What Death Has Taught Me

Four weeks ago I watched someone I love die. Since then, nothing has been the same.

If you are triggered by bereavement and death, please don’t read any further. But I simply feel compelled to write this blog post before I go back to posting about vapid (yet validly enjoyable) things like clothes and makeup and food and holidays.

There is a tangible sadness in my chest – a heavy weight that presses on my lungs – and hopefully by writing this down it may help to lighten that load a little.

Six months ago my auntie died. Although we have experienced deaths in the family before, as an adult this was the first close family death I had experienced. She loved her nieces and nephews so much, and as her first niece I always felt a special sense of pride. She was such a character – funloving, spiritual, kind, crazy and the best auntie – and after a long and complicated illness, we said goodbye, which was particularly hard for my mum (I can’t bare to imagine losing my own sister). It didn’t make it any easier, but at least we had some sort of foresight that she was already very ill. It was devastating, but I was one step removed from the end of life process.

Nothing will compare to how it felt to wait in her in her house with our family before the funeral. To sit in the funeral car following her hurst. To walk into the church behind her coffin and then sit on the front row looking at it, knowing she was in there. Lifeless. And nothing like the auntie we had always known.

As we learnt to live with this loss and a cavernous hole that could not be filled, there is absolutely no way that we could have ever predicted just a few months later we would be feeling this again, 10 times over.

Four weeks ago, on the 11th of August at 9 pm, my Grandma died.

I know that everybody has different relationships with their grandparents. Some grandparents raise their grandchildren, whilst other grandchildren only see their grandparents on special occasions, or maybe even less than that. Maybe it’s just a birthday card or some money at Christmas. For us, Grandma was a part of our daily lives.

Born in 1932, she was evacuated from central Manchester during the Second World War. She was adopted by loving parents, was proud of her humble job, met her husband (he was the love of her life), raised three loving sons and many, many more grandchildren. She lived in the same house that she moved into after she married her husband until the day that she died. A humble woman, family was her priority.

I was grandma’s first granddaughter, and again, I always had a special sense of pride. We spoke to grandma every day. We saw her several times a week. In many ways our weekly routine revolved around her. I don’t think we realised that at the time, but looking back you can’t begin to understand how much daily life will never be the same.

Grandma was 87 and never ill. About five weeks ago she complained of feeling “a little fragile“, and blamed it on the heat. This was the woman that never had a cold. She was stubborn and I always referred to her as “a machine”. In her late 80s, she never had a cold. Never went to the doctors. Ate whatever she wanted and smoked 20 a day. That Sunday, she came round for Sunday lunch as was the routine for the past three decades with us and our uncle’s family (despite always feigning surprise that she was invited around for lunch!). She couldn’t describe what she meant by “fragile”, but we insisted that she go to the doctors the next day just to get checked out as it wasn’t like her to complain.

Two days later, on the Wednesday, she was diagnosed with a collapsed lung and multiple stage 4 terminal cancer. Her body was riddled with it, despite the fact that she had never had any symptoms, pain or any signs. Like I said, she was a machine! She was also straight talking, and when she was sent straight to a McMilloan nurse who asked her to say in her own words what she understood to be happening, said “well I’m dying and that’s that”.

Without her knowing, doctors predicted she would have 2-3 months to live. 7 days later she was dead.

Like I said, Grandma was stubborn. She didn’t like a fuss, didn’t like to feel ill and she didn’t like to complain or inconvenience people. When she put her mind to something, she made it happen. She waited until most of her immediate family were out of the country (on the sound advice of her doctors who advised at least two months based on decades of dealing with similar cases), and then decided to pass.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that she did this on purpose. When she passed, it was just my uncle, my younger brother and I – although she absolutely waited until she had heard the voices and messages of her whole family via my phone. Of this I am absolutely certain. The timing was so purposeful. She was in control of when she decided to go, and since I have done much research on crossing over and am convinced that the dying have a fair amount of control over when to let go.

In her last few days, I took over from my parents to ensure that I was there with her as much as possible. Thankfully my uncle had arranged a hospital bed and 4 daily carers and a night sitter as soon as we realised how ill she was. However I knew I needed to be there, so I was going to work, getting changed and then staying with her so there was an overlap when her night carer came, stayed a little longer, then repeated the process again. I barely ate or slept and I couldn’t concentrate in work, reply to my friends texts or spend time with mypug, Sonny.

I don’t say that for sympathy, I say that because nothing else mattered. I just wanted to be there and do the right thing. Grandma had always looked after me my whole life and now it was my turn.

One of my work colleagues, who has strong spiritual beliefs, told me that caring for a dying person is a blessing. And now I would be inclined to agree. I know the sadness, and unwarranted guilt (even medical professionals could not and did not predict the rapid rate of her decline), that my other family members feel at not being there. But I am convinced that she did that on purpose. She timed it perfectly, because my uncle gave her her last rites, she had a soft spot for my brother (who has been of having a hard time and needed to see outside his situation) and me, because I could handle it.

Right up till the day she died, the doctors and nurses had no idea how quickly it would happen. That’s part of the reason I know she did it on purpose. It gives me some sort of comfort, to know she was stubborn and at home until the end. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t difficult though. The last hour or so before she passed was particularly traumatic, and I still am having flashbacks and nightmares. But I am happy that I was there for her to try and comfort her and calm her down, and when she passed she was calm and comfortable and waited until we were laughing between ourselves to slip away.

Being with someone when they pass is a life changing experience. As was calling to your own parents and uncle and sister to tell them the news – even without crying. It takes a strength I’ve never known. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and I drive past her house every day. Nothing will ever be the same.

In the past six months we have had two close family members die. Both strong female influences and whose characters are each reflected in mine in different ways, shaping how I’ve grown up and who I aim to be.

To lose both these strong, resilient women in such a short space of time is harrowing. Neither will see me get married, have babies, or raise my own family – all of which with the dawning of how fragile morality is to me have become increasingly important. Although they did get to see me graduate uni with a first, become head of marketing at 27 and welcome Sonny into the family – and I know of that they were proud. They saw their family legacy grow, and it will be hard to keep evolving without them. But what choice do we have but to carry on?

So, what has death taught me?

They will never be forgotten and always be a part of our lives.

But.

Life goes on. It won’t ever be the same but it has to go on. And that’s why I had to write this blog post, to acknowledge that everything has changed and now we move forward knowing that despite how damn hard it feels right now, that it does. Life goes on.

Family is number one. My mum, dad, brother, sister, uncles, aunties, cousins and extended family that are always supportive no matter what. I appreciate not everyone has the luxury of blood family that they’re close with, but any kind of family in your own way is important. Treasure them. And the handful of friends that are there for you and show you love even when you can’t text them back or tell them how you feel.

It has taught me also to try and not be selfish. Even when I’m sad, my family are sad too, often in more and different ways. There’s no quick fix, all you can do is just be there.

Death doesn’t have to be feared. Since watching someone passing, researching the signs and experiences of other people have been in my position, I no longer fear death. Although somewhat unexplainable, there is great research to suggest that those who have been at the bedside of somebody on the journey, understand that they are on this journey and have an excellent degree of control as to when they decide to move on. There is a great comfort in this. Knowing they are aware and the driving force.

And what’s more, I cared for someone in their last days of life, comforted them as they died and stayed with them until they were taken away. If I can do that, I can do bloody anything.

Death has taught me, that nothing will be harder than that. Nothing. So bring it on, because if I can do this, you can do too.