The early days

Certain things from the first few hours are seared into my memory. The moment when I reminded myself on my drive home to drive safely, the panic when I couldn’t get into the house, the mix of hope and fear as I ran up the stairs and then the multitude of emotions of when I found him. I recall the neighbours ringing the police, and I recall telephoning the girls and Mum, but now when I look at my phone I am amazed at how many others I rang on that first day.

I remember the weirdness of the police interview and how their body camera reinforced my out of body experience. I could actually observe myself talking to the police officer, even now that feels surreal. I recall he was kind and that he took his time, but also recall how much I had to draw upon my understanding and professional experience of the process to cope with it personally. I can’t imagine what it would have been like otherwise.

I cannot recall much about what I did between the police and undertakers leaving, and the girls arriving. I know a friend popped round to see me and that I visited a neighbour, I also unpacked the car. Everything else is a blank, and likewise over the following few days. My phone history indicates I made lots of calls to family and friends, and incredibly I was even ringing the pension people within two days. Not that they could do much though as it was to be another couple of weeks before I could register his death. Robert died from natural causes but there were still lengthy delays at the coroner’s office and also with registration. Reminds me that one day soon I must submit my formal complaint.

I haven’t forgotten the emotional or physical effects of those early days, veering from numbness to tears, to utter exhaustion and shock. Sleep was elusive and there was a complete loss of appetite. However I knew I had to be kind to myself, so I sought medical help with the sleep and forced myself to snack. The tea was endless, as were (fortunately) the boxes of tissues!

One of the reasons I haven’t forgotten the trauma of those early days, is because it is still early days. My world changed only six weeks ago.

It is therefore extraordinary to observe I am now eating properly (albeit at odd times some days) and I am getting some sleep without the aid of sleeping pills. There are also moments when I find myself taking a rest from grieving, whether that’s reading a book, watching a film, gardening, practical things around the house or tea with a friend. Although having said that even those happy places are not really happy, as afterwards there’s always a shock when I return to reality. The short breaks though are healthy for my body and mind. I am beginning to learn what works for me when the wobbles happen and also discovering ways of coping with the overwhelming ’emotional floods’ when they just can’t be avoided. Self-kindness and self-care is key to both wobbles and the more traumatic ’emotional floods. And that self kindness could be turning the car around in the car park when I have just arrived, changing my mind about meeting up with a friend or cutting myself some slack when dinner consists mostly of toast or chocolate rather than a fully cooked meal. It also includes those times when I do push myself sometimes whether that’s going out or marinating in the pain. I know the latter may sound odd to some but I am leading from those who have been on a similar journey to what I am now facing, that actually it is okay to do occasionally.

Grief of this magnitude doesn’t fade. Instead we learn how to grow around it.