I received some lovely feedback recently. It made me realise that I haven't posted on this blog for a while, other projects and generally life getting in the way, but actually revisiting this blog made me still happy that I have it. This blog is for different reasons than Garden Cuppa or TTouch Ali, far more personal, and much more for me, rather than about me.
2013 is a year for reconnecting, with people I've lost touch with, with projects I haven't pursued or had time for, and with life. Three years have passed since my darling Mum and Brother passed away, and now I have a feeling that things I plan can happen, life goes on as it should.
Recently I've had a few discussions with friends, based round 'what do you say' or 'what is the right thing to say' when you have been told someone you know is ill, has cancer, has had someone they love die. The answer is, I honestly have no idea. What I DO know is that there is no 'right' thing to say, times in life that these don't require the right response. What they do require is any response. It's not the time to think about what you are saying, you just have to say something.
I experienced my first real grief (other than losing my beloved pet dog) in life when I was 17 years old. My boyfriend and first love tragically died after being involved in a car accident. At the time no one spoke to me, I was told to be brave, not to cry, not one person ever discussed my grief. Our friends all were suffering their own grief too, a sad bunch of teenagers, we sat around, playing records and trying to make sense of it. I used to see people I knew cross the road away from me as I walked through our town, people just didn't know what to say, so they avoided me. Looking back now I don't think I recovered from that experience until I was in my 20's.
Just about three and a half years ago, I sat in the Chevalier (end of life) ward at the Royal Marsden Hospital in Sutton, Surrey. My brother, Stephen, was dying, and right up until the end had not shared that his cancer was terminal with me (our Mum was terminally ill at the time too). Stephen had had counselling via the Marsden, had compiled a bucket list, planned his own funeral and was in a good place, his counsellor asked if me and my husband would like to speak to her. We did, we spoke with the counsellor for a couple of hours, mostly about Stephen's wishes, his concerns for me and for our children, his niece and nephews, he had things to bequeath to them and things to let me know about. At one point during the discussion the counsellor asked me what I would say to the children about Stephen dying, (14, 12 and 9 years old at the time), I told her I would tell them the truth and I emphasised that I would talk to them, no matter what they wanted to talk about I would listen, and even if I didn't have the answers that I would support them. I told her what had happened to me when I was a teenager and she asked me 'what would have been the one thing that would have helped then?' I replied that I had just needed someone to talk too (or someone to listen to me). It was being ignored or avoided that hurt me the most, making me retreat into my personal grief, not being allowed to show how hurt I was, and putting on a brave face that took me years to recover from.
It doesn't matter what the right or wrong thing to say is, what actually matters is saying it, being there, listening, hugging, making cups of tea, turning up unannounced to empty the dishwasher, offering lifts to the hospital, posting on facebook, picking up the phone and chatting, walking the dog, sending a text, making more cups of tea, think about what would help you and offer that.
In otherwords don't worry about what to say, just say it anyway - show you care, it makes all the difference.
It really does.
