Grief sucks. To put it lightly. Grief is one of those all-consuming things that I could never even express the pain of. Over the 24 years of my life I've been lucky enough not to lose too many people. However, I have struggled with the loss of both of my granddads (one of whom I saw almost every single day of my childhood), the loss of the sister I grew up with when she became ill and transformed into someone I didn't know, and the loss of a tight immediate family when my parents split up.
There's nothing in the world worse than losing someone you love. It doesn't matter if they're a partner, a relative, a friend or even a pet: it hurts. And it doesn't stop hurting for a long time. Christmas is an incredibly tough time to deal with this as you gather around with those you love and it's a season all about joy.
If you follow me on Twitter/Instagram, then you might have seen me talking about this last week, but my lil Russian dwarf hamster Jeff passed away on Thursday. He'd not been very well, so it wasn't the biggest shock in the world but I was still pretty distraught. I thought I'd get over it quite quickly, and we've got some new little fluffy hammies now, which I thought would make the pain of losing Jeff go away. But it hasn't, obviously. I'm not sure why I thought it ever would.
It's amazing how time can trick you really. I can barely remember all that I did yesterday, and it feels a million miles away, but this date 5 years ago is seared into my memory forever, and feels just a moment away. On 7th December one of the most important people in my life was snatched away, and it was unexpected, but at the same time we knew it would happen. Five days before this, my Granddad had a stroke that rendered him unconscious, and he never woke up again. Six days before this I had seen him and he was perfectly fine. So we ended up in a conundrum: he was gone, and yet not gone. There were no goodbyes, or at least none that we shared together. The goodbye was one-sided, me and my sister talking to him whilst my nan held our hands and gave me one of his hankies to treasure. So you see, we knew it was going to happen, but for only a few days, that in reality felt like hopeful minutes. And today, five years, on, celebrating Christmas with my Granddad, or Grandy as he was to us, feels only a few seconds away. The memories are almost tangible, and Christmas has never been the same.
Every family has its heart, and at Christmastime this becomes even more obvious. My Grandy was the heart of our Christmas. Living with my nan only a few minutes' walk away from our home, we would be at their house by nine am every single Christmas. And he found ways to make it special every year. Going over to see the decorations during December was the best, especially as he put up a Santa clock that sung every hour on the hour, much to our delight and my nan's annoyance. Christmas day was even better: despite having very little money to spend he made sure that everyone had the best time and we all had our favourite things. Whether it was buying cherryade so I could have some with breakfast, or letting my sister pull some extra crackers because she had lost her one, he would make sure we all had a grin on our faces. I'll never forget the joy we felt at being his 'little elves' by handing out the presents to our family on Christmas day - at least 10 of us would be crammed into their little front room to do this.
Now however, Christmas has lost a little sparkle, a little magic, and has gotten a whole lot quieter. My Grandy was one of those people with a big booming laugh, which would fill the whole room and make everyone chuckle along too. Now my nan's house is far too quiet, and no one can quite fill the empty space he's left behind. The special touches are gone, and we all want to continue with the traditions he left us, but we just can't do it without him there.
This year will be different. This is the first year I won't be spending at home, surrounded by masses of family, the second year with my parents being separated, and the sixth year without Grandy. And I'm determined to make new traditions, in the spirit of his traditions. I won't ever really spend a Christmas without my Grandy. Indulging on too many sweets, pulling all the crackers you could ever want and falling asleep after Christmas dinner are all things that he's left me with, alongside many others. This will be the first year me and my boyfriend will be spending the day together, despite it being our fifth Christmas as a couple. And I am determined to bring Grandy's tradition and his spirit to the day, so that my boyfriend can experience what a Christmas with Grandy would have been like too.
People often roll their eyes at me when I mention my excitement for Christmas in November, or despair at my delight in listening to endless Christmas songs. But, I do it with pride. It makes me feel a little bit closer to my Grandy, and I know he would love to see that Christmas makes me as happy as it made him.
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Earlier this week I lost a teacher that had taught me for seven whole years, and as such, I lost a huge inspiration in my life. This really made me think about the death of my Grandfather, or 'Grandy', something that happened four years ago and really really destroyed me at the time.
Over the past couple of days, I've been thinking about grief in general, and how it never really leaves you. Yet, there are things that help. This list I've compiled is by no means some kind of textbook which will give you all the answers, and definitely should be taken with a pinch of salt. These are all the little things that have helped me deal with grief during my lifetime, especially at a time when I lost the man who was effectively a second father to me.
So, without further ado, here are 25 small things that I've found can help to ease the pain of grief, however marginally:
1.) Seek help if you need it. There's this massive belief that if you're not the closest person to someone who has passed away, you ought to be less effected, and less upset than them. This isn't true: your grief matters and if you think it's all becoming too much, book time into a therapist's office or see what your doctor has to say.
2.) Don't buy into the toxic notion of them being 'proud' of you when you do something right if you don't want to. This has the opposite outcome too: you feel like absolute shit if you do something they wouldn't like.
3.) Don't feel guilty on the first day that you don't think about them: this is going to happen over time, but it doesn't mean you care any less.
4.) Listen to some music to chill out.
5.) Go for a long walk in a natural environment. Bring a favourite playlist with you.
6.) Don't isolate yourself: explain to a friend how you're feeling and ask to meet for coffee, or a Disney movie date.
7.) Speaking of which, engross yourself in your favourite film.
8.) Accept the tears.
9.) Don't isolate yourself physically - a hug can sometimes do far more good than words can.
10.) Get a Start Where You Are journal. Honestly, it's amazing.
11.) Write about your feelings. It doesn't have to be in a public sphere, but physically writing (or typing) can be incredibly cathartic.
12.) Do something you've always wanted to do, but have put off.
13.) On a similar note, take up a new hobby.
14.) Take a companion to the funeral that you can spent the remainder of the day with - don't spend that day alone.
15.) Deal with admin when you can, and not before.
16.) Explain to people why you're behind, or off. If you can't do it face to face, then do it via an email. Then your work colleagues/classmates won't think you're just being rude when you're quiet.
17.) Buy a mindfulness colouring book and give it a whirl.
18.) If you don't want to force yourself out of the house, then don't. Curl up in a duvet fort with your favourite snacks and Netflix.
19.) Don't stress about eating - if you're comfort eating lots, that's all good, and if you've lost your appetite, just try to remember to get as many nutrients in as possible.
20.) Don't abandon your self care routine.
21.) Take a long bath with your favourite programme and a nice candle.
22.) Allow yourself time to breathe.
23.) Cuddle your pets.
24.) De-clutter your home. Make it an environment you truly want to be in.
25.) Finally, accept that your life shouldn't have to end with theirs, and that believing this doesn't make you selfish.
What would you add to the list?
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I really wasn't sure what to title this, and I'm really still not sure what I'm going to say. I had 90% of another post written for you guys, with pictures set up for it and edited. Then I found out a teacher from my secondary school had passed away and I found that I just couldn't continue with the post I had planned. I left school 4 years ago, so it begs the question: why the fuck would you really be that sad or that affected by the death of a man you haven't seen or spoken to in four years? And who you only saw during a few lessons a week? Well, let me enlighten you.
This man taught me for SEVEN YEARS. Imagine putting up with me for that long, right? He was the head of Latin in our school, a language that many people consider pointless, a thing of the past, or something for stuffy boarding school boys to learn probably whilst they doff their caps to the servants. Yet, this man brought such charisma to the subject that reams of people opted to take the language to GCSE over French, German, Spanish and even Japanese. He was possibly the largest man I've ever met (and I don't say that to be rude - he was tall and round and owned it, strutting around in his braces and sockless sandals).
He inspired such a love for the subject within me that I pursued it all the way up to my A-Levels, and even initially applied to do a combi course of English and Latin at University. I can safely say this man was the most intelligent person I ever met, before, during or after university. Not only did he know every little intricacy about the language he taught, but also the culture, and pretty much everything about any other topic you could ask him. He even had a copy of Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone in Latin and Ancient Greek to peruse when he fancied, and even let us borrow it. So, how could you not like him?
His intellectual influence upon me didn't end there either. I learnt more from his lessons about English grammar and structure than I ever did from my actual English lessons. He first taught me that quality is far more important than quantity, and regularly informed me to 'stop with the waffly bullshit and just write'; a phrase that stuck in my mind every single time I wrote an undergraduate essay, had to construct a cover letter, and even (sometimes) when I write these posts for you guys. So, sorry Mr B for the state of this post, but you've made me more than a little teary and the bullshit had to come back out.
Had his influence upon me ended there, then I would probably not be writing this post right now, but, like every good teacher, he had an emotional impact upon my journey through life as well. Hardly any of you will know this, but year 13 (when I was 17/18) was the start of the hardest few years of my life. Although I had suffered with doing it in the past, it was truly the time when my self harm started to get bad. At school he possibly had the biggest positive impact upon this, endlessly offering his classroom as a safe space, but one in which he would dole out the tough love (something I always need). My granddad died in the December (a man who I saw every day, and still think about most days), I was under masses of pressure from school, and I was simply unhappy in my home life. I remember coming in soon after my granddad had died and explaining to Mr B what had happened whilst I cried and he listened. From the beginning of year 12 onwards, when my class consisted of only 5 of us - who really wants to do a Latin A-Level?! - I remember this lovable, terrifying giant being the agony aunt of the group. He listened to our problems, didn't query them and offered realistic advice.
He also taught me so many life lessons. Coming from a Catholic school, he was the first person that taught me that people shouldn't have labels. One of the boys in the class asked if the poet we were reading (who was talking about anal sex) was gay. He was greeted with the question: why should we label it? He might like to fuck boys, or like to fuck girls, or like to fuck both. Does that mean we should give him a title that separates him from other poets? Why do we have this modern need to categorise everyone, and in this way, separate them from one another? This has seriously kept me thinking for years, and I'm so glad it has.
Perhaps my most touching memory of Mr B was just after his mother died. It happened on a weekend, and during our Monday morning class he announced what had happened, and asked if we could take the lesson easily as he was very much affected by it. Our 'little family' as it almost became during these two years in the classroom obviously agreed. So, we went on to discuss the stockings she made up for him at Christmas (containing one large gold coin and an orange), and how he was inheriting her dog. For the next few weeks he came in with pictures of little Max the dog, who was helping him to get through this troubling time. It was common for us to do hard work for the first half of a lesson and relax for the second half - doing such strenuous work for an hour would have gotten us nowhere. In one of the first lessons after the death of his mother, I remember him putting on some opera in one of these second halves, and weeping as it reminded him of his mother so much. That is an image that will never leave me.
Mr B was a man you could always come to to learn something: whether it was about modern politics, facts about ancient prostitutes, or simply the advantages of wearing sandals all year round, you were sure to come away better off.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is, goodbye Mr B, you will be sorely missed, and I feel sorry for all those individuals out there who never got a chance to experience your presence in their lives.
