It has been a week of departure for many around me I care about. Deaths in the elderly, middle-aged and much loved pets. It has made me reflect once again about how we view death and how much the subject is still a taboo for so many. Death is a given. Life cycles are ruthless, to be human is to witness this cycle in its many forms on a daily basis in Mother Nature; the dead fox in the road, the squashed snail on the path, the exhausted fly on the window ledge. Yet when it comes to the ones we love, there is a shroud of secrecy, an unwritten rule of not sharing how we feel, of being unable to cope, of burying the head in the proverbial sand.
Once you have experienced the death of a close loved one, you are changed. It shapes who you are forever more. My first encounter with the end of life was a school friend, aged 18. He was wishing everyone a ‘Merry Christmas’ from the window of his mate’s car when he fell out and hit his head. From joy to nothing in such a finite moment of time. His life lives on in another person due to the kindness and compassion shown by his family.
My most desolate time was when my father died on 5th November 2014. Ravaged by a fast-acting leukaemia, he went from being a tall, imposing figure of a man, to a whisper, a shadow of who he was on the outside, but the same stubborn old bugger on the inside. We talked about death when we knew that his prognosis was terminal. I could not imagine the vast, emptiness I would feel once he had gone, even being prepared for it. Death itself for dad, was peaceful, and I am grateful for that. I am also pleased I was with him every step of his illness until the last breath. I found an inner strength that kept me going when many around me could not. I sought comfort in the small things in life, the glorious sunshine that summer, the outings to the pub, the humour from the transfusion nurses, the witty comments from my father. Tiny, minuscule memories that created happiness in such a dark time. I thank my wonderful friends who did not give me platitudes, but told me things straight. No rose-tinted glasses were worn, this was a time to speak the truth, to be able to say all the things I needed to and a time to listen.
After dad had died, I went to meet a wonderful lady, a friend of a friend, who, in her 70’s herself has spent many hours offering bereavement counselling to those in need. Many hours also spent sitting with those who were ready to go. She said to me that people were too scared of death to really talk about what was important. Wise words.
What was important to me was that dad knew he had permission to go, that he was loved, that he knew we would be OK. On seeing two friends go through the pain of losing loved ones this week, I was reminded that kind words are so special. But any words are better than none at all. To hide from those in pain is living in your own awkwardness. Happiness is captured in the most bizarre ways when your world has turned upside down. Say something…..
I champion discussing death, old and young, it is the ultimate event. Let us embrace and celebrate a life lived, rather than hide from what cannot be changed.
To those who are grieving now, hold onto the memories, be thankful for what you have shared and don’t forget to talk …. Oh, and look out for the white feather. If you see it, it is yours, from them. No one else will notice that special white message falling for you. Open your heart, open your eyes and open dialogue.
Dream BIG, Sparkle MORE, Shine BRIGHTLY
