Question 3

How did your family handle grief and what support did you have or need?

I don’t know, but we probably didn’t handle it well.

My grandad died the following year. I think it was after that, that I found out my grandma had died when dad was 12, or around that age, leading to him dropping out of school. Grandad wasn’t around and dad had two younger siblings, so he had to be the responsible one. I think dad took that same approach and applied it to mum and me, because I never wanted for anything. What I really needed though was for the emotional side of things to be addressed.

I learnt to muddle my way through. I wasn’t forced to talk about it, so I didn’t. The only time I really thought about it was when it was time for bed. Mum used to read me a story and put me to bed every night, but when mum died, dad didn’t replace her. I learnt to put myself to sleep and all I could do was cry. I remember someone from church actually telling me ‘it’s ok to cry’. Little did they know, I was crying every night without fail. I just learnt to leave my feelings at the door of our home and not carry them out with me. I was crying, just not where anyone could see me. I don’t even think I cried in front of dad, or at the very least it wasn’t often.

At some point, I guess I got tired of that. Tired of the tears, because I moved myself into my dad’s room. I was an only child with a bunk bed, so I had two duvets. I would drag them both into dad’s room and set myself up on the floor next to the bed. One duvet went on the ground, then the pillows, then my teddies, then me, with the second duvet on top of me. I think dad knew I needed that, because he never questioned it or told me to leave. I’d wake up in the morning and drag my stuff back to my room, only to drag it all back that same night. The corner of the room I’d squash myself into wasn’t even that big, but it felt so much better than sleeping alone in my bed. This became the new routine and probably what helped to comfort me. Did I know I could speak to dad about my feelings? I don’t know, but he never pushed and I never tried.

A few years later, I was being introduced to a new lady. She started being at the house often, started doing my hair. I started staying with mum’s friend less and less until I completely stopped. I started being around her family and her children and then one day dad asked me the question. ‘Do you want me to marry her?’. I said yes of course. I liked her, but I often wondered, if I had said no, what would’ve happened? Not long after, I was walking down the aisle at Brixton church to beautiful colours and smiling faces. I was the ring girl in the wedding, wearing a white dress with my own mini train. This day gave me one of my favourite pictures of my dad and me and I gotta admit, it was nice to arrive in a nice limousine this time, one that brought joy instead of sadness.

Overall, life kinda just moved on. I would have random moments of overwhelming sadness, and would just wait until it passed. Like my first birthday after mum died. One of my aunties on my dad’s side decided to do a joint birthday for me and my little cousin. It was all to be at grandad’s house and I could invite anyone I wanted. I don’t remember inviting many people apart from my favourite cousins on my mum’s side, and couldn’t wait to spend the day with them. The day however did not go as expected.

My little cousin was a toddler at the time so there were a lot of mums in the room. The minute I realised that, the absence of my mum felt huge. I remember sitting in the corner watching everyone. People were playing games, laughing and having fun, but all I could do was watch, wishing my mum was there. Don’t think I really became present in the room again until the evening. The cousins I invited persuaded me to sing this song we used to sing in front of everyone; ‘Down in the jungle where nobody goes’. We all surrounded grandad who sat happily in his chair in the centre of the room. We sang the song ourselves until people slowly started joining in. That was probably the most fun I had all day, because it’s the only other memory I have from that day. Bitter sweet though, because grandad died later that month.

Talking about mum meant crying. I was so tired of crying so just stopped talking about her completely. Dad would only really mention her in random comments, reminding me of how much I reminded him of her. According to him, I don’t just have her face. I walk like her, talk like her, have mannerisms just like her. Every time he’d see something he’d tell me. What I needed though was for someone to sit me down and make me talk. I needed someone to stop me from bottling everything up. I mean I practically shut down. Lived like she didn’t exist. I blocked her out so much that I couldn’t even remember her face or her voice, and didn’t realise until years later when someone asked me if I did. Her memory was kept alive by people around me, and even then, at the time I didn’t like it. I didn’t like being reminded of what felt like a huge hole in my heart.

But even as I say that, I still needed someone to talk to, to help me learn how to feel my feelings, rather than ignore them. Maybe then I wouldn’t have just bottled everything up. I needed to learn how to communicate how I felt, because me not knowing how to do that then, constantly affects me now. I literally feel a physical struggle and often have to the laugh the words out of me. It’s like if I don’t laugh, they won’t come out. I’ve struggled so much with vulnerability. I’ve often said that I hate it, but I think I’ve just been scared of it. Scared to let my guard down and let people in. Even me writing this. There was a time when me going this deep would never happen. My biggest fear though? Opening myself up to the possibility of getting hurt, because God forbid I feel that kinda pain again.