Dear Vix,
I lost my grandmother a month ago. I know that’s normal and it’s just part of the life cycle and all of that – I also know that I’m hardly the first person to lose someone important to me! But I’m really struggling to get over her death. I loved her so much. I think I’d buried the fact that she might die somewhere deep within me and was in a bit of denial – and now she’s gone, I’m floored.
She had a good innings – she was 90 – and she thoroughly enjoyed her life. She was the kind of person who soaked up every experience; she absolutely loved spending time with friends and people from all walks of life and if you went round to her flat, guaranteed you’d meet someone unusual (in a good way) and interesting and eclectic – an artist or musician or something like that.
She used to host these cool supper clubs and when I rang her it was actually hard to get hold of her, because she was always off to concerts and art galleries and plays. She hardly ever sat still. You should’ve seen her funeral – there were people literally crowding out of the door to pay their respects to her. It made me so choked up.
I don’t have any contact with my immediate family for various reasons, and my grandmother raised me like I was her own. She was more like a parent than a grandmother. All of my formative ideas and passions and political beliefs were inspired by her. But now, she’s gone and whenever someone asks how I am, I have no idea how to explain how I’m really feeling. People nod and are sympathetic when you say, “my grandmother died” – but they don’t really understand. I have to pretend to be fine when actually my whole world has turned upside down. It’s really hard.
Grieving
Dear Grieving,
What a beautiful letter. I’m so sorry for your loss. The way you’ve written this is such a tender tribute to someone who sounds completely wonderful – I think everyone reading this will wish they could have met your grandmother. And it’s no surprise to me that having experienced life with someone so special, you’re struggling in the wake of her death. I imagine she left an empty spot whenever she left a room; that the party was always a little dimmer and less fun when she went home – and I know that feeling will be even more palpable now. How remarkable she must have been. How fortunate her friends and loved ones were to know her.
I can understand how difficult you are finding it to describe what she meant to you – and why you are feeling so painfully sad. You’re right: grief is hard for us all, and deeply personal too, but we do tend (sadly) to diminish and categorise it differently, depending on our assumptions of the relationship. We have all lost grandparents, and some of those relationships will have been fairly remote, whereas yours was nothing of the sort. To some, losing a grandparent will be a sad – but somewhat distant – process. To others, like you, it will feel obliterating.
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I would really urge you to sit in your feelings. If you are feeling sad and like being alone, do it. If someone asks you how you are doing and what you really want to say is “terrible”, then tell them it’s terrible. You don’t have to manage their feelings or their reaction for them – leave that to them. You only have to think about paying your respects to your grandmother – and yourself.
I wish we all honoured our true, authentic feelings a little more. I wish we weren’t so buttoned up (as a nation) and had a way of behaving that suited the unthinkable pain we feel in the grieving process, when we lose someone we deeply love. I wish it wasn’t part of our social conditioning and diplomacy to say we are “fine” when our hearts are breaking; and I personally detest that quintessential British maxim of “keep calm and carry on”. Why should we? As you say, your whole world has turned upside down. The last thing you should be expected to be is “calm”.
I wish we felt empowered to be more sincere and honest with the people around us – and strangers too. And really, the older I get, the more I find myself trying to put this into practice… and I would love you to do the same. That doesn’t necessarily mean “trauma dumping” on the next person in the queue at the bus stop, but it does mean answering sincerely when someone who cares about you asks how you are. Instead of buttoning up your emotions and saying you’re “OK”, try giving voice to some of the emotions you’re feeling at that moment. Try, “I really miss her today”; or “I’ve been thinking about the time she –”.
I believe that the people who love you – and it doesn’t have to be family members if you’re estranged; it can be friends/chosen family too – will be able to handle it. They will hug you and hear it and give you back the same compassion. And if they can’t, well – that’s on them. It’s not your problem. You only need to be your authentic self.
I think we could all find a little more solace and a great deal more connection if we started being more honest with each other. Your heart is breaking – and we shouldn’t pretend it’s any less or any lighter than it is. So, say so. I think people’s reactions might surprise you. You might even empower others to do exactly the same and share their own grief in return.
As the poem “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver urges so beautifully and insistently: “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” I think we could all benefit from your example. Thank you for sharing it with me.
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