Living and Grieving

Grieving. It’s what we are all experiencing in some shape or form right now. Daily losses. A redundancy. A wedding cancelled. Not seeing family or friends for months on end. Loneliness. Loss of touch, physical and sensory connection. Life, not as we planned or expected it to be. Living with a sense of loss, yet still very much in the land of the living. Death for many is a traumatic reality, whilst for the majority of us, it’s an abstract experience that’s happening to others at a distance, whilst causing us to question our mortality.

Simply existing, not what we would call living. The markers and the accoutrements we seasoned our lives with; the rituals and human contact that mark our worlds and give us meaning, all gone. All we used to define us; our identities - no longer available to us.

I am boldly stating it as grief. As we can’t deal with something, unless we face up to it and name it. It is living grief. As we mourn our lost routines, lost livelihoods and plans for the future, we all collectively grieve for our friends and family; ultimately for humanity. The loss is tangible. There is pain. There is an overwhelming presence of absence. This situation, regardless of the easing restrictions, has meant that we are unable to soothe and comfort each other as we would normally in times of loss, as everyone is dealing with their slice of intense pandemic pie. Saturated with our losses and immediate worlds, we are starting to feel even more isolated.

And we aren’t talking about it enough.

This state of living grief is a space where we have lived as a couple for the last five and a half years. Watching the world carry on around us, regardless of the fact that our world had stopped. As I have shared before on this platform, our life experiences mean we are well versed in the art of grief and how to navigate loss. We lost our health, our jobs and our identities overnight due to my husband Rob’s shattering brain haemorrhage in 2014.

But now we aren’t grieving alone; we are feeling it all collectively. And for the first time in our lifetime.

You may be feeling lost, angry even. Not having answers to questions; your own or perhaps your child's. It makes us feel unsafe, uneasy. The loss of a routine, the loss of daily freedoms. The loss of being able to go out and do what we please. The unknowing. These all are interactions and losses of our relationship with the world.

It’s like a terrible heartbreak. But one we don’t have the tools to deal with en masse.

These losses often get stuck within our veins, entwined in our very being because there is no safety net, no support for it. Occasionally sparkling anger or tears release outwardly after being internalised. No one knows how to help when a whole world breaks down and is feeling it all. When it is not acknowledged, it makes it so much harder to process, to deal with.

But when we name it as grief, we can allow room for mourning. And when we mourn, as humanity, we gather.

We share stories, we speak and vocalise the joy the pain, the hurts of what’s happened. This is cathartic and where we find the strength to carry on. Anxiety is a good friend of grief and together they create a merry dance. Having been on grief’s dance floor for the past few years I wish to share what’s seen us through as it may support you in these strange times.

This is by no means a quick fix nor will it soothe all the ills. And I am not dismissing the darkness here. By no means is this a stay happy/be positive sweeping statement, or ‘this too shall pass’ bollocks. I am simply here to share our living experience, what’s got me through as it may well support you in this weird time.

Try to find balance in your thoughts. Fundamentally death is something we cannot escape, that is the only given experience after we are born, there is no denying that fact. It’s the hardest thing at times, yet accepting that is one way to peace. Knowing that everything else is golden. That there is something to be seen in every day that is beautiful. What we’ve been through together as a couple the past few years moves us so deeply, we revel in the simplicity and sheer joy of being alive, in a new day...

For anyone caught up in the woes and throes of this all, let the beauty sit in your heart and carry you through.

Be in the moment, be present in the now. Anxiety, the wondering and what if the spiral is simply the worst and heightened for all of us right now. It doesn’t have to be all fancy with a yoga mat and candle meditations (although they are nice). It can simply be looking at what is right in front of you. Name it: A table. A chair. The dog breathing.

Focus on five things in the room at this moment. Then notice your breathing. In and out. Here you are in the moment. You’re alive, you’re well and ok. Make it sensory; the soft rug, the fluffy dog, the cold glass tabletop. By being present, you’re reliving the pain and easing the anxiety. Breathe. And recognise at that moment, nothing you were worried about has happened.

Surrender. Let go of all you can’t control. It’s the one thing we cling to in times of grief but letting go of all we can’t change is freedom. It’s liberating. Control only what you can and let everything else slide. And your worries will slide too. Everyone will have different levels of fear and grief, it manifests in different ways. A classic one is anger and irritation. Try and let go of being triggered by others experience and focus on yours. And perhaps you may then have compassion for when you witness others in a state of anxiety.

Ultimately, one golden, beautiful chance we have in amongst all this, is to take stock. And recognise what isn’t working for us, perhaps taking a different approach to life and finding meaning in all the loss. That potentially, in the long run, the changes, no matter how uncomfortable they are, may well be for the better.

Perhaps it may help you say what’s been unsaid for a long time, bring you closer.

You may even forge a deeper connection, not with others, but yourself.

Our battles can sometimes alter our perspective, to embrace a new way of seeing, a new way of being. To grieve. To feel it all. No matter how dark, let’s stick with it; day by day, inch by inch, keep moving. As the emptiness of this madness is a place of possibility.

Syreeta Challinger, August 2020.