TEACHING PROJECT: STORIES OF GRIEF
Time: Spring semester, 2008
Students involved: social anthropology students at Queens University Belfast, doing the module 'Love, Hate and Beyond. Emotions, Culture, Practice' and social science students MOP Vaishnav College for Women in Chennai, doing a module on research methodology.
Task: The students were asked to describe a personal experience of grief in relation to the death of a relative or friend, paying attention to several issues, from how they heard the news and their initial reaction to it, to experiences of the funeral/cremation/wake, the mourning practice and the grieving process. The students were warned that writing about personal experiences is hard as it may bring up painful memories. Due to the sensitive nature of the task, the assignment was optional.
This self-reflective exercise aimed to stimulate the students to think about
METHODOLOGICAL ISSUES
- ethical dimensions of doing research on sensitive issues such as grief
- emotional dimensions of fieldwork
- empathy as methodological tool
THEORETICAL ISSUES
- the social dynamics of grief
- culturally specific discourses and performances of grief
- other differences in terms of gender, age, etc.
- specific reactions to types of deaths (young/old person, expected/unexpected, etc.)
- the importance (or irrelevance) of display rules
- the importance of mortuary rituals/rites-of-passage
- grief as emotion that bridges cultural meaning and bodily feeling
The stories of grief were anonymised, and the authors were asked to read and reflect on each others accounts. The students in
STORIES OF GRIEF: EXPERIENCES FROM NORTHERN IRELAND
Female, 20 (18 during the event described) I have been quite lucky to never have experienced the loss of a close relative. When I was 12 years old my nanny died. I found this time very confusing. I had once been very close to my nanny and regularly visited her. However, there had been a family argument between my mum and my dad’s side of the family which had been on going for many years (my nanny was my dad’s mum) The weeks leading up to her death were very difficult and many arguments took place. My nanny told me that the doctors had told her that she would be dead before Christmas. I found this quite distressing and can remember leaving her house that night rather upset. That was the Thursday evening. On the Sunday the 5th December my mum, dad, my sister and brother went shopping and then went on a drive. On the return journey my dad received a phone call from his sister (my auntie) however he did not answer. When we returned home there were messages on our answering machine to tell us that my nanny had been rushed into hospital. My dad left and went to the hospital. We were not allowed to go because my dad thought we were too young. When he returned later that evening my mum lit a candle, this was how I realised that there was bad news. My mum and dad took me into the family room and my dad told me that my nanny had passed away. I can still remember that my heart started to beat faster when I was told the news and my dad began to cry- it was the first and only time that I have witnessed this. At the time I was confused whether to cry or not because of the arguments that had taken place. Should I be upset or not? Looking back I can never remember crying after her death. On the Tuesday I went to the funeral directors with my dad to see the body I said prayers but can remember feeling happy that day. I did not attend the funeral or the service at the crematorium because I had exams in school. The service was not religious as my nanny did not attend church and she was cremated. The weeks after her death were rather bitter between our family and my dad’s side of the family. My dad and none of his children where mentioned in the will. Today there is still very little communication between the families and I have not seen or spoken to my dad’s brother and his wife since.
Female, 24 (18 during the event described) Growing up I was not especially close to my grandfather as there were a lot of issues and events which occurred throughout my life to make it this way. When I was around 16 years old I was reunited with him at Christmas and from then on he became a big part of my life. He developed some serious health issues which lead to his legs having to be amputated, this event brought us close together and we all believed that he was recovering well, until one night me and my family went down to the hospital to visit him, and around an hour or so after leaving the staff phoned to say that he was unwell and that we should come back to the hospital immediately. By the time my siblings and I arrived he had just passed away, it was a very distressing time for all of us especially taking into account that I was only really beginning to know him as a person, I think this made it that much harder for me to deal with and I felt a lot of regret because of this. When I arrived he was still in the same hospital bed as I had left him in only there was an essence of peace surrounding him, like he had gone to a better place and was free from pain.
I cried and cried, thinking that the sense of loss that I felt would never end. In the days after the death my grandfather was brought to my house to be waked, allowing family and friends to say their last goodbyes and to see him one last time. The morning of the funeral was especially distressing for me when the coffin was closed by the undertakers; I think that knowing that it was the last time that I would see him, I broke down crying and felt physically sick and no amount of comforting from family members eased this pain. I think that although time does heal the loss that I felt back then, that the memories will stay with me forever as even though it was nearly 6 years ago I can still remember every detail as if it was yesterday, and the emptiness returns.
The morning of the funeral was a very sad day as knowing that this would be the last goodbye, my siblings and I placed a few items in the coffin with him, including a cigar, a small bottle of whiskey, and I also wrote him a letter detailing how I felt and the regrets which I had for not having him in my life throughout my childhood, looking back I think that writing down my feelings helped me to gain a little closure. The funeral passed off and because my grandfather was from a small country town, this is where he was to be buried. I cannot really remember when I stopped crying or felt able to deal with his passing but with every months mind and anniversary mass the memories reoccur, although now when I think of him I reflect upon the happy times we shared together and the little things that he used to do for me.
Female, 20 (17 during the event described) I must have been seventeen at the time. My sister (one year my senior) and I were the only two in the house on the Saturday evening. She answered the phone. I could only hear snippets of the conversation but I still knew something wasn’t quite right. When she finally hung up she told me that it had been our Uncle and that Nanny (my Grandmother) was dead. I remember I screamed out, “NO!” and began crying uncontrollably. We had known she had been diagnosed with cancer but the Doctor had said the operation was a success. I couldn’t understand how this could have happened so quickly without any warning. Wasn’t my Mum in the hospital with her now? As it turned out she had, in fact, suffered from a heart attack due to the stress of the operation. She was my Grandmother on my Mum’s side, my only surviving Grandparent since I’d been born and now even she was gone.
I know for a very long time my thoughts were filled with questions: Why didn’t I visit her in hospital? Did she know I loved her as much as I did? And not just because I had to? Did I ever show her enough gratitude for all the things she’d done? It had been her birthday that very same day and I hadn’t so much as visited her. Had she suffered? Had she wondered why we weren’t there for her? Despite the fact that we lived closer to my Dad’s side of the family, I always felt closer to my Mum’s. We never got to visit them as much as we really should; we still don’t to this day. Probably less so now she isn’t there to unite us.
The next thing I remember is arriving at my Grandmother’s home and finally getting to see my Mum and hug her. It was strange, so many people coming to visit the house, most of whom I didn’t know. We all kept busy by making cups of tea, it’s a silly thing but it’s how things are done in
After she was buried, next to her husband, we all went to a local hall where a spread of food was put on and people could gather to talk and pay their respects. Again there were so many people I didn’t know but it was nice to be surrounded by my cousins, all her grandchildren. Of course this was not where my grief ended, perhaps it never has and never will. For weeks, even months after this I found it difficult to grasp the fact that she wasn’t around anymore and I would never go back to her house and see her there. Eventually I began to cope better but I still think about her, I’d like to think she knew I loved her and that she’s watching over us but I’ve never been sure of what I believe. I know that she loved her family very much and she had a rich life. That’s good enough for me.
Female, 20 (17 during the event described) My cousin (female 23), was born with cystic fibrosis. Therefore, I was always told that my cousin was going to die young. Even ten months before her death I was told she only had a year to live, unless she got a lung transplant. The ten months for her death she had to sent to hospital three times on false alarms, which was always an upsetting event. As you would worry and be anger when the operation did not occur. I suppose it was at this time I started to mourn. I felt sorry for my cousin because her life going to be cut short, sad because I watching my cousin slowly die, who I would lose in the end and also anger and guilt, as my cousin didn’t not know she had a year to live and I was forbidden to tell her. The last time she was in hospital she was a very bad state, she was having fits when she could no longer breathe, but no one told her that she was going to die, even thought she asked. So there was a lot of anger, resentment and sentiment around family members not just myself. I personally felt guilty; as I had said to my mother the night before my cousin died, I thought my cousin was going to die. Afterwards this made me feel awful because I was right and I felt like I had condemned her to death.
The day my cousin died was the strangest day of my life. I just sort of float through it in a state of shock and sadness. I was 17 at the time and I was studying for my A levels. The day my cousin died, I was in history class, and I had only been in school for an hour. My headmaster came into my class and whispered to my teacher, as he had done a thousand times before, but this time I knew it was about me. As soon as I had seen my headmaster, I knew why he was there. After he had spoken to my teacher my headmaster asked to speak to me in the hall, this only confirmed my suspicions. At this point I told myself to calm it could be for a million reason but just because my cousin died. When we got into the hall all my headmaster told me was that he had just got off the phone with my parents and that they are going to collect me and to staying class until they come.
I just went numb and I total shock. I went back into class but I could pay attention to the teacher my head was full of very dark thoughts and I just watched the clock. My teacher asked if I was ok and I relied that I was fine. After ten minutes, I just left the class, and waited for my dad. When I my dad finally came, I just got into the car. My dad was telling some stuff, I can’t remember, I think it was along the lines of something has happened but I not going to tell you until you are home and then your mum can tell you. My reaction to this was, “Dad!
The days following the funeral are a blur and I just felt numb, I did not remember it very much, I was just at school. The funeral I remember the journey, it was long and cold. At this point I was a robot I felt like I had no feelings, because my parents had send me to school I has bottled up all feelings, I felt very emotionless. I went to my aunties house but I didn’t see the body, as I felt it would give me nightmare and I was afraid it would upset me. The minister had a wee speech and I felt nothing, I walked behind the coffin and felt nothing. I was sad but I just felt so numb and I started feeling guilty like there was something wrong with me because an I could not cry like everyone else. At the service it was very sad, it was hard to listen to my uncle and everyone say something about my cousin. It was very sad and I was sad but I could not cry. Outside when they were putting in the coffin into the hearses, I saw the saddest sight of my day, which broke my numbness and made me cry. It was raining and I watched my cousin youngest brother, who was only seven, wiping the rain off the coffin where my cousin head would have been. It was such a sad sight, I just felt so sad as he had lost his oldest sister. Soon we where drove to the graveyard, but I didn’t go in, I wanted to but I couldn’t as I was sick that day and I felted really ill so I didn’t go, which I feel really guilty for. Then it was all over my family came back got in the car and we went home.
It was all over and we got back to normal life. I felt a bit weird about it, it was strange having those days where you feel separate from everyone. Than you go back in normal life part of you still feels sad but you just get on with it. For me, my grief really hit me a few months down later, but I felt I could not mourn as everyone else had moved on. So I had to wait until the year anniversary until I felt I was allowed to mourn but even then you are restricted as it was a year ago and your suppose to have moved on. Even now there is still sadness but also a lot of anger especially towards my aunt as people still feel that she should have told my cousin she was dying and should not had denied it.
Female, 20 (11 during the event described) I was eleven years old when my granddad (my mum’s father) died of lung cancer. My relationship with him at the time was such that I would have seen him on average fortnightly, and really enjoyed my time spent with him: playing outdoor games with him and my brothers, helping him look after his garden, experiencing his passion of steam trains, hearing tales of Irish history and other such treasures. I remember on one trip home from visiting my grandparents, mum told me granddad had cancer. My understanding of cancer was that it was a very mean disease that lots of people can get, and which cannot always be defeated. Immediately I had created a strong link between cancer and death. I had gathered previously-due to the sensitive state of my mother- that something serious had happened, and so was not entirely shocked by my mum’s news. I knew she was upset by it and so did not ask many questions. I accepted the news quickly, realising that many older people become unwell and sometimes die, and that is just what is supposed to happen. It seemed very simple in my head. It was not that I did not care for granddad, but that I knew he had lived his life and that it was his turn to die, and that he would be very happy when he reached Heaven. I knew I would miss him, and I was sad for my granny to be left alone, but my main concern was for my mum.
At home over the next few months I witnessed my mother’s desperate crying for her dying dad, her general lack of energy and happiness, and the quiet conversations between my parents which they thought were private. It is surprising how vast an impact the behaviour of a parent can have on their child, and indeed how much a child picks up without being told. Was it not for these characteristics displayed through my mum’s mourning, I would not have cried so intensely for my granddad. I thought I was crying for the suffering of my granddad, and the emptiness which would be left when he would depart, but really I was upset that by this normal, even expected conclusion to life as we can see it; my mother would lose her strength as an adult, and break down into tears of confusion, upset, anger and helplessness.
Male, 47 (14 during the event described) In a boarding school it is quite easy to form close friendships with ones peers. One such friend of mine was Peter Brown, who died in 1974, of leukaemia, aged just fourteen. I am now approaching my forty eighth birthday, as he should have been. I do not, nor have I ever felt guilt that it was he who was randomly chosen (by God?), to lead such a short life. However, I often think of him and how painful it must have been for his parents now that I too, am a father of a nine year old boy. Peter wrote a letter to me during the school holidays at the start of his illness with words that I will always remember. In typical adolescent bravado, he stated, ‘‘I’ve really gone and fucked up this holiday, as I keep on puking blood !’’ The new term started ominously with an empty bed in our dormitory. My friends and I were told what leukaemia meant and how it was often fatal (in 1974). After a while Peter returned to school. He was certainly changed physically, although he remained forcibly jovial. He wore a rather ill-fitting wig, looked very pale, and he walked slowly. I do feel some regret (guilt?), by the fact that I could have spent more time with him but I tend to brush this aside as I was a young teenager intent on enjoying myself with my other, more lively friends. As time went by, Peter was confined mostly to his hospital bed in Hammersmith,
On the morning of the funeral, it was announced after breakfast, in front of the whole school, ‘‘would all those going to Peter Brown’s funeral please leave now’’. I felt important, even heroic as I stood up to leave. The funeral ceremony at a nearby church was packed with people. I remember trying hard not to cry in front of my fellow fourteen year old mates. For a few Saturday’s afterwards, his father would take three selected friends to Brand’s Hatch, to watch some motor racing. Looking back, this must have been cathartic for Mr. Brown in coping with his grief. As a teenager, I was so busy with school work, football and friends that I quickly moved on from the experience.
Female, 46 (46 during the event described) In November 2006, my mother had her first stroke. It was only a small stroke, not even classified as such, but it was a terrible shock to me, my sister and my brother. Our mum was 82, but we had always felt that she would ‘live forever’. In my case, this wishful thinking reflected the strong bond between us, which was maintained even though I lived abroad. Her ‘not-being-there’ was in many ways unthinkable. When I heard the news I rushed over from
In the Summer, I stayed with her for three weeks while my siblings were on holidays. It was great to be with her on my own, but also a confrontation as she was now in a wheelchair and needed help with everything. Carers came in four times a day, all very confusing for her as there were different people all the time. Something needed to be done. As she preferred to stay in her own house, I organized 24 hour care, with three nurses on a full time basis. We had no idea how long we would be able to do this financially, but it seemed the best option for the moment. It was hard to leave her after three weeks of intensive being together – laughing, crying, holding her, taking her out in the car and the wheelchair, making lots of cups of tea and coffee, and drinking wine in the sun sitting on terraces.
On 30 August, when I had just returned to
The next days were extremely intensive and emotional. Together with my brother, sister and one of the nurses, we looked after mum as she was dying. It is hard to describe what I felt, going through waves of intense sadness, grief, love, acceptance and desperation. We were so focused on just being there; it seemed we were in a bubble where time had stopped. We put on candles, stroked and kissed her, cried and sang for her. At night we spent a lot of time with her, sitting on the floor next to her bed, talking, singing, crying, laughing, telling stories or just being quiet. The nurse warned that we shouldn’t tire ourselves out. My sister and I shared the second bed in my mum’s room, holding each other tightly. The first night my brother slept on the floor next to us. We just couldn’t leave her. Lack of sleep made the whole experience even more unreal than it was. Aunts and uncles visited every day, which was heartwarming. The second day my mum was almost unconscious, but on the third day, she looked at us intensely a few times, with tears in her eyes. We told her that it was all right, that she should let go, and go to daddy (even though we’re not particularly religious, despite a Christian background). I’m sure that in those few conscious moments she knew she was dying, and knew she was looking at her children for the last time. That evening she passed away when we had left her on her own for a few minutes. It seemed that she needed the space to ‘fly away’. ‘That’s her secret’, the nurse said.
The moment I found out that she was dead, I felt so grateful that she had had the strength to let go. I was in a celebratory mood and didn’t cry, at least not initially. We decided to keep her at home for a few days, in the style of an Irish wake. The doctor came and phoned an undertaker, who arrived 15 minutes later and told us that she used to run a puppet theatre. We laughed and said she was the right person for us. She was unconventional and therefore great, giving us the space to do as much ourselves as we wanted. We hadn’t planned anything, and just let it happen. I helped washing my mum, and together with my brother and sister embalmed her in rose oil. Her body was still warm, still making the transition to being a corpse. It was so good to do these last things with her, and it created a very special tie between me and my siblings.
The following days we spent much time with my mum. I had a moment where I almost screamed, saying that this was nonsense, having her in the house, almost a lie because it was so far from the experience of her dying. The stillness in death was such a contrast. But in the end it was good to have three days with her, still being able to touch her, look at her, talk to her. I went again through so many feelings, the whole range from acceptance to despair, and it felt good to let them out. My sister and brother were doing the same. Other relatives visited and my husband and son came over from
Deciding how to organise the mortuary ritual had a strong element of fun, as we were given much space for our own ideas. It was very special. We lifted my mum into the coffin, and added flowers, letters and other objects. My sister, brother and myself drove her in my brother’s sky blue 30-year old Škoda to the crematorium. My brother had stuck a photograph of our father on the dashboard and we felt as if we were going on a family holiday, as we had done when we were young. We sang holiday songs on the way and were smiling when we arrived at the crematorium, while the relatives who waited for us had grave looks on their faces. It just illustrates the whole craziness of the situation, the fact that you go through so many contradictory emotions when you’re faced with a loss. My sister (a professional singer of Indian classical music) sang while family and friends gathered in a small hall; the women, my sister and me at the front carried the coffin through a beautiful lane with old trees to the building with the oven (my brother’s idea, ‘a woman has to be carried by women’); we stopped in front of it and listened to a piece of my sister’s music, standing around the coffin; I stroked the lid of the coffin just where my mum’s face was, and broke down in tears; then some of the men, led by my brother, carried the coffin into the building and slid it into the oven (this had never happened before, the undertaker told us, normally this is done by professionals); the women and other men waited outside; my brother then reappeared with a burning torch with which he had lit the coffin, and lighted a wood fire that we had prepared outside; everybody was then served Slivovitz, and drank this while standing around the fire; after about twenty minutes, we all walked back to the first building, and had food together.
I could write pages and pages about the emotions that I have felt during the last six months, and describe the small rituals that I have invented to remember, commemorate and ‘communicate’ with my mum. I don’t really have the space here. But I feel that having been able to fully live through the experience of my mother’s dying, has helped me to cope with it as best as I can. I have also come to realize that that the intense grief I feel is a result of the very special bond I had, and continue to have, with my mum, which makes it in the end a positive experience.
Female, 23 (21 during the event described) When I was 21 years old I flew home after spending six months abroad. The week before I came home I found it really hard to contact anyone in my family which was odd for me. My family is really close and we talk everyday. At the time I had a feeling something was different and possibly wrong but tried not to think the worst. I knew my mom was picking me up at the airport because I spoke to her the night before I flew, which put my mind somewhat at ease. My mom picked me up and when we were about halfway between the airport and my home, she started off by saying that we had something really bad happen in our family the previous week. My heart hit the floor, immediately thinking something had happened to my aunt who has various illnesses though nothing that I thought was potentially fatal. She then told me my cousin Kevin (39) was murdered on what we think to be May 30, 2006. They couldn’t be certain of the date. I did not know how to react. I was in my first actual state of shock. She went on to tell me that his ex-girlfriend walked into his new house and shot him in the leg and then in the heart, then killed herself. The reason I had not been able to get hold of my family the week before was because they had to fly to
I hadn’t seen my cousin in perhaps 10 years and until that moment when my mom told me about his murder; not seeing him was not a big deal to me. I’m not sure if it is because of my lack of connection with him that I still have not fully dealt with how sad and angry I still am about his death. I found it hard to cry or accept it because I did not have any closure. I was not even told until he was buried. Part of me is angry with my family for not telling me but part of me is not sure if it would have been easier either way. My mom told me the answers to all the questions that I asked and the most painful answer is that my cousin probably did suffer before he died. I wish I could have been assured he never even knew what was happening. Deaths that come as a shock are so much harder to cope with I think. When someone you know has this build up of illness that lurks ready to completely take their body, their loved ones although sad to see them go are probably grateful that the pain is over for them. If someone dies without warning, you never get to say goodbye.
Sean was not the only person that passed that day. His ex-girlfriend who killed herself was a successful and quite wealthy woman on the
Female, (15 during the event described) I was fifteen years old when a good friend and neighbour of mine died. The situation in which I heard of the death was quite ironic as I was told at a wedding (needless to say I didn’t look my best in the photographs!). Andrew had suffered from 2 or 3 brain tumours before the illness finally claimed him 2 months after his 16th birthday. I was on an exchange programme in
One week before I was due to return home I was attending the wedding of the woman who organized the exchange for me (she was a resident of this small village in the South of France, and was also a previous neighbour of both Andrew and I). Outside the town hall, just after the ceremony, her father walked up to me and said “He died”. It took a moment to register, and when it did I found it so difficult to maintain any sort of positive composure.I posed for photographs, I tried to talk about any other subject possible, but any moment that I wasn’t distracted, I broke down. It was so difficult because it was one of the happiest days of one person’s life, and one of the saddest days of mine. Strangers asking me why my eyes were so red (in French) didn’t really help the situation.
The mourning process was quite difficult because I missed the funeral and I felt so very much alone and isolated from the people that could provide me with some form of comfort. Although I was due to arrive home in less than a week, it felt like the longest week of my entire time in
The experience of losing someone at a young age and without saying goodbye has had lasting effect on me. Internal grief and feelings of guilt resided for quite some time. Upon my arrival home, many of my friends didn’t know how to approach the subject of his death and my absence, so the topic was never approached. It was presumed that I was to maintain silence and move on. Difficult as it was, I dealt with it in my own way, as I believe every individual has the ability to do.
Anonymous My mother died suddenly of a heart attack two years ago, for about a year I had reoccuring dreams about her, which I found to be very comforting as I felt she was still around. Since then I have suffered mental and physical strain with a number of symptoms such as, migraine headaches, chest infections and for a long while, I was very disorientated, loosing things for instance and finding them a long time after in the most unlikely places, all this I attributed to the shock of loosing the my mother, as for misplacing certain items my family believe it was my mothers way of letting us know she would always be looking out for us.
Female, 21 (20 during the event described) I am pleased that this assignment is not about theorising our experiences as I believe it is difficult to apply theories to personal experiences, as much as we may be able to see how our experiences fit certain patterns or conform to certain norms, most people like to believe and are to a certain extent correct in believing that their personal experiences are unique and cannot be theorised. My story of grieving is about a woman who died last April, she was in her mid 50s but seemed much younger when she was healthy, she died of breast cancer. I’m female and was 20 when she died and I am 21 now.
I heard of Mary’s death on the phone from my dad, he had received a text message that was sent to all family and friends of Mary informing them of her death the night before. It was a strange way to tell people but there was a lot of people to tell, she had a huge family and friendship network and everyone was aware that she was very ill and had been given just weeks to live so it was not a real shock. Having said that it was still very upsetting, my mum had told me of how she was deteriorating each time I had spoken to her on the phone while I was away at uni and then when I got home I heard more of this from her brother who lives very close. Because I knew that Mary was fatally ill I grieved for her both before and after she died. I was in my house alone when I was told of her death as my parents were away, they rang from the airport, and so I had no one to talk to. I quickly, within minutes, went through various stages of grieving from denial to anger to depression and flicked back and forth quickly and I spoke to myself in the mirror to try to make sense of things. I had to ring her family to ask about funeral arrangements and unfortunately neither me nor my parents could make it, I was due to come back to Belfast on the day of her funeral, because of this I had my own private ‘ceremony’ in my student house on the day that hers took place and I lit a candle for her. I am not at all a religious person in the sense of believing in a deity and acting accordingly but I am very spiritual.
Although I thought about Mary everyday after hearing of her death (and still do now) I did not properly mourn the loss after the initial few days of it happening until the next time I got home. I was surrounded by her friends and family at a memorial service that was held for all the people that could not make her funeral and at which her ashes were buried. It was at this ceremony that I properly mourned the loss of Mary, I stood in between my mum and dad with our arms around each other and we all shared a tissue, my mum being the only one sensible enough to remember to bring one. I had not cried about it since the day I heard and it was a relief to be able to without having to explain to anyone and to know that I was with people that understood and were feeling similar to me although dealing with it in their own way. It was also here that I came to accept that she was really gone, before this I had almost tricked myself into believing that it wasn’t actually real. Mary loved angels and had hundreds of them, her two daughters gave angels to everybody that loved and was loved by Mary, I have one with me at uni and we have one at home, the one at home ended up being our angel on top of our Christmas tree last year which was the first Christmas without Mary, Mum believed that she might be able to join in the festivities in that way. Although I now accept that Mary is no longer with us, I am still angry at her death I feel she was taken far too early and because I am not religious I have no real explanation for it.
Female, 21 (19 during the events described) My uncle John had been sick for over a year with throat and lung cancer. When he was initially diagnosed, surgeons removed his lymph nodes and his voice box, leaving him with a small flap to cover a hole in his throat. He often left it uncovered because it was so difficult to keep the flap attached to the ever-sagging skin on his neck. For a few months after the surgery, we were hopeful that he would recover, but it became apparent that he was slipping away. He was beyond treatment. In his final year, John did all the things he had always wanted to do with his adult children, from skydiving to deep-sea fishing. Eventually, he became too weak to do much of anything. The last time I saw him, he was sleeping in a hospital bed set up in his living room. We sat around waiting for him to wake up, but when he did it was because he was nauseous. He left the room as quickly as he could to avoid getting sick in front of his nieces. Not wanting to watch him suffer, I didn’t go back to visit after that. I wanted to remember him joking and laughing and teasing, not wasting away in pain.
His descent was very slow – he went for over a month without eating anything before he finally passed. I was away at university when I finally received the call that he had died. It was strange, because we had all been praying that he would just let go, so I felt a sense of calm upon hearing the news. I went home as soon as I could to be with my family before the funeral, even though everyone told me I should wait a few days before coming home. I just couldn’t function in my classes every day knowing that my family was grieving at home. I sat next to my grandfather at the funeral, and the first time I really, really cried was when I saw that he was crying. Grandpa had lost his first wife after only 6 years of marriage. Then he lost a daughter, John’s twin sister Dianna, when she was only 18. I couldn’t even imagine how hard it must be for him to burry a second child. I knew I would miss my uncle, but I also felt like it was a small loss compared to what Grandpa must be feeling. At the funeral, everyone kept commenting on “how wonderful” John looked in his coffin. They said the mortician had really done a great job restoring his features. I didn’t think he looked wonderful at all. I thought he looked dead, and I didn’t want to look at him at all. How can people say a dead body looks wonderful? It’s just a body. I was so frustrated with people repeating that, especially to my aunt, his widow. I’m sure she didn’t think he looked wonderful, a shrivelled man dead in his early 40s; a mere shadow of the handsome, thin man she had married when they were both in their early 20s.
John was known for going around everywhere without his shoes on. One of my aunts and her two sons took their shoes off as the funeral proceeded to the cemetery for burial. I still wish I would have thought to do the same – I, too, always walk around without shoes on, and everyone had always joked that I should have been John’s daughter. After the burial and the funeral dinner, I had to head back up to university, because I had promised my friends I would attend a formal dance with them that night. I still regret leaving my family so soon. I didn’t stay to grieve properly with them, and because of that my grief was strung out over the rest of the term. I would get really busy with schoolwork, and then all of a sudden grief would crush me and I would remember that I never really dealt with John’s passing, beyond that one day at the funeral. I had a picture on my shelf of John sitting on my family’s front porch with his feet – black on the bottom with dirt – resting on the railing. I tried to look at it every day and let a little bit of the pain go. About a month later, I had one of the most realistic dreams I’ve ever had. Nothing happened, really. John was just there, and I knew that he was happy. That was it. It was as though he was really with me, standing there in his bare feet, and telling me not to be sad anymore, because he certainly wasn’t. I don’t claim to know where he is or how he obtained that sense of peaceful happiness after such a tumultuous life, but I know that he did. Now, when I miss him, I think of that dream. I think of how he’s happy now, and I’m happy too.
Female, 22 (17 during the events described) I have a small family: parents, a sister, one set of grandparents and an aunt. I do not know the others, more specifically the people on my father’s side of the family, most of whom live in Scotland, although my father’s parents lived in Belfast most of their lives. I have never lost anyone close to me before. When my father’s father died it was therefore quite an emotionally strange experience. I was in lower sixth at school (aged seventeen) when he passed away. I’m not sure how old he was, somewhere in his late seventies or eighties. I remember arriving home from school one day in November 2003 and seeing the look on my mother’s face. I knew immediately that something was wrong and it filled me with panic and anxiety. It wasn’t exactly a solemn look or one that told me she had been crying, but one of deep distress. The colour had drained from her face and she looked frail and tired.
When she told me the news I felt a mixture of emotions. I felt deeply sorry for my father because I knew that they had been close and he would obviously be upset (and the look on my mother’s face said that he was upset – like me, she barely knew my grandfather, and therefore her expression could not have portrayed her own personal grief, but an acknowledgement of my father’s.) I also felt relieved that no one I loved was hurt or gone and that nothing more ‘serious’ in my eyes had happened that would make me upset, and then I felt guilty for thinking this because it was selfish and my father was going through a terrible experience. I really wanted to go and comfort my father, but I knew that he probably wished to be alone and deal with his grief in a private way, for now at least. I also had a small sense of regret that I did not make more of an effort to get to know my grandfather because now it was too late. But on the other hand, he and my grandmother had not really made an effort to get to know me either, although they had sent cards at Christmas and birthdays. When my father went to visit them he always went alone.
My mother told me that my father wanted my sister and I to be at the funeral, which took place a short time later. It was there that I met my uncle and some of my cousins for the first time, another emotionally strange aspect of the experience, as I felt no affiliation with them and I knew we probably wouldn’t meet again. My father asked my sister and I if we wanted to see our grandfather so we went into a separate small room where his coffin was. I had never seen a dead body before and my sister was only nine at the time. My grandmother stood near the coffin, crying loudly and embracing a friend or relative. I wondered if she would ever get over the death of her husband. I really wished I could take my sister away and shield her from those depressing surroundings, although I knew she was more than old enough to realise that people die, and in a way it would be a good experience for her.
I had visited my grandfather as a young child and vaguely remembered his face. I think he did look similar to what I remembered, but something else struck me that made me feel slightly sick. As I stood there gazing at him I couldn’t help noticing that he bore an uncanny resemblance to my father, and it conjured up thoughts of him lying there dead. I began to empathise with what my father must have been going through. Being ‘close’ family of the deceased, we took the places reserved for us in the front row of the funeral home, and I felt like I didn’t really have the right to be there. As the minister lead us in some prayers and talked about fond memories of my grandfather and how he used to refer to my grandmother with affection, I found myself in tears even though I could barely remember my grandfather, and my sister glanced at me with some surprise. I was not mourning for my dead grandfather, although the picture the minister was painting of him made me think what a privilege it would have been to know him. It was more to do with the atmosphere of the place having an affect. I vividly remember hearing women crying behind me and I couldn’t help but feel grief too.
I was worried about my father but he put on a brave face and I have happier memories of watching ‘friends’ with my sister and father later that night and laughing with them. A reminder of the closeness of our small family made me optimistic that in time he would be fine. When I got back to school, I realised that word of the reason for my absence had somehow got around. Unfortunately, the information got into the wrong hands and at the end of English class one of the most horrible girls in my year came up to me and asked, ‘so how did your granddad die?’ We hardly ever spoke to one another and I knew she was trying to upset me by referring to the death of what she though was a loved one in such a matter-of-fact way. I was enraged that someone could be so cruel, and had I been close to my grandfather I might have hit her there and then. I was tempted to retaliate and take her by surprise with an equally insensitive reply that I didn’t know how he died (which I didn’t), and I wasn’t particularly interested either because I didn’t know him. However, I thought better of this and simply ignored her.
My grandmother (my father’s mother) died about a year later. Sometimes I think of my grandparents and wonder what it would have been like to know them like I know my mother’s parents. I suppose they were just closer to the families of my father’s brother and sister. I take some comfort in knowing that my grandfather (and probably my grandmother too) had religious beliefs like me and was regularly visited by the minister who conducted his funeral.
Male My dad died very close to Christmas last year. He had been very sick for the last few months having had a terminal illness so we knew it had been coming but still, couldn’t be prepared for it. I was there along with the rest of my family when he died and having never even had any family or friends die before did not know how to act, didn’t even care about how to. I had a very large family on my mother’s side who helped a lot with arranging the funeral, wake and getting in contact with the priest. The wake was in short, a blur dulled by alcohol, shock and disbelief. A mountain of people to meet, everyone in my family breaking down in public at some point. Men and women still acted differently though, some aunts would sit and cry for hours, most of my dad’s friend would hold back what you could clearly see in their eyes. People saying things they would never say at any other time, their own experience of death and memories. The differences between the two room people went into, brought some relief – no one could sit and cry for three days, they needed to come and talk to other people who knew my dad, just as much as they needed to see him.
Even though everyone was still knocked out and in a daze, the intensity and rawness of the wake allowed everyone to get enough grief out so that we could put on a public face for the church. Though my mother’s family could help with most things there were still some things that we would have to do alone, things like carrying the coffin, thanking people for coming to the funeral – these were the things that my brother and me would have to do. My sisters more concerned with which coffin and flowers and my mum- the church readings. Though I had been to funerals before it had only been from the other side - the public side. We knew what we had to do, but this was no preparation. For the men who knew my dad the carrying of the coffin was the only public expression of grief that was normal, as the other times were individual expression, accepted but not really encouraged. The burial was the hardest part for my mother but the priest being there and the ritual of the funeral was very important to her. After the funeral, there was a real change in pace, after the amount of people in the previous days, the amount of people slowly came down to extended family. Generally from the people I met onwards, aunt, sisters and mother would sit and talk about the funeral frequently and still get emotional about it, while uncles and other men would get on with the day to day, but of course there are exceptions.
Female It was 1.20 am on a Wednesday morning in 1998 when the phone rang. My husband had to go up the hall to answer it as I sat up in the bed praying that nothing had happened to my 10 year old daughter who was staying in
The wake was spread over 2 days – family, friends, neighbours, strangers, people coming from everywhere to pay their respects. It was a very small community, and as they came to the house they same questions were asked “why?, how could he do this to his family?”. This was the same question that was repeated by all members of his family – 6 brothers and 4 sisters – constantly. As a sister-in-law I was still angry that he could have done this awful thing – to me it was a very selfish act leaving a young child and young wife bewildered and grief stricken, and his mother heart broken. I was amazed by the amount of food that was brought to the house, flowers that lined the driveway and sat on every available space in the house, people crying, people laughing, children playing in the back garden, it was almost like a family gathering which in a way it was. Stories of the deceased’s good deeds were told and retold as the evenings wore on.
The Church was not big enough to hold the numbers of people who came to pay their last respects. The singing was beautiful and the church was beautifully dressed – except for the sound of crying it was almost like a wedding. There was a funny moment when the coffin was being lowered into the grave by his six brothers, due to the wet weather the soil was very wet and two of the brothers slipped into the grave just as the coffin was being lowered – it was a funny moment in a time of great grief, but I felt this was something the deceased would have found extremely funny.
The grieving process was different for different members of the family. Some time later his mother decided that she could not live in the area any more and moved 60 miles away to live closer to her other children, I became aware for the first time of the devastation that suicide can create in a family, and became aware that everyone is capable of it. The way the widow dealt with this was to say that her husband was momentarily “out of his mind” and continues to believe that up to this day – perhaps this is her way of dealing with his death. His brothers and sisters dealt with it by getting together regularly and talking about their deceased brother – usually over lots of bottles of wine!
Female, 20s (14 during the event described) My own experience of grief involves a very close friend of my family. This woman was the mother of a boy one year older then me; a boy that my brother and I used to play with. When I was about twelve Joanne was diagnosed with breast cancer. I didn’t really understand at the time what this involved and would involve. I remember frequently hearing that Joanne was away getting treatment done, and I remember she came back one day with a shaved head.
When I was about fourteen I remember hearing that Joanne had died at the age of about fifty-five. By this stage Joanne and her son had moved to live in another country so that we hadn’t seen either of them in some time. This made it all the harder to accept, especially for my mother. As well as this, it meant that we would not be able to go to her funeral. It was like a disjointed, elusive grief that I felt and I observed because it centred solely on my family. About a month after Joanne’s death we went to a private memorial mass for her, many of her son’s friends turned up for it. I remember feeling nauseous observing these people who were there to support Joanne’s son, but who had not really known Joanne herself. My mother’s grief had been palpable; I remember feeling very uncomfortable as it was my first real experience and observation of grief. The mass had been very informal, almost like a wake. We all sat on the ground in a circle amidst candles, whilst the priest told his sermon. As we were living abroad at the time, the sermon and the whole grieving process was a multi-cultural, disjointed affair that I am sure would not have occurred had my family and Joanne and her son had been living in Ireland at the time. Therefore, I do believe that social contexts influence grieving practices and processes to a very large extent.
I don’t remember ‘re-covering’ as such, but I do remember wanting to forget about the whole thing as quickly as possible. A photo album that Joanne had bought me some years before as a present became like a symbol, a memory of Joanne that I still have and remember to this day. I also find that I tend to prefer remembering older memories of events that would have occurred before Joanne’s diagnosis. This also occurs when my family remembers Joanne and talk about fond memories we have of time spent with her. The time period between the horrible diagnosis and her subsequent death are fuzzy, blurry and incoherent.
Female, mid 30s (13 during the event described) My personal experience of grief involves the very first time I went Christmas shopping in town without an adult present (I was about 13years). I met my youngest sister after school in what is quite a big town, and from there we headed to do some Christmas shopping. I felt really grown up, and independent. After we had walked around all the shops we went to a local cafe for tea and proceeded to catch the last bus home. As the bus filled up with people going towards our village one old lady I recognised walked past and said ‘sorry for your trouble’ and walked on. I was very puzzled to say the least but thought she must have made some sort of mistake, maybe confusing me for someone else.
As the bus pulled up outside our house and we literally had three feet before we were onto the steps outside our front door I could feel something was terribly wrong. I don’t know what it was, maybe what the old lady had said or the people outside our front door, or the looks customers from the shop next door were giving us, but one of our parents met us in the hall (I can’t recall which one) and explained our granny (in her 80s) had died earlier in the day. My mother had spent hours driving around the town looking for us, but could not locate us to inform us of the news, so had to just wait for us to arrive home as planned. My lasting memories of this time are the fact that my granny was buried just a few days before Christmas and ever since then I have not felt able to celebrate it properly. Christmas has never been the same for me since.
In addtition this this account, I’ll describe another incident that occurred when I was in my 20s. The accident occurred because of three factors – the car had been left in gear, with the keys in the ignition and with a minor in the front seat unsupervised. As I heard the shout I knew instinctively that this was serious. I turned and ran back to the car I had just passed. No one else was about so I grabbed the child (2years), who was in the driver’s seat, through the open window, and ran for help. As i entered the office attached to the garage forecourt i shouted call an ambulance over and over, everyone was stunned and i just kept shouting call an ambulance, there’s been an accident. As I recall they all ran to see what they could do and i was left to hold the child and speak to rescue services. My most prevailing memory of this incident is later on that day, an hour or so later, after following the ambulance to the local hospital.
The decision had just been made to get the air ambulance to
Male, late 40s (38 during the event described) My father was born into an extremely strict and orthodox “Evangelical Brethren” Christian family, in a small fishing village in Co. Down. Although for many years, he adhered to the religious and cultural rules of his family and community, he was a man with a spark of individuality. Having moved to
Having established my own life and family as a young man, I was able to receive my father to my own home and accept him for what he was and what he had taught me, albeit from the perspective of a very bad example. We became friends and I was happy to call him “dad”. His earlier excesses however, had left him in poor health and his last decade of life was spent on a kidney dialysis programme, with the inevitable renal failure, drawing ever closer. As his health deteriorated, perversely, the finer aspects of his character shone through and his unwillingness to complain about his lot even extended to boasting about how his hearing had improved since he’d lost his eyesight! It was clear however, that my father was slowly losing his life and although he never once admitted that he was approaching an end game, I could tell that he was aware of his situation. My role was about to change forever, as I was about to become the head of a family which placed enormous cultural significance on being the senior male member. It was an unashamedly conservative and hierarchical family and my behaviour in relation to my father’s death, would be under scrutiny.
I spent several evenings of my father’s last week, in the company of his sister, at the
I immediately began the process of taking over the mantle as head of the household, making the funeral arrangements and presenting the image of stoicism, which my father’s family would have expected. I was aware throughout the approach to the funeral and throughout the proceedings, that I was required to present an image and deliver a performance. My charcoal grey, three-piece, pin-striped suit was complemented with a crisp, new white shirt and plain black tie. My linen hankies were ironed, (in case any of the ladies might need one of course) and my shoes were polished to the highest possible shine. Such was the image required of the head of the household.
The funeral service in the family home, was the sombre, “hellfire and brimstone” warning, expected of such gatherings and whilst I was increasingly convinced of my own atheism, I paid due deference to the “rules” of such an affair, all the while, feeling “disconnected” from the situation. My father’s male voice choir sang at the church service and for one brief moment I felt a real sense of convergence of cultural and emotional grief. Having once sung in similar choirs, I allowed myself the luxury of enjoying the comfort of those hymns and memories of my father, in a setting in which, even by the strict rules of this culture, it was permissible and even encouraged, within limits. The female family members and friends also played their part in the display ritual, crying softly into laundered handkerchiefs, provided by their granite-chinned male companions. Real emotion would have been out of the question for me and I knew it. For whilst this was no longer a true reflection of my personality, faith or culture, I was playing an important function, in the continuance of tradition, which I also respected. My personal grief would have to wait, for times and places of my choosing, when I could allow my emotions to surface. I played the part throughout the service at the house, the walk to the church, the church service, the walk to the cemetery and the reception at the church hall, right down to the speech of thanks at the end.
Two years later, I sold the old family cottage, which was over one hundred years old and where as a boy, I had spent many happy hours with my father and grandmother. I went there alone one last time, took a flask of tea and a sandwich and spent a couple of hours, remembering my father and allowing myself to mourn his loss. No witnesses, no rules, just pure emotions. Looking back on the entire process, I am acutely aware of the constraints on my actions and emotions of the cultural construction of my grief. Whist writing this personal account, it occurs to me, that I don’t have a single photograph of my father, yet his face remains a vivid image in my mind.
Anonymous memoire of Grief
Male 29 (27 during time of bereavement), story added in 2010
Grief is something that we will
all experience at some stage in our lives. It is a powerful experience that is
emotionally charged in many ways. My experience with grief was the loss of my
Mother. My Mother suffered from the addiction of alcoholism for almost 15
years, I was around 12 years of age when this illness started to progress. I
was 27 years of age when my Mother died at the age of 48. I was in the middle
of sitting exams in the coming week, having to drop everything and focus on my
family. Her death was sudden and shocked everyone in our family. It is hard for
me to define grief. An English dictionary defines grief as mental suffering or
distress over affliction or loss. My Mother lived with a debilitating illness
of alcoholism, bringing mental suffering while alive to the family. This in
itself was a loss. I felt powerless in curing my Mother’s affliction. Her
illness became more and more debilitating as the years went on. I would visit
when I could to let her know how I was doing, such as work, studies and
interests. It was very painful to watch my Mother slowly digress further into
her illness. At times I would feel my Mother was going to die soon. I knew in
my heart that my Mother would not live a long life. I remember the last time I
visited, when leaving the front door I had a sinking heavy feeling that this
would be the last time I would see her, and that it wouldn’t be long for her to
pass away. These thoughts and feelings of losing my mum were constant; every
visit felt like it would be the last visit. Eight days after I had visited got
a phone call from my brother crying down the phone, giving me the shocking news
that Mum’s dead. I burst into tears, putting the phone down. About ten minutes
later my Father phoned calmly asking are you OK, as I got through the initial
shock. I felt a combination of emotions, in those moments of the news. The
first was shock, then sadness that my Mother died alone in her sleep, wanting
to blame every living thing under the sun for her death and then came anger
that no one helped to cure my Mum. The emotions I felt coming up to the funeral
were about the reality of not being able to see her again. During the funeral I
felt I had to be strong emotionally for my Father as he was very sad; first
time I had seen my Father crying in years. The last time my Father cried was
when my Mum and Dad split-up for a while when I was about 9 years of age.
Carrying the coffin was a shock, the sudden weight and silence of the funeral
procession, with the only noise of hard shoes on the road; I burst into tears
while carrying the coffin. It was carrying the coffin that made it real for me
that my mother was not with us no more. I didn’t want to see the open coffin as
many of the family felt accustomed to do. This was not how I wanted to
remember. After the next family members of the funeral procession took their
turn in carrying the coffin I turned to one of my friends in the procession and
couldn’t stop crying. He was the nearest person, but also his mother passed
away from Alcoholism about four years previous too; it seemed poignant relating
to my friend this way. The grief I felt about my Mother’s death was confusing
for me, should I be feeling them or not was always on my mind. I felt guilty
about feeling relieved of the pain of my mother’s progressive illness. I can
remember after the funeral was over going back to one of my Auntie’s homes
crying at the kitchen table. I said while crying “my Mother was a prisoner in
her own body, alcoholism had taken her”. My Auntie Sharon comforted me saying
“she is not in any pain now, she can’t feel pain, and she’s at peace”. As I
grew into a teenager, then into my early twenties, I coped with my mother’s
illness by being obsessed in finding cures, reading everything I could on the
disease of alcoholism, to the point where I gained allot of knowledge of the
illness. I also attended Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) thinking I had a problem,
but realising it was her illness. On reflection this was my way of coping. I
did gather allot of knowledge over the years of the illness and how it
progress’s; I think this is why I knew my Mother would die young. At about 21 I
even went to church’s, getting involved in Christianity, reading the bible back
to front and discovered that it didn’t give the right type of wisdom I needed.
I have had to adjust going through the many stages
of grief, being a firm believer that time heals. I feel my grief has come to a
conclusion gradually over the last two years, feeling I am in a good place now.
How I remember my Mother is important to me. The good memories seem to appear
out of the blue which are comforting. Sometimes I feel the pain of 15 years was
enough to last me a life time, my Mothers suffering has taught me on reflection,
the important things in life, and I thank my Mother for giving me the gift of
life. I laugh at myself sometimes, because my Mum and Dad planned to have me
before I was conceived, so I feel special to them. Her caring for me on many
occasions when I was very sick, managing to provide for me through tough and
good times, influencing me to read about life, and most of all being my Mum. My mothers praise in my endeavours was worth
more than anything, this is what I miss the most.
Last Christmas I spent a
week at a Benedictine Monastery to have peace and tranquillity away from city
life. A much needed break away with no distractions; finding this a good time
to reflect on my life and focus on the future, rather than the pain of the
past. While at the monastery I opened my window because I could see a very
bright star through the curtains of my room at about 1:30 in the morning and
seen the most amazing sky. The sky was clear, air was cold sharp, and there
must have been tens of thousands of stars in the sky. I was reading the star
constellation Orion, the Hunter. Seeing three shooting stars, I thought to
myself while gazing, I felt so special that my mother brought me into this
world.
I like to remember in my own way. I hear of
people that say they don’t know if their parents loved them because they never
said it. Well, maybe I am lucky in this regard; my mum would say often enough
that she loved me.
Male (16 during the event described) I was sixteen when I heard of Michael’s death. He had been in hospital for a while and he was in his fifties. He used to own the convenience store next door to my father’s office and I had known him since I was a boy. During summer holidays I used to help him out in the shop restocking the shelves and attending to the counter. When I think of him now I guess he was like an uncle to me. He died during the summer. My father and I found out about his death through a notice outside his shop in the morning. The store would remain closed and there would be a service held in a couple of days.
My natural reaction was immediately to break into tears, but that didn’t happen. The presence of my father beside me conditioned my reaction and somehow I managed to suppress the display of my emotions. I didn’t want my father to see me crying. We are taught from very young that crying is a sign of weakness, and as a teenager the last thing you want is for your father to think that you are weak. So I kept a stiff upper lip and avoided my father for a while. I sat at the computer trying to distract myself and keep my mind off the subject. My internal feelings were of strong grief and loss, but now I think that by suppressing the display of my emotions that had the effect of also suppressing my feelings and the process of grieving. When I look back on it today I feel that something is missing.
Female, 21 I first heard of the unexpected death of my cousin after doing an exam re-sit in August. She had passed away the morning of my exam and my mother decided not to tell me incase it would affect my performance in it. At first it felt like it wasn’t real and a feeling of disbelief came over me, that my Mum must have been talking of some other woman she knew called Janet, not Janet my cousin. I did cry about what had happened but not in front of anyone, which probably sounds a bit stupid but I knew if my Mum saw me crying it would start her off too and I didn’t want to see my Mum upset. My sister and I didn’t even really talk about it in the days surrounding when it happened, probably because we were trying to suspend our belief as to what had actually happened.
Janet and I weren’t really close which I would probably put down to the age gap between us; she was in her mid-thirties, married with two very young children. What made it harder for the whole family to come to terms with was that she had died in her sleep and for someone so young and healthy it is reasonably uncommon in a lot of families. In a way I think it would have been easier, well not easier but more understandable if had have been something like a car accident or even if medical grounds had previously been established. A couple of days after she died my parents went up to my aunt and uncles house were her body was in a room, to say goodbyes to her before they closed the coffin. I did not go to this because I have a memory of seeing my Grandmother whenever I was five years old lying in her coffin when she died and my Dad cried, which was the first memory I have of him crying.
It was a very big funeral and I remember clearly her body being brought into the church and the look upon her husbands face as he carried the coffin. It was as if he was just looking through you; he wasn’t crying but just seemed to still be in shock. Janet’s sister was the person who showed most emotion that day. What made it harder was that a post-mortem had to be carried out after her death and because a reason for death couldn’t be established the medical team had to keep her heart and I think this was hard for her husband burying his wife without her heart. Funeral in a way confirmed everything that had happened, especially when they put her body in the ground thoughts went through my head that I am never ever going to see that person ever again.
It has been six months now since Janet died and I know it gets harder for her very immediate family to come to terms with. One of her daughters is three and a half years old and asks for her mother nearly every day. They eventually established the medical reasons for why her death had occurred at such a young age, because something was wrong with the electric activity of her heart. This can be genetic so the family are still having to deal with the aftermath of the death six months on by her children having to have tests to confirm whether they would be at risk of having it too which brings all sorts of emotions back to the family and in a way hard to find closure.
Female, 26 (22 during the event described) Waking to Christmas Day in 2004 was a little different than usual, I woke to lots of lovely happy Christmas text messages, but one was a little different I didn’t quite know whether to take it seriously or not, I was shocked. It read, ‘sorry to break the bad news like this but John Bell is dead, the funeral is on tuesday next week if you want to attend. I was annoyed that someone had such little tack that they could send such a message. I rang a few friends including the person who text me to enquire was it true, sadly it was.
John met me at a student conference at the Giants Causeway the summer before. He was a representative for
The funeral was in
We left the cemetery planning on going back to the family home to pay our respects, but loosing sight of the car we were following, we found ourselves lost in a suburb of
Male On Sunday 10th February, I sat in the bar watching the Manchester United match. They wore a retro 50s style football rig with black arm bands to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Munich air crash which killed 8 of its players, but the day also marked my own personal tragedy as it was the 11th anniversary of my best friend Jeremy’s death. We meet in pre- school and became instant best friends, I’m older by 6weeks. His mother would pick us up from primary school every day and I would go to his house to play until his father came home from work and drive me home. We sat beside each other in secondary school, and always got into trouble for talking in class. After leaving school we both went on to catering collage with Jeremy working on the cruise ships and finally settling in London were I was last to see him alive.
I had been working in
My mum sat with Jeremy’s mum and told stories of us coming home from school everyday and of how Jeremy had promised to bring her wine from his travels but never did. They played; don’t let the sun go down on me by George Michael at the funeral and my mum burst into tears. Jeremy got called George Michael in school and I remember feeling faint as we walked behind the coffin. Later I went back to his mother’s house but was surprised to see it empty and in darkness. I found out that his parents had retired to bed and the rest of his family had gone to a bar for some drinks. On my return to
I had a phone message from him on my answering machine which I listened to over and over for weeks before finally deleting it but his death didn’t really hit me until my 26th birthday in April. In the middle of a big celebration I can remember just sitting down and thinking, he’s not going to have a 26th birthday. I knew then he was dead and I had lost my best friend. It felt like and still does that I have lost a big part of my life. A few weeks later after another night out, I left early and walked home crying my out for the first over it and shouting why oh why? It marked the start of a long period of depression for me and I had to take medication. I also stopped drinking as it made me feel even worse about what had happened both to Jeremy and Kate. Everyone in work was in a bad way too, with her grandmother always coming in and showing us pictures of Kate and asking me how Jeremy’s family was coping. The poor woman was destroyed. In that June I went to
Female, 20 My granddad (or Papa was what we called him) had always been a proud man. Everyone described him as the gentle giant, to people who didn’t know him; they could have felt intimidated by his stature. But in 2002 he had a stroke that affected him so much he was like another man. The stroke left him with the condition, vascular dementia, it can be a drawn out process of memory loss but for him the effects were immediate, although he was almost 80, he thought he was still in his twenties, living at home with no wife or children. He didn’t know his mum and dad had died long ago or that many of his siblings were also dead. It would have been too painful to tell him every time he asked where they where so we would play along with whoever he thought we were, in the end he thought my granny was his mum. After being in a home for about 6 months he seemed to be comfortable enough, although it was almost like the grieving process had come too soon, he wasn’t my Papa anymore, and he didn’t see me as his granddaughter, what we had known and done together had been completely erased.
He was a diabetic and had to go regularly to the hospital so they could monitor his bloods. The cold, damp ambulance drive for his check up in December 2004 was what gave him the double pneumonia that would eventually kill him. On the night of the 23rd of December he was admitted to hospital, Christmas was cancelled as we all sat in the hospital waiting for something to change. By December 28th he had died. Even though I knew it was coming it still was a shock. The wake was surreal, so many people I didn’t know coming and going. The most difficult part of that was going in to see him, I only did it once the whole two days he was there, something that I still regret. I just couldn’t accept that the man in the coffin was the man I had known, it felt like I was supposed to be mourning someone I didn’t know, because the last years of his life I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me, we had no relationship.
The funeral took place on New Year’s Eve; it was strange to know that while the rest of the world was gearing up for the biggest party of the year, we were going through such a hard time. Before I never thought about people dying at Christmas but I came to the realization that people die everyday of the year there are no exceptions.Because of the nature of his illness the feeling of loss occurred years before the feeling of grief did. It’s a strange feeling because you can talk to this person and have this vast memory of experiences shared together and to them you are a complete stranger, this was the hardest and most heartbreaking thing for everyone.
Female, Last year was a very difficult year for me as two of my close family members passed away. Unfortunately these deaths happened in a very short space of time and I feel I had not yet grieved fully for my great Aunty Marilyn when my Granddad died. As these deaths coincided, I will discuss my grieving processes in both instances as I feel the feelings and emotional state I was in during this time overlap. It is important to explain my grieving process may be a little different from others, as I do not live in the same country as my family and so, initially, went through quite a lonely and isolated experience.
My Aunty Marilyn was my grandma’s sister; She was always like a grandma to me as her sister (my grandma) passed away before I was born and so we had formed a strong bond. She died in February 2007. My Granddad was my mum’s dad, the only biological grandparent I had ever known. He hadn’t been well for a while and died peacefully in March 2007. I remember my mum ringing me to tell me that Aunty Marilyn had passed away in hospital while undergoing treatment for a back problem. My first reaction was shock, which I expressed by crying; I had never even contemplated that I could lose someone close to me. I was confused and upset, but my overriding feeling was of guilt. I wanted to be in
Arriving back in
In both cases, it still makes me sad when I think about my granddad and my Aunty. I miss them very much but it is now a lot easier to deal with. I feel you never stop grieving for someone you love but it becomes less painful as time goes by.
GRIEF: EXPERIENCES FROM INDIA
EXPERIENCE 1
It was a beautiful morning ,I wake up with a pleasant mood ,because it was my friend birthday on that day .I picked up my mobile &dialled to my friend ,before that I received a call from a new number. I can’t believe my ears
“My friend husband was dead”
I don’t know how to react for it. She is my UG friend, she got married when she was doing 2nd year of B.COM &when her husband was dead, she was holding a baby on her hand which was 9 months at that time.
Her father dead one year before, her husband expired now; her mother was serious admitted in hospital. She has one sister and one brother both were not caring towards her properly .In her in-laws home also they are very careless.
Her situation is very bad at present & she is very innocent ,she loved &married her husband .she had a great hope that he will take care of everything, when we are in UG she always use to tell that her (expired husband) will take care of her ,why should I study?.she had a great hope in her life on him .But that person didn’t take care of his health properly .He got a very minor problem in kidney because of his carelessness, without using medicines properly, he was dead .Now though she cried a lot on the day of death (I saw her crying for her love at the maximum tone) after few days she started hating her husband. She says that he didn’t think of his wife &his child ,if he had really loved her ,he won’t left her .
Now that friend of mine has started to think about her child future.
“Most precious gift in life given by god to everybody is husband-wife relationship”
My friend lost it, now she has some angriness on her husband, still she love her husband a lot.
She is very cute, she got everything in her life which she wants and lost it soon .she is not able to go out.
She cries to me when she saw someone going together in pair, she remembers her husband etc.....
I am unable to continue sorry...........
EXPERIENCE 2
She was my friend…..
Losses are every where. It is something unavoidable. It is a part of everybody’s life just like happiness. It is amazing what a person can experience in just 21 years.
I had a friend. She was a very sweet person. I met her in my school. She is very athletic, funny, beautiful and a remarkable person. She loved her dad a lot.
He was a great source of encouragement. If she lost in a meet, he was there for her. If she won in a meet, he was there for her. She was the only daughter and there was no one to share all the love that he had. I can still remember the happy smiles and the moments that we shared together.
Her dad died of heart attack when she was 15. She dint believe it at first. She actually slapped a staff member who informed her. We practically ran to her house. She still refused to believe it.
She tried to wake him up. She refused understand that he would never get up. We all took beatings from her before it sank in. then every thing crumpled down. she refused to cry. Not even one single drop of tear.
It was not because of shock, but because she understood that he was never going to smile at her any more. He never wanted to see tears from his daughter’s eyes, so she did not cry. She consoled her mother and life went on.She started to study aggressively and she won in almost every completion she participated in. we missed the old her a lot.
We had to go to the temple on my birthday and she came along with my family. My dad told the priest that it is his favourite princess’s birthday and hugged me. When she thought that all of us were praying, I saw her shed two drops of tears as she looked at my dad.
I am still praying for her. That all the wounds should heal. Slowly, but gradually. I lost touch with her after school. But she will always be there in my prayers.
EXPERIENCE 3
There’s one more Angel in Heaven
It pained us when to know that even grandpa’s post-operative scars had disappeared without a trace. It’s been exactly ten days since he left us, but the scars in our hearts are permanently etched. In fact I’ve never before experienced the pain of a dear departed and I still don’t understand what’s hit us.
Even a month back, he was sitting right here, keenly looking at some family pictures, making light hearted comments in a voice ever so loud. Came new years, came a fate, so wrongly written. It’s difficult for each one of us in this grand old family that he has raised, it’s almost impossible to come to terms with life’s weird plans.
Grandpa’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. His mini greeting cards with a small paper attachment always reached us without fail on Pongal and birthdays. There are always a few friends who forget my birthday, but I could always take it for granted that grandpa would wish me. He would always cheerfully call out his wishes, speak a sentence or two and immediately pass over the phone to ammama. But this year, there was no call…no grandpa… and at the strike of twelve I was gazing back at the mug shot of his picture, synthetically touched by some studio guy. I was waiting for a sign of blessing, a sign to tell me that his wishes are always with me. Then I gazed out of the window with flying curtains… then I slowly closed my eyes praying for a dream. I woke up the next morning, only to realize that nothing’s changed. Maybe miracles don’t happen; maybe I wasn’t worth the miracle.
We could still smell the ‘grandpa scent’ (grandpa was the most loyal customer of Chandrika soap!) in his hand towel as he lay there, cruelly bound by a freezing glass box. He bore a smile, a sign of peaceful departure. I’ve often heard people saying that their dear ones never seemed dead, but just appeared to be lost in a peaceful long slumber. I’ve never felt the intensity of those words then. But, Oh my God…how true! He seemed to be silently smiling at all the drama around him. Everyone who shed a tear at his rites had a memory to carry, but for us, the memories are endless. Everything at home reminds us of him – his water bottles, BP apparatus, tablet boxes, the two new shirts that he had kept in the locker so that he could come back and wear them for Pongal, his inner garments that he always insisted on washing himself. Such a disciplined person, so clean and pure in body and soul… there are a million things that one could learn from him.
Right from when I was very small, I would never share his gifts anyone. Grandpa was someone so unimaginable special…someone whom you’d never want to share. I remember the gold chain with the Krishna’s pendant (that was the first gift, as far as I remember), the double sided studs with American diamonds, the magic sketch pens, the fluorescent multi-coloured erasers, colouring books, the chewing gums, toffees and chocolates before our three day trips, the long walks, the cassata ice cream at shakes and creams, stories of kings and mantris, and the hilariously tweaked real life tales based on one of us, state express ice creams, Cooimbatore Annapoorna’s tiffin, library books… he never ever said no. In fact I have a few remnants of the gifts that he gave me fifteen years back, in an old red handbag and it breaks my heart to open and look at them now.
I’ve never seen a person relish simple things in life with such childish delight. Pizzas, and my custom made omlettes were at least a one-time requirement during his comebacks. We shared a love for Chinese food and made sure that we have a Chinese treat during birthdays. He loved sunglasses and was particularly proud of a pair that was attachable to normal spectacles. His latest passion was sudoku and he carried an empty notebook which he filled in with samples from newspapers and books. Even now my mom found some fresh, dated ones in the notebook. He loved to talk and talk all day and night long, but strangely he was an introvert to the outside world. He loved children, he loved compact, empty boxes… he rarely smiled for pictures, but smiled a lot in person. He could only be loved and respected; he was worth so much love and affection. He’s someone who will be cherished till our final breath. An engineer, a great football player, a lover of cricket, a brain so sharp, a roaming encyclopedia, a loving father, a loving grandfather, a teacher, a friend – a friend who made you laugh and cry.
We greedily asked for just one more year with him… six more months … Even if we’ve had ten more years with him we would have missed him all the same.
As I see my mom crying in anguish almost everyday (I’ve hardly seen her crying twice or thrice in my lifetime) I wonder if he’ll come back some day. I went to the terrace a week back and stared at the brightest star for half an hour. His presence was so binding that maybe it’ll never hit us completely that he’s gone. Am I still going to play games with myself, thinking that he’s gone for a ten day break to
I touched his feet while he was lying there in his slumber. They felt so soft and supple. I felt his beautiful fingers, they still seemed to beat with life. Even during his final few hours with us, he taught us the pain of love, the healing touch of togetherness. That was when I knew how it felt to cry all day...nothing could to fill the void in the heart. The mostly painful part of death is the ‘take away’…every vessel in the body screams and wails with you, on knowing there’s never going to be another day with the most beautiful creation of God. A brufen did heal the pain in my body, but the grief in our heart will never find any solace.
He’s had a quite a satisfying journey though for all of his seventy six years and that’s just one consoling thought. Being a heart patient for more than 35 years, he pulled his way through, raised five daughters and got them to safe banks. He saw all of his doting ten grandchildren and a great grand daughter too. What more could a person want? Happy and hearty till the last breath, I think it’s a peaceful demise that he truly deserves.
Joseph and his Technicolor coat had a few lines that seem so aptly written for my grandpa…
There's one more angel in Heaven
There's one more star in the sky
We'll never forget you
It's tough but we're gonna get by
There's one less place at our table
There's one more tear in my eye
There can never be anyone like grandpa. Absolutely no one in this entire world. He belongs only to us and we’ll miss him and love him forever.
EXPERIENCE 4
Personal life is always filled with all kind of emotions. You’re happy, sad, angry, etc for various reasons full for health and few for unhealthy reason also. The sad incidences have bad reactions & impact. One such unforgettable situation in my life is my love affair with a guy when I was 19 years old; he actually loved me so he followed me and found all my details. He later, made friend with me through my close friend. I became his close friend every minute with him was fun and enjoyable. One fine day he proposed me I also liked him I accepted his proposal and told my family, friends and relatives about him as I dint want to have a secret relation with him.
It started well and went on very well. I was so depended on for all my emotional needs so was he; we loved each other so much. As this was a habit I use to introduce him to all I know so did I introduce a friend to him (I will name her x). Like all my friends x was also close to both of us. X was living alone in a flat her parents were quite well off and x was a very modern and stylish girl addicted to all kind of updated illegal activities. X is a pretty girl and a warm and a friendly person also. According to her nothing to her is very serious in life. Dating men was her hobby and a big time pass. As a friend of her I knew her activities well but never thought she could ditch me as I was suppose to be her best friend.
And my love was also growing on the other side strong and cute as anyone can imagine. Days flew and suddenly as we were at the typical age of invention my guy asked me for physical relation. I denied and thought that it was against our custom and it was like cheating my own parents if I accept to have a post marital relation with any guy for that matter. I boldly told a no to my guy. My friend who was aware of all this happening between me and guy started taking advantage of the whole issue. She became close with my guy.
And I found a gap was growing between me and my guy. One fine day I decided to ask him what was happening when I approached him I got the shock of my life. My friend and my guy had done something that I can’t imagine out of them. They had physical relationship. I heard this from my own guy with tears rolling from his eyes. I couldn’t stand it for a minute I slapped him he dint speak anything. I told him I will give another chance because I loved him very much. He just told me he isn’t worth my love and walked far away from my life.
That was the end of my love, I felt terrible because my love was true and my parents were also so depressed with the whole issue. I felt living a life was waste thought of committing suicide. I had a bad time trying to forget him and the days that I had with him. It’s very nice to be in love and to be loved by some one. When it ends it looks as if everything in life is over. But I thank my mother she got me out of it with the motherly love today I’m sure parental love is much stronger that any other love. They made my life once again.
Love is sometimes pain to few and it isn’t a bed of roses always.
EXPERIENCE 5
Our country is known for relationship and their bondage. Parents bring up their children with so much love and difficulties. They make so much of sacrifice and try their level best to bring up their children as best as they could. Our Indian custom has a very bad logic when it comes to marriage ceremonies. The bride has to go to her in-laws place after marriage they typical try to take her away from the parents who have raised her for so long even parents feel that the girl belongs to her in-laws family after marriage. They try to reduce the love and affection and create a distance.
One such incident is my sister’s marriage it happened in September 2007. As it was the first marriage of my family it was very grand and we had a large crowd attending the marriage. It was a very fun filled occasion and a grand one indeed. All of us were so excited and it happened in the way v planned it to happen. The entire family was very happy.
The one and only problem was my brother-in-law is working in
EXPERIENCE 6
This is the narration about my friend’s cousin suicide. Who lost his life by taking his grandma’s words serious which was said to alert him
My friend’s cousin was an engineering student. Who was regular in academics and extra curricular activities? One of his girl mates called him to clarify her doubts. After that she felt he is clever enough to clear her doubts whenever she misses class she get back to him to know what happen in class on the particular day. She uses to call him or the next day they spend time in college to clear the doubts. But other than friendship nothing is their between them.
Once during the exam time she felt difficult to understand a chapter for that she gone to his place to clarify it. In his place along with him his grandparents are there because, both the parents of that guy were working. After that girl left home his grand mom started scolding him because she is an orthodox woman who doesn’t encourage all those. She always scolds him whenever she use to call or he spend time with her. She informed all those to his parents but they didn’t take it as a matter at all these is common in today world. His grand mom scolded him about all these things and she told that these are all not good for our family and our neighbours also built it as an issue after that and we cant stay here with bad name if anything happened like that myself and your grandpa wont stay hear after that all happened. That guy always use to study early morning for his exams
On the next morning by 3.00 am that guy torned his fathers dhoti into 15 pieces and start knotting it near his neck one by one each one pushing another his neck got tightened and his voice is also got punchered. By that time his grandpa came out to drink water he gone near to his room to see him but he felt not to disturb him while he is studying so he gone back to his bed. That’s the of a Youngman’s life. But his grand mom told that she won’t be harsh towards this matter she did that only to alert him from problem’s happening in the society and also to save him.
From the very moment I heard the story my eyes flooded with tears. After that incident I started analyzing the tone of the word whether it is serious or not.
EXPERIENCE 7
This is the narration about my servant who committed suicide due to dowry harassment by her husband & in- laws.
She was 27 years old & she belongs to a poor family. She also lost her father at her young age. Her mother’s earning is the only source of income for her family. She sold flowers to earn for her livelihood. After a few days she arranged for her daughter’s marriage and it also happened successfully without any hurdles. Her husband was a carpenter & he doesn’t know any other profession other than that. In the beginning her husband was very kind & affectionate towards her. After 2 months she was pregnant. Later she gave birth to a female child. Few days later her husband started harassing her to get dowry in the form of money, valuables etc. As she belongs to the poor family she cannot afford to give dowry. So he was irritated & had more controversies with his wife daily. She cannot tolerate his torture after a period of time. Suddenly one day she committed suicide by burning herself in the fire. Then she was admitted in the hospital. As she burnt herself her skin became worse. So the doctor could not save her life.
At the time of her death she spoke to her sister. She asked her why she committed suicide. She replied that only to threaten him she did so & she didn’t have the intention of doing it. Her child was 6 months old at that time. She felt very bad for her child as there is nobody to take care of her.
That incident made her sister feel very bad & she cried a lot. Even her neighbours felt very pity and cried for her death.
I personally cried and could not control my emotions after hearing about her death. I also felt that her husband did not understand her love/ affection towards him. If he would have treated her kindly such incident would have not happened in her life & her life would also be saved.
Later her husband was handed over to the police to take severe action. This is done in order to save many people’s life in future or to avoid such tragedies in life.