Transcript:

If you’d asked me forty years ago about displaying emotions you’d have got an answer akin to the English Stiff Upper Lip mentality.

Afterall, I’m a six foot-something Yorkshireman, in a time when society didn’t have men  showing any emotion that could be construed as a weakness. To sum up,  it just wasn’t me.

I blame my schooling, not the school per sae, but my peers. It certainly applied to the culture of the day, the nineteen seventies where if it wasn’t shades of brown then life was very much black and white – or black and blue if you ran foul of the wrong crowd.

But mostly it was a lack of life experience, the world had yet to grow up. I now think differently, and I don’t care who knows it. To reiterate, it’s okay to cry.

Crying doesn’t necessarily mean you’re weak, it shows you care.

I remember when my Grandfather died, I was fresh back from holiday, back to work, but unable to function, so they sent me home. Same with my Grandmother, driving as part of the funeral cortege with tears streaming down my face.

I was in my thirties then, and fifty-eight when I lost my Mum and I cried buckets. Age is no barrier to sorrow. A year on and I still cry if I push the door too wide.

A lot of my resilience, as well as my ability to show my feelings by crying, comes from knowing I would not be judged. At home my Wife was my rock. She understood what I was going through and was there for me every step of the way. Reminding me of the good times and I am so grateful to her for her love and support.

It’s okay to cry is a bit like saying it’s good to talk.

And to be clear, no one knows what to really say when you announce the death of a loved one. What they offer is well-meaning and almost all are hesitant to say too much in case what they say causes upset. I understand that, having now walked both sides of the fence.

Talking through a problem to get across how you feel inside is a fundamental advantage of our species.

And don’t listen to the naysayers who say we didn’t need to talk forty-plus years ago and the world didn’t stop turning. In the words of Nihal Arthanayake, and my apologies for what I’m sure is a horrendous pronunciation, it’s just that we did not yet have the words to articulate our feelings.

Over the past few years I’ve tried to expand my mindset by listening to podcasts. It’s a lot cheaper and environmentally friendly than actual traveling and you meet people with skillset far different than one’s own. One such podcast was “Feel Better, Move More” by Doctor Rangan Chatterjee. The episode in question is #446 but I feel for anyone looking for inspiration and knowledge many of Doctor Chatterjee’s shows are worth listening to. Details in the show notes.

Of course, you may think that some places it’s not appropriate to cry, and of course you would be right. My instinct still was to hide myself away.

But we live in the modern age, both emotionally and technologically and I planned to take advantage of that. So, knowing I was in no state to go into the office, I sent a brief email to my boss and requested to work from home. I knew I was entitled to compassionate leave, but I also knew I needed to do something to focus my energies on, other than stare into the abyss.

My employer also operates in the modern age. My request was granted, which was just as well for I could not stop crying. My focus was gone. Worse, The Door kept falling open setting me off again.

My work colleagues and the wider employer were great, professional and considerate. And then when I did return to the office, they were sympathetic and understanding. Working in an open and adjoining office layout with over fifty people there was a wide range of colleagues, many of them half my age. To a person they were all great, full of understanding and they made my return a lot easier than I had ever right to expect.

You can tell a lot about an employer by the standards they set and how the staff react with compassion.

The same can be said of my friends. Many had had the same experience. Their anecdotes and comradeship in my time of need was something I will always remember. Good friends are hard to come by and a situation like this highlights how important it is to have friends.

We help each other, lift each other up when it’s needed, be there to talk or listen. When I was young I had a small circle of friends, which due to circumstances I drifted away from as we all forged our careers. But lately I’ve realised that friendship is a powerful antidote to many of the world’s ills. I would highly recommend everyone cultivates at least a small circle of friends who have your back when times are tough.

It’s recognised that there are Five, Sometimes Seven, Stages of Grief associated with the death of a loved one.

Having provided the context of my own state of mind I briefly explore them, and I must admit to being surprised at the findings.

1. Shock (one of the 7)

Mum’s death hit me like a ton of bricks. Even if she were to go into a Care Home permanently my mental expectation was that her life expectancy was at least two and a half years. To lose her in as many weeks literally had me on the floor. It is a day I remember well, and it is not one I would care to repeat.

Yet I realise for some, those with a terminal illness for example, shock is not always present, which is why I believe it’s not one of the core five. This for me was perhaps the hardest element to come to terms with.

2. Denial

Not so much the denial of Mum dying, but my inability to grasp the enormity of it – the glancing in through the partially open door analogy. And if the door swung too wide or was open too long then my loss would threaten to overwhelm me.

It could be that it helped that I lived elsewhere, that I didn’t have the daily reminder that Dad lives with that she’s gone, for I know he imagined he heard her voice even though it was impossible.

3. Anger

This one I didn’t feel. I don’t blame anyone, least not in an angry sense, for Mum’s death. Even believing her dementia was largely attributed to Lockdown doesn’t mean I blame the Government. Everyone did what they thought was best at the time, including Dad, my Sister and I in putting Mum in the care home. I don’t pamper to the hindsight “what if” game, hopefully never will. And to know that Mum was at peace when she passed meant for me that she wasn’t angry, either.

4. Bargaining

Again, this is linked to the “what if” game. What if I had resigned from work to look after Mum twenty-four-seven instead of putting her in the care home, the list is as endless and as such I feel it is asinine. It’s also a means of deflecting grief and although I’m not masochistic I needed to process my grief, for I knew there was nothing I could do to turn back time.

5. Depression

I wasn’t aware I had it, but crying into my pillow and feeling like I was in “limbo” probably sums it up best. My wife, friends and, of course, time helped cure me of this. And the act of producing this podcast, which I guess is another form of Journalling; something I know is said to be beneficial for mental stress has helped.

6. Reconstruction (one of the 7)

The start of the healing process. I think work helped, at least in the immediate term. It gave me something to focus on that didn’t have the guilt of thinking about other things. And the fact that Mum would not have wanted me to give up on life no matter how bad my grief. And this podcast has helped tremendously in that regard.

7. Acceptance

Of my situation, certainly. I’m a pragmatic individual, a solutions-person, and in addition to time and the wisdom of family and friends I have moved forward with the processing of my loss. I’m a different person, with greater insight on life and myself and also this different person is a better person. I still miss Mum, always will, but I now believe in some ways, thanks to my re-examining of who she was, and what she meant to me, believe I know her better.

The advantage of the internet is that there’s such a lot of help available, providing you invest your time wisely when looking; from websites, mental therapists to books and podcasts. I discovered podcasts, primarily factual stuff, during lockdown and I found them a great source of awareness with insights that people used to advocate travel for.

So, with no affiliation whatsoever, and with the caveat you do your own due diligence to see if they are right for you I have listed those podcasts that one time or another have provided me with insights that have helped me process my loss;

In alphabetical order:

• Access All (BBC)
• All In The Mind (BBC)
• Feel Better Live More (Dr Rangan Chatterjee)
• Health Check (BBC)
• How To Be A Better Human (TED)
• Inside Health (BBC)
• Just One Thing (BBC)
• TED Talks Daily (TED)
• The Documentary (BBC)
• Work Life with Adam Grant (TED)

I won’t include links them in the shownotes, as I appreciate not everyone listens through an Apple device, but as all are well respected shows you should have no problem tracking them down.

And of course, they offer information beyond the reason I have referenced for this podcast.

Shownote Links

• Stages of Grief