What happens inside our minds when we are grieving? I have asked myself this question a few times, since my own mam, Eileen, passed away and I do not know. Something shifts around, in our minds, hearts, and souls. Grief is a full mind, body, and spiritual experience, and no amount of knowing or preparation can change that.
The circumstances and relationship we have with the person who has passed are so personal and individual. So, grief can feel lonely and isolating. Therefore, I believe it is important to talk about what it’s really like. Because of the very fact that none of us escape grief, it’s good for people to know the ways grief can impact us.
A big one for me that I’m just emerging from is the bubble or fog you can find yourself in during the passing of your loved one, especially in the initial days and weeks afterwards. It can feel like you have been knocked off course, in a body slamming sort of way. Grief is exhausting and can be utterly discombobulating. An awareness and acceptance of the normality of this reality helps us to get through it. Even if you can’t control how it’s impacting on you. It is possible to respond with curiosity and compassion to yourself until you land in your own new normal.
Driving in your Crocs
This was the first instance that made me aware that I was in a bereavement bubble after my mam passed away. I was standing at my friend’s front door when I spotted my turquoise feet. A look I normally keep for indoors. My seven-year old’s giggles instantly made me laugh, too. In that moment I let myself off the hook and made a decision to have compassion for myself over the coming weeks, as I proceeded to put laundry in the rubbish bin, leave my handbag behind me in a hotel. Repeatedly forget I was making a cup of tea until I noticed them half made ages later. I told myself, ‘it’s okay, you are grieving.’ I was distracted, my brain was trying to process all that was and all that is. That’s a big job.
I found myself looking into the fridge addled as to what snack I promised my five-year-old. ‘Addled’ was a word my mam used. I catch myself uttering many of her words. Suddenly more aware of her influence on me. Simultaneously, I’m still somewhat in disbelief that my mam’s sayings are a thing of the past. That’s too big of a concept to wrap my head around in one big chunk and certainly too much for my heart to manage.
Perhaps the bereavement bubble is here to protect us?
I’m very interested in mindfulness and I try to be a mindful person. During this bereavement bubble phase I’m watching what is going on with my mind, and in turn my behaviour, with some curiosity and even humour. I can laugh at myself and some of the silly stuff, like flooding my dear mam’s hospital room when I had a shower there. We literally moved in with her for her final few weeks and sometimes took to acting out of character. Or perhaps being exactly as we should have been considering the circumstances. No one equips us to support a parent during their end of life journey. The hospital staff were so kind, gentle and helpful. But no one can do your grieving for you. That’s the hard part. You have to go through it.
After about three weeks this fog lifted, to more of a mist. Maybe our brains know what they are doing and create a protective bubble, as we go within us to that place where we find the other person. It can be comforting to stay close to that, but over time, as we emerge into the present it’s possible to figure ways to find them still here.
How do we get used to the new space in our lives, where a person used to be?
For me, it’s a day at a time. The space doesn’t get filled. I learned this when my brother, Lar, died by suicide in 2004. I tried to fill that void and run from the grief and all it did was prolong the pain. It also prevented me from accepting he was gone in the physical sense, and in turn it took me years to create a new connection with him. Thankfully after many years that did happen. First I had to learn a few things, one of them this: Grief knocks on your door, suicide kicks your door down, comes in and wrecks your home. My mam’s departure was more like a gentle tap on the door, as if she was saying, ‘okay, my loves, it’s time for me to be off now.’ Then she gave us two weeks of love and goodbyes.
We can’t shrink grief, but the good news is we can get bigger around it. How?
Through practicing gratitude for all the good in my life I can get bigger around grief. This is not about toxic positivity, avoidance, or pretence. We must feel our grief to heal it. It is also important to accept the space it has in our lives. Practicing gratitude helps to keep it in perspective. The mind can protect us but it can also feel like it’s playing tricks. For example it can fool us to the point where we can wake up in the morning and forget the person has died for a minute. Then slam, you remember – and it’s like a punch in the stomach or an ache in the heart. We might even think we see the person, repeatedly and for a long time, despite knowing they are gone from the physical realm. For years I saw Lar on his bike in Dublin when of course it was not him.
Other times, I might think, I’m okay with this today, there’s not a tear in sight and some days I am fine, I did some of my grieving for my mam before she died. It’s important not to feel guilty when you feel good or happy, after all isn’t that what our loved one would want for us.
Other days a song or something random like the sight of a Battenburg cake – my mam used to love them – can have me in floods. For my loss, but even more for hers. Seventy seven years doesn’t seem like enough cake eating times. I have to let go and know that I have no control over that. This is when I purposely change my mind set and hope that heaven, or wherever she is gone to, is full of bakeries and love and joy.
When I shift my perspective from seeing my mam as being gone physically as a loss, to appreciating all the years I had with her it becomes easier.
Grief is complex and contradictory. Recently I was in a hotel, I saw a mam and daughter chatting happily while having dinner together. I was heart warmed. Then it hit me, there will be no more celebrations with my Mam, no more sharing meals. I had to hide my tears and take a few deep breaths. It wasn’t the right time or place for me to have a big cry. I do make time and space if I feel the need. I let the tears fly when they want to. In that moment I thanked my mam for the time we had. I somehow already feel her with me. I was on my way to a poetry event to read this poem below as a tribute to her.
Today
It’s a pink nightdress,
With little white hearts.
Showers of love
In kisses and kind words,
Land on you softly.
Grace and beauty
Are your code.
In a whisper
I ask you,
Please keep a place for me.
As you return to paradise.
I never really know how I feel about things until I write about them. I wrote this while I sat beside her in the hospital. I was trying to hold on and let go at the same time. There is no wrong or right way to grieve. I went from sadness and fear to peace and acceptance. Over the coming months I imagine I will dip in and out of these places and others. Hopefully landing in the latter and softer places more often. Life is messy and grief is another part of life. We will all experience it, because it is an inevitable part of the most beautiful things about living; loving and being loved.
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