Twenty years ago today (17th April) I got a phone call that changed my life forever. The person at the other end of the phone was my Nanna and her words were simply “Emma – your Dad is dead”. I was aged 21 and home from university for Easter at the time. I had been estranged from my Dad for a number of years prior to his death. And because of this estrangement I somehow tried to convince myself that I was ok after I heard the news – I tried to see it as black and white. He’d not been part of my life in recent times so that meant I could bypass the grief. My-oh-my how wrong was I.
I decided to go the funeral but not a single tear fell from my eyes. I felt a fraud, like I shouldn’t have been there and I certainly didn’t play the grieving daughter. Instead I did the British stiff upper lip thing and thought life would carry on as normal. But as I’ve since learnt:
The more complicated the relationship, the more complicated the grief
Ours was a complicated relationship. On my 21st birthday just four months before his death I’d received a birthday card signed ‘The Stranger’. I can’t tell you how bloody angry I was that he’d signed it this way. But I guess he couldn’t win – if he’d have put Dad I’d have been angry then too as I didn’t see him as a ‘Dad’. In fact I remained angry for a long time and as a result experienced awful mental and physical pain, which I’ll share with you another time.
Anger is one of the five stages of grief – the grief that I was convincing myself I could bypass as we hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. The five stages as developed by Elisabeth Kuber-Ross are:
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance
The theory is not every person experiences all five, and even if they do, it’s not necessarily in the same order. A person can become ‘stuck’ at one stage, taking years to move onto the next and even then go back and forth between stages.
Looking back I was completely naive to think I could bypass grief – he was and always will be my Dad. His DNA runs through my veins. I have the same eyes and nose as him. But it took until 2015 – fifteen years after his death for grief to hit me so hard I thought I’d been run over. 2015 was the year I myself became a parent. The anger that had been bubbling away became all-consuming because what I haven’t shared with you is that my Dad died by suicide. He chose to die, and I was so f@cking angry that though we’d been estranged he taken away any choice I had about reconciliation, and any choice about whether I wanted him to meet his granddaughter or not, because he’d succeeded in making sure he wasn’t here.
I didn’t realise it was grief at first and I’m sure there were some who thought I had postnatal depression, even though I knew it wasn’t. It was when I attended a Time to Talk Champions event in Leeds and shared my story someone kindly pointed me in the direction of Leeds’ Suicide Bereavement Group, who were quite simply amazing and it was them who said the line “The more complicated the relationship, the more complicated the grief”.
Bit by bit I worked through my anger, letting it pour out. I cried like a small child because I needed to, and worked towards forgiveness. Forgiveness of both him and I for the things we did and did not say and do. So in 2018 I went backwards to enable me to move forwards to a point of not just forgiveness but acceptance. I finally found the strength and courage to visit where my Dad’s ashes were scattered. I said sorry, I cried and I found peace 18 years after his death.
I say peace, but bereavement by suicide is extremely complex for those of us left behind without any real answers, and the grief never actually goes however it does change. But having visited his resting place I know my Dad is at peace.
This year on Valentine’s Day, nine months after the birth of my son, I was in the shower when the words to this poem literally washed over me, so much so I had to write them down so here it is:
A Poem for My Dad:
20 years and you are still gone.
No wait 20 years and you are still here. You live on in my baby son.
The hurt, the pain but I no longer feel like I’m going insane.
You are at peace and I take great comfort from that.
Someone told me you never got out of your own head, some days I’m certain you never wanted to get out of bed.
But that is then and this is now. You’ve an amazing sea view, and I can take a pew at the church below, knowing that there’s no need for sorrow.
As I climbed the hill, you spoke to me. You said stop crying, go back down and kiss my grand-daughter, I knew at that point you’d go on to have a grandson.
So as I move onto chapters new, preparing to move from x7 St Johns, I know you are by my side. Let’s get to know one another as I let you be my guide.
Let’s keep talking, something we never did. Knowing we both are sorry, but now it’s time for me to re-write the story.
I’m setting myself free, looking forward to the ride. Less tears, anger and sorrow, more laughter and stars that shine bright.
Here’s to the future with you along for the ride. No more waiting or hating. Reach for the stars, that’s what the song says. Watch on and smile as I increase the pace, heal and inspire.
xxxx
If you have been affected by suicide, you will know how unbelievably tough it can be so please don’t suffer alone. There is some excellent support out there:
Support After Suicide provides details of local and national support groups / charities
There are also some excellent books which were recommended to me:
Help is at hand is a support booklet written by people who have been bereaved by suicide.
Beyond the rough rock is designed to support a child who has been bereaved through suicide. It can be ordered from Winston Wish – a childhood bereavement charity.
In memory of my Dad xxx
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