Loss – #bemoresam

As we move through December I am reminded of the poem featured during the funeral in Four Weddings and a Funeral. The poem is Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”

My little brother Sam passed away suddenly this March. This December marks two firsts, on 12th December it is his birthday and then of course we have Christmas. It feels disorientating that everyone is going around seemingly oblivious to our pain and loss. I am usually the biggest fan of all things Christmas but this year the whole spectacle feels like a personal affront. Jolly Christmas songs, beautiful lights, cards and gifts, they all clash against this fog of grief. I’m stunned when people tell me to have a Merry Christmas, I feel as though surely my heartbreak is written across my face for all to see. Sometimes it feels like the Victorians had it right, if I was wearing mourning clothes then perhaps it would remind those around me. A woman in full mourning wore a veil to cover her face when she left the house, that sounds tempting some days!

Sam is not our only loss, our bereavement has also brought with it the loss of friends, some of whom we have counted as close for over 3 decades. Where have they gone? When I reflect on my own behaviour after friends of mine have suffered a close bereavement I realise that I was not there anywhere enough for them. I have apologised to some because this experience has taught me just how isolating grief is. People are worried about saying the ‘wrong thing’ so they say nothing at all. Yes some people say ridiculous things but in the main I’d rather that than trying to guess if they even know or if they just don’t feel the need to mention it. A common quote I’ve seen across social media is

“If you know someone who has lost a child and you’re afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn’t forget they died. You’re not reminding them. What you’re reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that’s a great, great gift.” Elizabeth Edwards

I know this is about the loss of a child but I think one thing that is often overlooked with my grief is that a sibling carer such as myself may experience the same kind of loss as that of a parent losing a child. Everyone’s grief is different and valid but for me the loss is dizzying and all consuming. I have lost someone that I saw as a part of every single day of my future. Caring for Sam was my first consideration for any plans I made and thoughts of the future I had. That future is now lost and all the time spent worrying about how I was going to manage caring for both my brothers Dan and Sam (once our parents could no longer share it with me) seems a complete waste of time.

Lots of people say “I think of you everyday” but unless they actually pick up the phone or pop round then that sentiment feels empty. Today we received a Christmas card from a family friend. We have not seen or heard from them since Sam’s funeral and inside was a generic message that will have been written to their entire Christmas card list. What is the point? I usually enjoy making well over 100 cards each year. Not this year. I won’t sign a card without adding Sam’s name and the entire thing seems pointless for those who have been unable to stand with us in our grief.

I hope Christmas can bring happy memories again at some point, Sam truly loved the tree and all the songs but for this year Christmas is a painful milestone to get through.