Good Grief?

Fortunately I’ve never experienced grief first hand, that all encompassing emotion felt at the passing of a husband, wife, mother, father, sibling, partner or child. I’ve only ever experienced a second hand or more distant grief, that of a small child losing a grandparent, the passing of a class mate at school, or of a close, but not immediate, family member, or friend. Outside of these passings, I’ve only ever experienced a societal grief, that of the tragic death of Princess Diana, 7/7 or 9/11, for example. Still deep in emotion, however shared with so many others. That was until last year.

In March 2020, one of my good friends lost his 3+ year battle with melanoma cancer. Leaving his wife, one of my closest friends, alone and bereft in the middle of the first Covid-19 lock-down. They did have some time to prepare, for all that it ‘helped’. Once the terminal diagnosis finally came, they were taken through what the next few months (or so they thought), were most probably going to be like. It was explained to them that he would lose weight slowly, but steadfastly, because of a loss of appetite. This would, understandably, also bring on a slow decline, a tiredness, a fatigue and of course, tremendous pain.

When she couldn’t manage his care at home anymore, they would transfer him gracefully to his chosen hospice, of which they were dutifully given a tour. The diligent and professional staff would then take over his care, upping his pain medication and self-care beyond what could be achieved at home. The details and care services provided were extraordinary and it certainly made me reflect on quite just how many times the same path must have been trodden beforehand. How well-worn it appeared to be, but no less dignified, caring or personal.

For good and bad, life doesn’t always go as planned and he never made it to the hospice, the slow decline being a rather fast decline in the end, taking a matter days to weeks, not weeks to months. They had married the summer before, after his initial treatments hadn’t worked as hoped and in the midst of various experimental drug trials. They’d not had a chance to celebrate with more than just their immediate family, so in February 2020 they held a huge gathering with all of their extended family and friends, near where they grew up together. It was the most amazing and emotional celebration of their love. However, I got the sense that evening, he’d held on for that, bearing the pain, hiding it from everyone, as very, very soon after, it quickly became clear his long fight was soon to be over.

The grief, of course, had started long before the actual moment of passing, with paperwork, arrangements, tough conversations, wills and last good-byes. Putting affairs in order I think is the general expression, though those few words doesn’t do that period any justice at all. How tough they and their close family had to be to go through that process, all at different speeds and all in different ways.

When that last week came so finally, so quickly, Covid was in full force and as such, when the care nurses turned up at their door for the first time, not only was it in their most horrendous time of need, but they were in full top-to-toe PPE. Not that they wanted many visitors in the house at that time, but many of their closest friends and family couldn’t even travel to drop off food, or care parcels, or even those niceties one doesn’t tend to have time to think about, but cheer the mood up.

For her, Covid made it all far more unbearable than normal (whatever normal is), for those waiting in the wings, the agony and torment of not being able to do anything to help was like a hellish torture that certainly, I never ever, ever want to experience again. The world around us seemed to be obsessed by the availability of toilet paper, however to me, there was only ever one thing on my mind and it was far more ‘serious’. Paling everything else going on in the world, at that time, into a poor comparison.

Not particularly a good grief so far, if there ever is such a thing. When the final time came, she explained much later that it was surreal, all she could do was to do some form of animalistic combination of screaming, wailing and singing. Her Mum was with her at the end and her mum, being her amazing mum, joined in. That was until all immediate emotion was spent, until that initial anguish of loss was finally depleted. He got the most ‘her’ send off that he could possibly have wished for.

That was them though, music was such a part of their lives. Indeed is ours, for we have our group ‘songs’ that mean so very much to us – that despite sore feet or drunken heads, have made us hit the dance floor together as a group every time they are played. We love a very eclectic mix, comprising dance floor fillers created by the likes of the Kings of Leon, the Killers, Queen, Neil Diamond and Monty Python (always look on the bright side of life, of course). Their songs have been sung together over and over, from the top of our lungs, through illnesses, divorces, tough times and, of course, at the happiest of times.

This was a good grief, this was emotional, unconstrained, un-abashed, raw and out-there grief. She set the standard and nothing was holding her, or could, hold her back. It wasn’t ‘perfect’, a good grief, isn’t, or shouldn’t be, perfect. The funeral service was held under lockdown rules, but live-streamed to the same 200+ close family and friends who had been invited to the delayed wedding celebration. However it was the most fabulous celebration of his life, of their love. It halted time, it halted the earth from spinning, it stopped the clocks, it stopped all.

Since then, despite Covid, we have been able to all meet face to face, in the summer of 2020, when infection rates were low. We sneaked in a hug, or maybe two, on the grounds of mental stability, of course. We’ve celebrated her 50th birthday and two further big birthdays at least (I lose count, as all days now blur). We’ve celebrated what would have been his 51st birthday, our first Christmas without him. We’ve recounted old stories, created new traditions, come in and out of lockdown, zoomed, messaged, tweeted, campaigned, donated and tried our best to support each other as a group of sisters and brothers in every minute of every day since.

Whilst imperfect in every single way possible, what she and we have had together has been and still is, a good grief, the best and most amazing, grief. Driven by her passion, her attitude, the courage of her own humanity, forever supported by our friendship, by their love. Dealing every day with a loss so profound it can never and should be never be filled. It can never be.