imagine that's a really strange, tough part of our grieving life span to reach and sending you so much love. Thank you so much for taking the time to write such a long and thoughtful comment too, this is really what I want to achieve with this newsletter, a place for us to discuss what we have gone through together, in an open and honest place where we can keep the conversation going beyond "I'm so sorry for your loss." As I'm not a grief expert, I just want to be able to talk about its intricacies more.
Lots of love. I look forward to carrying on speaking with you xxx
I know that in the immediate aftermath of my Dad's death - like, that day (he'd been a teacher to the end, hanging on until the last day of term) - my sister and I went to the supermarket to get some messages; there is *no way* that the neighbour we saw down the aisle hadn't heard the news (we lived in a village, where something like that would spread like wildfire). But she completely blanked us - she was the mother of one of my pals, and she would usually have been very chatty - and I remember thinking "she doesn't know what to say to us".
My Mum reckoned it was because the woman in question was terrified of death; I've got no idea if that's true, but either way it was wounding: how could she not at least acknowledge what had just happened, and understand that our entire universe had changed? To say nothing at all was worse than saying "I don't know what to say".
At that instant, I made a vow to myself: that I would always talk about, acknowledge and address grief and loss and I would *always* say *something* to anybody who was going through it. I've done so ever since, and I know that it's not only helped me to process things but it's also been a comfort to others. That's why it matters: because every life is precious, and the person who has gone meant something to somebody. "Everybody is somebody's darlin'", as they say...
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,
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 💜
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.
Hello Raymond! If you are the Raymond I think you are, then I remember your presence in our lives. Hello! I totally agree that we should all share and be open about our experiences, hopefully in a way that can help others. It's the main reason I wanted to centre this newsletter around grief, hoping no one would see me as an 'expert' in any way, who wanted to lecture but instead to create a community where everyone can share their own experiences. Like Linda (comment above in case you haven't seen it) I love the thread image, particularly the point you make that brief lovers can add to our tapestry too, as I always feel some people can add something to our lives no matter how long they were in them. Lots of love and I look forward to continuing to chat.
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 ❤️
Thank you so much Karl for your kind words. I completely agree, I often write and reflect on what grief has given me and how it's made me who I am today. And acknowledging rather than fighting grief and pretending it isn't there is definitely the best way to learn from it. Thanks again, it really means a lot to read such a long and thoughtful comment on my first newsletter as creating a community where we can all chat and be honest with one another is exactly what I hope to achieve. x
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.
Ah Melinda, thank you so much for commenting. I think of our time in Moledo and how much fun I had with you, Mikey and your daughters alllll the time. I completely, completely agree that grief is so deeply personal and part of what I (hope) to achieve with this is to invite others to share their stories too, so as to give that outlet and showcase how different it is for everyone. Lots of love, Katie xxx
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 🙂
Thank you Linda, that is SUCH a good description. As it's such a hard feeling to describe of being the same... but not the same. I also often wonder how I will feel when (if, I suppose) I pass the age my mum was when she died. I can imagine that's a really strange, tough part of our grieving life span to reach and sending you so much love. Thank you so much for taking the time to write such a long and thoughtful comment too, this is really what I want to achieve with this newsletter, a place for us to discuss what we have gone through together, in an open and honest place where we can keep the conversation going beyond "I'm so sorry for your loss." As I'm not a grief expert, I just want to be able to talk about its intricacies more.
Lots of love. I look forward to carrying on speaking with you xxx
I know that in the immediate aftermath of my Dad's death - like, that day (he'd been a teacher to the end, hanging on until the last day of term) - my sister and I went to the supermarket to get some messages; there is *no way* that the neighbour we saw down the aisle hadn't heard the news (we lived in a village, where something like that would spread like wildfire). But she completely blanked us - she was the mother of one of my pals, and she would usually have been very chatty - and I remember thinking "she doesn't know what to say to us".
My Mum reckoned it was because the woman in question was terrified of death; I've got no idea if that's true, but either way it was wounding: how could she not at least acknowledge what had just happened, and understand that our entire universe had changed? To say nothing at all was worse than saying "I don't know what to say".
At that instant, I made a vow to myself: that I would always talk about, acknowledge and address grief and loss and I would *always* say *something* to anybody who was going through it. I've done so ever since, and I know that it's not only helped me to process things but it's also been a comfort to others. That's why it matters: because every life is precious, and the person who has gone meant something to somebody. "Everybody is somebody's darlin'", as they say...
Keep up the good - and necessary - work!
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....
I love and admire you. You couldn't shield us, no one could and that's OK, it's good. We can't live sheltered as then we never live. xxxx
How wise you are xxx
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."
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 💜
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.
Hello Raymond! If you are the Raymond I think you are, then I remember your presence in our lives. Hello! I totally agree that we should all share and be open about our experiences, hopefully in a way that can help others. It's the main reason I wanted to centre this newsletter around grief, hoping no one would see me as an 'expert' in any way, who wanted to lecture but instead to create a community where everyone can share their own experiences. Like Linda (comment above in case you haven't seen it) I love the thread image, particularly the point you make that brief lovers can add to our tapestry too, as I always feel some people can add something to our lives no matter how long they were in them. Lots of love and I look forward to continuing to chat.
Yes the very same, I loved my chats with Sue and Jo... They even had the odd haircut thrown in... You too!
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 ❤️
Thank you so much Karl for your kind words. I completely agree, I often write and reflect on what grief has given me and how it's made me who I am today. And acknowledging rather than fighting grief and pretending it isn't there is definitely the best way to learn from it. Thanks again, it really means a lot to read such a long and thoughtful comment on my first newsletter as creating a community where we can all chat and be honest with one another is exactly what I hope to achieve. x
You are more than welcome. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I look forward to reading them within this community ❤️
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.
Ah Melinda, thank you so much for commenting. I think of our time in Moledo and how much fun I had with you, Mikey and your daughters alllll the time. I completely, completely agree that grief is so deeply personal and part of what I (hope) to achieve with this is to invite others to share their stories too, so as to give that outlet and showcase how different it is for everyone. Lots of love, Katie xxx