Tell your story

(from my Growing through it, from Grief to Growth blog)

The weeks leading up to Rónan’s death went so fast, they were so difficult and my ability to cope was pushed to it’s very limit. It takes a lot to accept that the fight - his and yours - is coming to an end and to surrender to a fate that you want no part of. The urge to pause time, to rewind, to do anything to not move forward into that place of pain and emptiness is overwhelming. Knowing I was entering a time where I could not see his face, hold his hand, hug him, hold him or kiss him was too painful. At the same time I knew he could not go on. He fought a good fight, much more than any of us could. My brave wee soul needed to be free from the bounds of his human body which was not made to be here on earth very long. That beautiful wee body defied the laws of nature on more than one occasion, but the fight was now too much.

Part of love is letting go, that was the only option at that point. All of us - including doctors, nurses, consultants across the world in America, Canada. London, and Australia all reviewed his case and his care and there was nothing left that could be done. Not even prayers were enough at that point, it was time for goodbyes, final hugs, loving embraces, holding him tight and ultimately - letting him go.

There is so much I could write on that part of our story, it would take a book and perhaps one day I will, but for now my focus is on the time after. It is what I feel ready to discuss and it is where my focus needs to be at the moment. I’m all about “feeling my way through” life and grief - and for now, this is my next best step.

I started this post saying that the months and weeks leading up to Rónan’s death went by so fast and it really was a blur - so many stressful conversations, ICU events and every moment in general seemed to go by in a blink of an eye. Before I knew it, that chapter of my life was over.

As the next life chapter began, I struggled to make sense of what had happened. My head was a mess, swirling with memories, conversations and thoughts - unable to recall the order of events. I couldn’t make sense of it at all. I needed to tell my story - I needed to tell it over, and over, and over again.

Luckily I have a close family and we generally tell each other everything, we always have. I went to each member of my family over and over again - telling my story, sometimes fixating on a particular part or parts. My family had lived this story alongside me and knew the events as they unfolded, but I still needed to talk about it over and over again. My Mum, my Dad, my older brother and my two younger sisters were there for me to listen to me when I needed them. They were there in person, they were there at the end of a phone, they came to my home, I went to their homes, we met in restaurants, cafes, at Rónan’s grave and they were there on WhatsApp in our family group and private messaging. It was great to offload to them and they were very supportive of me - but after a while I felt like I was on repeat (I was) and I felt like I was becoming a burden. They didn’t do anything to make me feel this way, but nonetheless - I did. I guess I hated that I come to rely on them so much, I was usually so independent and I liked being able to deal with things on my own, but this was too big, it was too much.

It helped me, after a while, to meet up with friends and work colleagues and tell my story - two instances in particular stand out to me - one of my friends - a work colleague who I call my second mum had recently retired and was thankfully around during the day, she had me over to her house - it was good to get out of the house and talk. In true second-mum style she cooked me a breakfast and made sure I had ample amounts of coffee - she had known a lot of the story - but in snippets - Rónan was in hospital his whole 5 months and I didn’t get to see many people for social gatherings during that time Although I had been in touch by messaging, it just wasn’t the same.

I had the chance to start at the beginning and tell my story in all the detail I could remember. My friend listened patiently and intently. I stayed for a few hours, she made me feel relaxed and not at all rushed. It was much needed. Telling the full version to someone a little more removed from the event helped me, it was cathartic, it helped me to make sense of the order of events and of course I loved talking about Rónan, even as painful as his loss was, to not talk about him, was much much harder.

Another one of my friends met me in a local cafe. She was all too familiar with my pain having lost her daughter 8 years prior. This friend also knew a lot of the story through messaging, and after our initial hello and hugs - she asked me to tell her my full story - having been there before, she knew how much I needed to do this. She gave me her time. She had booked the afternoon to be with me. I told my story again, from start to finish. I recalled details which I hadn’t recalled on other times and each time I told it it seemed to clarify a memory or help piece it together.

Telling my story - over and over to different people was a way for me to begin to make sense of something that really, didn’t make any sense at all. I am so grateful to all my family and friends who were there for me and let me tell my story over and over again.

It didn’t change my situation and it didn’t take away my grief, but to have someone give me their time and be there for me and listen in that way was so important to me. I did feel utterly exhausted and spent each time I told my story, but the energy of those emotions was locked up inside anyway and for me it was better to start to release them, little by little.

NB: - there were also days that I really did not want to talk and I realise that it is hard being the ‘listener’ and trying to figure out the cues - I’m going to cover my experience of those situations in an upcoming post.

Thank you for reading.

Aish