Grief is not a normal wound

My mum died nine years ago today. Despite the passage of almost a decade, I still can’t believe I’m writing the words ‘my mum died’. It’s still the most searingly painful of wounds, a debilitating and relentless turmoil that, despite what I’d hoped and expected, never really eases.

“Grief, when it comes, is nothing like we expect it to be.” ~Joan Didion

I’ve written mournful pieces about my mum’s death before and will probably continue to do so. Her death was and continues to be the most profound and far-reaching event of my life. Three years after my mum passed, my father died too. His death was also a terrible ordeal, but dad had suffered the indignity of years of dementia before he finally succumbed. His death, though indescribably distressing, was a release, for us as a family but more so for him. He’d lost every bit of his quality of life and would have hated what dementia had inflicted on him.

In contrast, Mum became ill seemingly out of nowhere. She was ill for several months, but it really felt as though she was fine one minute and gone the next. She was young, and prior to her cancer diagnosis, very healthy. The speed at which cancer had consumed her was terrifying. We were totally unprepared for the speed at which she deteriorated.

The initial shock of her death left me reeling, a sucker punch from which I never recovered. When I look back at the months that followed her death, it’s all a bit of a blur. In hindsight I realise was in some kind of primal survival mode, employing various coping mechanisms to get me through the day.

Despite my best endeavours, I can’t shake the immense feeling of loss, and I know that no one else can fill the void. Grief is the price that we pay for love, so the saying goes, and it’s true that grief is inexorable.

“Time heals all wounds”

This well-meaning and ubiquitous platitude is all too common. Sadly, it’s also untrue. The rawness of my grief has, of course, subsided over the years. I have brief periods of respite where I beat it into submission, only for it re-emerge stronger and more powerful than ever. I know if I’ll never be free of grief, and perhaps that’s the way it should be.

Her death was the abrupt severing of my closest relationship; no one loved me like she did. It’s no wonder grief is something I battle with every day, not just on anniversaries like today. Grief’s grip is merciless.

I would do anything to have my mum back, to embrace her one last time.

Instead, all I can do is live the best life that I can and strive to be the best I can be. Over the years I’ve learned to tolerate my grief - after all, I have no choice. But time does not heal all wounds.

Grief is a great teacher

Grief teaches you like nothing else about the fragility of life. It teaches you to embrace opportunities, to take risks that you might not otherwise have taken. It teaches you to appreciate the small things that you might previously have overlooked.

Through grief, I’ve gained insight that previously eluded me, and it’s made me better able to withstand life’s other losses. In some ways, grief has enriched my life, and mum’s death allowed me to embrace my greatest coping mechanism, writing.

Writing about mum’s death is cathartic, it helps me to make sense of my feelings.

I can only hope she would have been proud.