I sit here, confronted by an uncomfortable feeling (for me at least). Something I’m forever being told is ‘completely natural and part of the process’ yet which still sits upon my body like an ill fitting uncomfortable and absurdly unattractive jumper I’ve been forced to wear upon the hottest day of the year. People talk about the stages of grief, it’s a part of life that I know is not unique to anyone, yet which can feel so wholly isolating, even when those close to you are grieving the same absence. It makes every heartbreak I’ve ever experienced look feeble in comparison, if only I’d known then what loss truly was, it might have taken some of the sting from those previous moments.
Over lockdown my father passed away, he’d been unwell for a while, the memories slowly fading from his eyes. A neighbour commented ‘an illness that ravages the mind is made so much more devastating when the mind was quite so brilliant’, I know what she meant, although I suspect whatever a loved ones capability, the slow thievery of ones past is savage. So much of me is genuinely filled with gratitude. Gratitude for mine (and my families) good fortune that I was given the gift of quite such a remarkable and profoundly interesting father, with a tapestry so richly fully of life. For me, these threads starting to unravel began a process of loss which my family have watched for years, desperately trying to weave moments back together as he tied himself in knots. We held his hand as we all learned the ‘new normal’ and walked the path as one highly dysfunctional yet functional unit. We were lucky to all spend his final few days together, soothing him over the finish line with words of encouragement and reminding him of all he had achieved: a South African freedom fighter, exiled to the UK after political imprisonment, travelling the World as a political delegate, marriages to women who still stood by him long after divorces, 3 children who adored him and whom he adored in turn, bringing up to each be fiercely political in their own way, a successful career as a psychologist (when he found the time to study, I’ll never know), a hunger for literature and theatre that could never be satiated and ultimately – a big life. A close friend of mine commented ‘he had a bloody good innings’, which I think dad would agree. That being said, I believe it was this BIG life that has left me with the uncomfortable intolerance I began this piece over.
In loss, life has taken on an even more intense meaning, the Earth hums (not to sound wanky) and I’ve been made wholly aware of the impermanence of life and existence. In this form, as we are now, we get one go. I’m not entirely sure what I believe about what happens after, but of that much I am sure. It has been a magnified look at ‘that which remains’ and what I want from my time. A constant question of what I would like my future to hold and what precisely I am striving for. Even this little paragraph, I’m aware, starts to give heed to the title of this ramble ‘grief has made me a dickhead’.
Having been made wholly aware of the impermanence of being as well as spending much time reflecting on the ‘big life’ I mentioned has in some way, I believe, robbed me (I hope temporarily) of a trait I’ve always held dearly. I’ve always seen myself as an empathetic friend. Often the ‘mum’ in a group and the one who enjoys listening and (sometimes) solving. To an extent I feel grief has robbed me of this. Any time I see as wasted or ‘fanny assing’ as I fondly like to call it, leads me to fury. I’ve lost patience with the lost. A horrible little gremlin on my chest will whisper ‘if I can go to an audition the other side of the country just hours after my father dies, why can’t you get your shit together?’ or 'if you want that thing, wake up and do everything in your power to get there' people complain to me about not exercising my mind says ‘well just fucking do something about it or stop bitching’. I suppose that statement is the best summary of this state ‘just fucking do something about it.’ I’d like to make it clear, at this point, this only applies to things within our control. I can recognise that (in general) I am surrounded by a hugely privileged group of young people and it is this privilege (or its lack of use) that leads me to pull out my hair. We have everything, why the fuck aren’t you doing anything with that?! My mother recently made a fantastic point. For context, she is a nurse consultant and also does a lot in her local community. After being told how ‘amazing’ she was for her work at the soup kitchen on numerous occasions she asked me whether I found the same statement uncomfortable when put towards me, I said I did. Her summary: “I suppose there’s nothing amazing about it. I have the financial privilege of time and I’m able to serve the guests, the more we elevate this work to the level of ‘amazing’ the less normalised it becomes”. She’s right. We need to normalise doing something where we can. We see an issue we can help with, why wouldn’t we? We see a situation we can change, why shouldn’t we? We hate our job, look for another one. Do all we possibly can to change our path. If we are not attempting movement, we are stagnating. Success and happiness will look different to everyone and that is fine, but why accept anything other than at least their pursuit? I wrote a piece whilst at drama school which described us as an ‘outraged, apathetic generation’. We spend so long complaining about our circumstances, the state of the World, our careers, our partners…why aren’t we doing something about it?
So, there’s the rant…here’s my defence. Less than 3 months ago I sat and held the hand of my father as he slowly left us. We soothed him with words of all he’d achieved, on that BIG life and I wondered “what do I want said about me as I slip to the next chapter and who do I want by my side?” This, in turn, left me to question whether I’m on my way there. So perhaps this frustration with those around me is largely a reflection upon myself (as anger often is). Am I on my way to where I want to be? In some ways, yes. Others, not at all. I hope to live a life that fights for change, that’s full of creativity, I hope for a partner who shares my values but challenges me, who will explore corners of the World and my mind along side me, I hope to make decisions with my heart and my head, for a family of adventurers who are unwavering in their determination to succeed in the pursuit of happiness. In essence, I hope to come to the end of my life surrounded by people I’ve loved, inhabiting a well worn body and knowing I’ve lived a big life that served many, leaving its mark, less outraged apathy more ‘force for change’. Now it’s just working out how (and being less of a dickhead in the process).
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