The Elephant in the Room

Tuesday 24th September should have been Evie’s 15th birthday, instead she is forever 13.  It was a tough day, but I think that it is now time to tackle the elephant in the room, both for bereaved parents like myself, and also for friends and family who may well be living in ‘the dark’ or quite possibly ‘in denial’.  This WW comes with a health warning, it’s going to tackle a taboo subject; a very delicate subject.  Please be clear, it isn’t a cry for help.  It is my, probably very clumsy, attempt to make a wider audience aware of how this world of ours really feels, and that you must look beyond the smiling face that you may see.  I have tried to keep the language in this WW moderate.

Evie’s death (not ‘passing’) ripped a hole in our lives that can never be filled. We created Evie out of nothing and when she died, we lost a part of ourselves, we lost our future and our reason to be here. That last part is the elephant; our reason to be here.  Without Evie, what’s the point?  Everything that we did was for Evie, our work, our plans, our lives - were all there to prepare her for adulthood.  That has gone.  So why bother carrying on?  It’s a subject that never gets discussed. It is hidden from view, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. For many, out of sight quite literally means out of mind.  It cannot stay that way.  Like so many mental health issues, it must be out in the open so that it can be tackled.

Shortly after Evie died, I mentioned to our doctor that I had been experiencing constant headaches for many weeks.  When you think about the stress that I had been under for the previous 3 months, that isn’t a great surprise, but as Evie had died from a brain tumour, he wasn’t taking any chances, so he sent me for a CT scan the next day and asked them to expedite the result.  He rang me that very evening and said that everything was clear and I was fine.  I was disappointed.  All I wanted was to be with Evie again.  Twenty months on, I still feel like that.  There are various bits and pieces of me that are breaking, some more seriously than others.  All part of getting older most likely.   If one turned out to be very serious, I think I’d actually feel relief.  The grief would be finite at last. 

The face that we bereaved parents present to the world is often governed by how others wish to view us.  We hear time and again that we are ‘strong’, ‘amazing’ or ‘inspiring’.  We’re none of those things, we just don’t have a choice.  At some time or other in our grief journey, I think it is safe to say that the vast majority of bereaved parents just want the pain to be over and want to be with their children again.  I’m no different.  I have spent a lot of time trying to rationalise it, but the grief stops you from doing that because it is too powerful.  I don’t know what Evie would want me to do because I can’t ask her.  “Evie would want you to carry on” is nothing more than a meaningless platitude.  I can presume that she might be p***ed off that when her life had been taken from her, that I had thrown mine away.  If I’m not here, I can’t honour her memory. 

As I have said before, I take anti-depressants to help me through the day.  That dosage doubled a few months ago and last week it doubled again. And for me, that ‘why bother’ question came back.  Evie died 20 months ago, and in that time, the temptation to join her has been strong on 4 occasions.  Each time I have literally as well as figuratively stepped back.  Yet, people tell me that I am strong or inspiring.  I think that you can see from those few lines above, I don’t feel strong.  The pills help to control the chemical reactions in my brain and help me to regain some capacity for rational thought.  When you add this to open and honest (honest with myself!) talks with my counsellor, then it gives you the tools to continue.  But the pain never ever goes away, and it is a constant exhausting battle to get through each day.  It grinds you down. 

For bereaved parents who may be reading this, you aren’t alone, you aren’t going mad, we all have those moments of despair.  Sometimes, those moments are there for a while, but they can be worked through with friendship, strength and determination.  There will continue to be times when it is all just too much to cope with, and for those times we need our closest friends.  And that is to be expected.  When those friends can’t cope themselves, then there is The Compassionate Friends.  The wonderful group that all share our pain and understand in a way that is impossible for everyone else. 

For the friends and family reading this, look beyond the smile, the façade, the bravado.  Underneath is a soul in turmoil that needs to be loved and cared about.  If you think I’m ‘strong’, I’m not.  I’m broken, utterly broken.   But now the elephant is out there for all to see, and it’s time to go big game hunting.