* If you’re friends with good people, this goodness will shine through after an event like this. Cards, calls, messages, flowers, plants, home-cooked meals, offers of childcare, thoughtful gifts – there was an absolute flood of these both while my mom was in hospital and then in the weeks following her death.
Although not everyone will contact you, or be in touch that much, which may feel a little hurtful. I was surprised when some friends stayed quiet, or just sent a brief ‘thinking of you’ message with no follow up.
* But that leads to the next thing I’ve learned from this experience: that until you’ve gone through the death of a parent, you can’t really truly understand what it feels like. I’ve had friends go through this in the past, and while I’ve been sympathetic and appreciated how horrible it must be, I didn’t really understand it. Nor, to my shame, did I really support them in the way I should have. But again, I don’t think you truly can until you experience this for yourself. The best support I’ve had, both emotionally and practically, has been from friends who’ve walked the same path. It’s made me realise what I need to do when this happens to my friends down the line. (Because it is, sadly, inevitable.) And it made me realise why some people haven’t really been in touch. They just don’t understand – yet.
* Everything and anything can set you off. While my mom was in hospital on a ventilator, I remember taking down a packet of garlic flakes she’d given me from the kitchen cupboard (she’d bought a kilo of the stuff and as you can imagine, that’s a lot of garlic flakes, so she’d passed a bag onto me) and crying hot tears over the saute pan as I added them to my dinner. Now she’s gone, simple things can knock me sideways. Reading the name Jacqueline in the news. Seeing the bulbs she planted in our garden start to come up. Coming across a book she gave me. Our house is stuffed with daily reminders of her.
* Some days, I feel strong, and reconciled with the situation, and I can laugh with my husband and son, and do good work, and make plans, and things feel easy. Other days, grief just swells up out of nowhere and leaves me sobbing at my desk.
* The dreams are the worse. She appears frequently, and at the moment this isn’t bringing me peace or joy, but rather reminding me, on waking, that she’s no longer here. I hope this will change and that these nightime hangouts will be a source of happiness.
* Make videos of your loved ones, or audio recordings. Notoriously camera-shy, I have no record of my mom’s voice. I deeply, deeply regret this.
* Grief will ease; love will last forever.
Postcards from the Edge (of the West Country) 