Grief & I.

Posted on March 17, 2020 Updated on March 29, 2020

I wasn’t truly sure whether to publish this one or not, but what the heck, writing it has helped me so maybe it will help someone else. I wrote it over a month ago now, although it had been on my mind for much longer. Writing is a form of therapy, and since it’s been almost a year since I was referred but still waiting I thought I’d give it a go. Hope this helps you if you’re finding this article.

Grief and I,

By David Palfreeman

My earliest memory of loss was probably when I was about seven or eight, I’d lost my Grandma May Jackson.

I couldn’t actually even tell you how she’d died in truth these days, just that I think when I was told I must have cried for about a week. It’s hard to describe that sort of pain when you’re experiencing it for the first time.

Grandma Jackson’s (as we all knew her) home was the place we spent so many weekends, so many summer holidays, and it was probably the place my cousins and I spent so much collaborative time.

One of the more distinctive times I spent there was when I had chicken pox, as I recall camomile lotion, and Lucozade were so plentiful that I think perhaps my grandparents had shares.

My grandparents had a fairly simple terraced house in a small village near Halifax, West Yorkshire. She would have the television locked into the Snooker, or the Darts whichever was currently on at the time.

My Grandad Charlie on the other hand would have the horses on, or as we knew them the gee gee’s.

Other than Grandma Jackson, I lost two other Great Grandmas as I got older. I don’t remember too much about Great Grandma Palfreeman passing away, but Nanna Kershaw certainly resonated. My dad’s Grandma’s house was a place we’d spend a fair amount of time. She had the best sense of humour. Sharp as a tack, and quick with a joke too.

My Grandad Charlie I didn’t see again after moving to live in Dewsbury. I missed him a lot, he’d taught me a lot even at such a young age. His home-made Yorkshire puddings, his home-made rice puddings. Walking around the kitchen in his vest and his Sunday trousers, and again a pretty sharp tongue should any of the cousins try to talk whilst we should have been eating his long-prepared Sunday Roast.

Grandad Jackson passed away I think in 2008, whilst I was working overseas, it was a tough one to take, especially given the amount of time which had passed. And the amount of time I’d spent as a kid at the Jacksons house.

In December 2009, I lost one of my biggest role models. My biggest critic, and definitely someone I could turn to when the storms closed in.

I’m quite lucky really some people don’t get two parents who guide them the way I did. There are many examples but I’ll use just one. I’d applied for a job when I was about to leave college.

I’d applied for a job somewhere, and had an interview, and following on I was told if it’s a small envelope it’s usually bad news. If it’s an A4 envelope, chances are it’s good news.

Sure enough I got a small envelope, opened it up and the rejection letter was there as had been predicted.

She took the letter off me and said, “Now call them up and ask them for feedback”.

I did exactly that, and about Three or Four weeks later I had a start date. I guess above all else she taught me not to give up, and if you get knocked down then you get up and keep going.

She had old fashioned values but it did her alright and I certainly wouldn’t be the person I am today in large parts without her influence.

So when Julie passed in 2009, it shook my world to it’s core. I was in Hamilton, waiting to fly to Sydney for Xmas and New Year’s. Laura and I had just got back to the hostel. We had a message from my Dad to call as soon as we got chance. It was never going to be good news – he never text, it was always Julie.

Given the time of year, all we could do was hope, and try to get home as quickly as we could. She passed away before we’d even made the flight out of Auckland, which was just the worst feeling. It’s funny how you can feel so helpless. So far away, knowing my old man was on his own and I couldn’t get back to be with him for about 24hrs.

If I remember rightly, I called my relatives to speak to them to try and make sure they were as well as could be expected. What can you really do in those situations. Julie left behind a Sister, two parents, a husband and the rest of the extended family.

When I got home it was like I went into some sort of survival mode, I knew I had to be strong, and try and take care of my old man. I did what I could to help him out with whatever things needed to be taken care of. From a personal perspective it wasn’t as tough on a day to day basis as odd as that might sound. I think I found ways to process what was going on. I just kept myself busy.

On the day of the funeral though it was stupidly difficult. I can’t actually describe it if I’m honest. I’d foolishly thought I could say a few words, I figured I owed her that much given everything she had done for me. How wrong I was. I’d typed out and printed out what I wanted to say, and ultimately the occasion got the better of me. I found myself opening sympathy cards, just as I had been doing in the days before. But on the morning, I was just overcome with emotion.

I tried reading what I’d written in my room, and couldn’t get through it. I knew it was going to be hard but thought I could get through it as long as I didn’t stop, or look up in the church.

It came in waves all morning; the grief was like something I’d never experienced before. I can’t really explain it, but if you’ve gone through it then chances are you will know. I just remember as we left the church asking my dad not to put me through anything like that again anytime soon.

In the years afterwards I had a reoccurring dream that Julie showed up at the door as if she’d been missing for the last few years. It was weird. Like the best kind of bad dream, and then I’d wake up and realise it was just a dream after all.

September 2017, we had just arrived in Staithes for a few days away at the coast. I checked my phone when I woke up and saw I had voicemails. It was odd, as the number which left them wasn’t a number I had stored.

The cottage was in a bit of a blackspot, the signal was sketchy at best, but I had a bad feeling so did my best to check the message without leaving the cottage. It was Pinderfields Hospital in Wakefield. They suspected they had my dad in their care. Of course, we’re 2hrs away, so the best thing I could do was to call my Auntie, and ask her to get over there as she was closer and to confirm it.

We waited for a call back, which seemed to take forever and a day.

It didn’t take long to find out it was my Dad, wow, as much as I could have expected the confirmation, I didn’t want to believe it. We packed the car up as quickly as we could and got ourselves down there.

My old man had, had health issues in the past, and beaten them all. So, my natural expectation was that he would bounce back, and get better again. I couldn’t actually process any thought of him not being there. He had had a stroke. We spent most of the day around the hospital and then made the decision to return to the cottage rather than remain by his bed.

He had plenty of people around him, and the best medical team tending to him. We joked at the time, that the neighbours of the cottage owners may think we have serious security concerns.

48hrs later I got the call I was dreading, and that I daren’t believe would actually come. I had to come back because he can’t be moved to Leeds for surgery. And his condition would need surgery. Then the worst sentence you can hear, “We’ll make him as comfortable as we can”. I’ve seen enough TV shows to understand what that means.

Dad never re-gained consciousness and died on the 1^st October.

The doctors did everything they could and my Sister and I had such a strong support mechanism but ultimately one of the things nobody on earth can prepare you for is having to take the decision to stop medicating a loved one. Even more so a parent. It’s the battle of wanting to do what you think that person would have asked you to do – and doing what you want to do, clinging on with everything that you can.

From that point all you can do is watch and wait, which is as horrible experience as everything you’re going through at the time and everything which is to come. It’s difficult to describe, but the best I can do is you have to watch the colour fade, and feel the warm disappear from their hands. From a personal experience, even at that stage I still watched him and expected him to open his eyes and ask what the hell was going on. Of course, that never happened but it’s just what I expected.

There were a few people gathered around my dad’s bedside when he passed, and it’s the most surreal experience as we all walked out of the hospital almost like we were leaving because visiting hours were over. I took everyone home, and then drove home, I pulled up outside, and that was when the latest wave came over me. The realisation that he’d gone was too much to take.

I’d never gone through this type of loss before and all of the associated tasks which come with it. I desperately hope I don’t have to do it again for a very long time.

The aftermath, the nigh on Three years since dad passed away have been a challenge at times. They have dark moments I cannot hide away from that. The bizarre thing is the first Six months I was so busy dealing with the estate side of things it was as though there was a delay before I was able to process things.

I’ve suffered with Anxiety, something new, I don’t recall having to deal with that previously. I find escaping into the mountains when I can helps with that. Oddly I find it so easy to shut myself away, cut myself off, and when that happens it’s so difficult to reverse it.

I feel I get stressed by situations easier, work is hard. Life has definitely changed, there are times like Christmas which obviously are hard. The difference is when I go to pick up cards at that time of year it hurts that I don’t get to pick up a dad card, and give it to him anymore. Times where I’ve wanted his advice and even gone to his number in my phonebook to call him and then thought about it.

I tend to try and do what I enjoy, travel, going out and Hiking. These things all help lighten the load at times when I feel bogged down, or feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.

Nobody can prepare you for losing a loved one. Nobody has a magic formula that will make everything alright. Life just has a way of picking you up, just as it has a way of knocking you down.