Death, the problem there’s no solving

On 2nd December, my ex-husband, the boys’ Dad, died suddenly.

The trauma has turned all our lives around, but any pain has been nothing compared to watching my children try to make sense of their monumental loss. This is truly the hardest part of the journey we’re on. Nothing can replace what they have lost – it’s the problem there’s no solving.

The following thoughts about death and the grieving process move around my head a lot. I’m putting them to paper as selfishly it helps me, but perhaps sharing them might help others too. I’m keen to hear other’s views as everyone’s experience is unique.

Here’s what I’ve learned so far. 

Lean into your feelings

For me, sitting with the discomfort and pain has been an important part of the process. Doing stuff is good if it helps but risks kicking the issue into the long grass.

I’ve been lucky because in the early days after sleepless nights with my kids, when I couldn’t function, my husband Stephen quietly and seamlessly made everything happen. I needed to combust a bit in order to heal and I’m finally starting to see the wood for the trees. Sometimes you can’t go any faster than you can go.

People around you might expect you to move forward more quickly or be surprised by your grief; don’t let that bother you. 

Neither let them stop you showing your grief, perhaps “because you need to be strong for the kids”. Children need to understand how to identify, feel and deal with emotions. Sharing in their sadness can never hurt and can be really constructive as together you find ways to remember the person who is loved and missed. 

In our house we have created a special music soundtrack on Spotify, have a memory jar and the boys have their own personal memory boxes. Outside we have a Letters to Heaven postbox that anyone in the community can use and it’s already receiving letters.

I’m not frightened to cry in front of my boys; I want them to see it’s ok, that it’s normal and know they have permission to cry too.

When it’s shit, it’s shit

People will try and provide solutions to the challenges you face in your new life. It’s well meaning but also not always what’s needed. There is huge solace in someone sitting with you and just listening or being there even if they don’t know what to say. Sometimes acknowledging how shit things are is everything. 

As soon as you’re able, do the hard work. Seek professional support. Access is tough right now due to pressures on our health service but go to your GP and ask to be referred. Unresolved grief can affect every aspect of your life years later - don’t let this happen. The grief counselling I had in my 20s is invaluable now, as are the sessions I’m currently having in order to manage.

Similarly if you want to be there for someone, but don’t know where to start, there are loads of resources out there. Winston’s Wish is a brilliant charity for bereaved children. Sue Ryder have a fantastic #GriefKind campaign that gives you the tools to have the conversation. 

Money matters

Financial planning is crucial. When I say our life has been turned around, I genuinely mean it’s upside down. We’re lucky to have had savings to draw on to cover the unexpected extra life costs right now, but we’re having to recalibrate how I work and travel, which has a resulting impact of my earnings. 

Hand in hand with this goes planning for when you die. I currently have a laser focus on this and while I have no intention of going anywhere, Stephen and I know our kids will be provided for when the time comes. 

Find the upsides

Co-parenting - in death as in life - has its blessings and its curses. When I first divorced, the time away from my kids, who were 3 and 4 at the time, was excruciating. In time, I learned to be present for them during my half of the week, and to fill the days where they were at their Dad’s with heavy duty work and then also play. 

When Stephen and I got together and their Dad found happiness with his new life partner, the kids benefited from an extended family with extra role models and people looking out for them. 

Returning to a full week together has been hard for both us and the boys. As well as the huge hole their Dad leaves, they miss the rhythm of moving houses. A rigid routine provided stability but meant we were all institutionalised. Their Dad was laid back and they enjoyed that household vibe as a contrast to the slightly faster pace they tend to experience with us. 

However, the permanent move has had its benefits. When here, they’re home, and it’s exactly as life always is at ours. This has provided continuity and reassurance at a time when it’s very much needed. 

We’re only at the start of this journey and there are so many challenges to come. A current focus is reassuring the boys that I plan to be here until we’re all grey and old as they’re naturally fearful about me and my mortality, as well as their own.

The idea of Fathers’ Day makes me shiver but we’ll find a way to celebrate meaningfully. The work continues.

Anthony, you’re missed. We’re doing everything we can to ensure the kids not just cope but thrive.

If this has been helpful, Dan, Freya, Stephen and I have signed up for the Great North Run to raise money for Winston’s Wish. Please consider supporting us here. Thank you.