Alive

Although I’ve been in a positive place this week I’ve also been quite reflective as well.

I’ve found myself (unexpectedly) considering ‘what it all means’ and what my place in the world is – and I’ve also been considering how feelings regarding bereavement change over time.

When my mother passed away a couple of years ago I really didn’t want a funeral. She’d been objectionable enough in life to leave me with a rather blunt and bullish approach to what I should do with her body after death.

I’m quite matter of fact about some things and not overly sentimental where perhaps I should be.

At the time I didn’t want a funeral. I really didn’t see the point.  As far as I was concerned the person I knew (who had been almost universally horrible to me for many years) was dead and gone. Wasting money on a coffin and service seemed like something society expected rather than an event I needed.

It was a racket and I didn’t want to get involved.

The decision wasn’t mine alone though – and it was this fact that led me to modify my original stance and lean toward a more accommodating solution.

The truth of it is that whether you realise it or not when someone dies you’re grieving.

That may sound obvious to many – but I don’t think to me at the time it was – because the emotions that I felt were not the ones I’d typically associate with grief or a sense of loss.

I know now that grief is a very flexible concept. For me (regarding my mother) it had no form that I could quantifiably define – and instead of being the stereotypical sadness that I expected was associated with the loss of a significant other (particularly a parent) it was far more complex.

Grief in my case turned out to be a mixture of many emotions I’d have never normally have linked with death. In no particular order these included:

  • Relief
  • Happiness
  • Anger
  • Frustration
  • Guilt

The funeral we eventually agreed upon was a cremation. It was to be a simple affair with a eulogy read by an non-denominational speaker and a coffin that disappeared after a few songs and empty words into the embrace of a furnace.

At least that’s how I saw it in my mind before I was part of it.

Sitting there I was struck that we were all in the same place remembering the same person for the different reasons. Most of the feelings in the room I suspect were quite negative – but mixed amongst them were also tears – and unexpectedly some of them were my own.

Once the day had passed I didn’t dwell on it too much (at least I don’t think I did) and instead busied myself with other mountains that I had to climb. I had been (up until two days before her death) a highly functioning alcoholic and I was around 35 stone. Real personal change was needed if the next funeral wasn’t going to be my own.

I focused all of my attention on ‘moving on’ and ‘getting better’.

This was worth it – because I definitely achieved what I set out to do. I smashed my goals and successfully turned my life around.

I’m still sober after almost two and a half years) and I’m over twenty stone lighter

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However, while this has been undeniably beneficial from a health perspective maybe it came with a cost in other respects – because now I’ve achieved my target I’ve been left thinking (not all the time – but in more reflective periods) ‘what does it all mean and who am I now?’

I suspect I’m not alone in feeling like this at such a time – because with any kind of radical life change it’s impossible to not consider who you’ve become in relation to the world around you.

How do I fit in with the people and conventions that surround me now?

Things were one way for so long that they defined me as a person.

For all the insights that I can tangibly and quantifiably say I have gained into myself over the last two and a half years there are still certain areas of my life that are frightening when I consider them and because of that I’ve avoided dealing with them.

To a greater or lesser extent I tend to bypass them completely and maybe because of that from time to time rather more acute feelings surface.

That there are definitely elements of me that I consciously or subconsciously put on hold so that I could focus on what I needed to do.

Through necessity I placed them in hibernation whilst I marshalled other more useful aspects of myself and brought them to the forefront.

Maybe now then it’s natural for thoughts regarding love and loss to come back into my mind – because it’s no longer clouded with an obsessive need to lose weight. This week therefore I find myself (both in my dreams and waking thoughts) back at a graveside – faced yet again with the loss of a parent – and quite out of the blue I feel sad.

The complexity of grief is such that I don’t feel this way because I miss her (that’s probably never something that will come to pass) but because it took so much pain and so much heartache over so much time for so much good to happen in my life.

I’m drawn back to her funeral and I think that I now realise its purpose.

It’s a day that can never be undone. It’s a moment that will never fade and it served as a full stop. It was the ultimate punctuation mark that life provides to enable a carriage return and a new paragraph.

Without it I think I would be a poorer person because I’d be left with a gap where an end point should be and I now know how crucial it was to make sure it took place.

A funeral may not offer closure at that moment in time. It may not even do it in the medium term – but feelings are funny things and many of our emotions are complex tapestries woven from years of ever changing memories.

Now, in the warm light of a sunny morning a couple of years later I feel blessed that I attended that day and happy that I congregated with others to remember her.

It doesn’t matter any more how we felt about each other in life – and it doesn’t matter how anyone else there felt about her either.

It was an end point and it had to occur so that the healing could begin and people could start to move on. The truth of it is that we are all linear beings and we define ourselves based on the passage of time and events along the way to the inevitable.

If we choose to hide from or ignore them it doesn’t mean to say that the feelings associated with the event go away – it just means that you don’t deal with them.

So, yes I’ve felt a bit sad this week – and yes I’m sorry that things ended the way that they did – but that’s a good thing because this signposts growth and moving on. It means that my mind is busy spring cleaning itself and continually re-formatting what it needs to be for the tasks ahead.

It means I’m alive internet.

Davey

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8 comments

  1. I understand only too well your reflectiveness, and the disruption of grief which doesn’t show up in a uniform or necessarily accepted way. What’s important, I think, is that you take the time – as you seem to be doing – to process your feelings and adjust to your new situation. The pace of life today makes us think that everything needs to be quickly wrapped-up, nicely and efficiently, so we can move swiftly on to the next thing. But these things do take time. It takes time to acknowledge the multiple facets of a complex relationship, be it with food/alcohol, or with a parent. It takes time to adjust to new circumstances, physical, emotional, financial, whatever. We are changed by all these things, but not in an instant. Your quiet reflection is a very important part of your grieving and your transformation process, as it is with me too. I’m so glad to see you respecting it, and giving it space and time. x

    Liked by 3 people

    1. You’re so right Jools. I think when I started this (ahem) journey I didn’t really accept the need for the emotional ‘slow burn’ associated with such wholesale change.

      It’s something that I’d have said ‘yes – I agree – I’ll need that’ but I suspect not thought that this far down the line I’d still be coming to terms with some things.

      It’s real and important though and nothing truly important is easily won. Insight takes time 👍🏽

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I didn”t grieve my dad’s passing much, never cried, as he had Parkinson’s disease. Yet one day, a year later, I started crying at yoga and couldn’t stop, and it was all tears for my dad.
    I also grieve for my loss of hearing, and not hearing music the same way with my cochlear implant. It took me 3 years to “integrate ” that loss into my life.
    I am freer now, because I have learned more about letting go, not attaching myself, life changes, and so on.
    Peace.
    xo
    Wendy
    You can find me here, if you wish.
    http://tipsynomore.blogspot.com

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I lost my mother ten years ago Dave and i dont think i have ever come to terms with the turmoil in my head about how difficult life could be at times with her and without her. Two years later i lost my father and again i was in turmoil as my relationship with him in life was far more loving but he had left when i was 11 years old and i only had snatched moments when i would sneak out to see him, such was my mothers disdain that he left us. We are products of our childhood. Life events overtook my grief when my i became a nanny to 3 within the next 3 years so i didnt do what you did and actively change myself. That was done for me. Im sorry for my epic novel! But i so admire how you have dealt with your grief by turning your life around. Im sure you will seek and find new challenges to inspire you. I havent had the pleasure of meeting you, but im so pleased my friend introduced me to your blog. Personally i think you should be writing for a living. Keep up the good work ☺

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know what you mean about the turmoil caused both with and without someone – and in my case I’m grateful that the eventual outcome of her passing was a positive one.

      I’m sure you understand though that it’s not as simple as that – and it’s the quiet moments after you’ve got to where you want to be in life that you sit and think ‘what now?’

      At those little junctions the thoughts flood in and it’s often more than I feel like processing.

      Thankfully though I love to write and even more wonderfully people like you love to read – and that helps 😊

      Like

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