Navigating grief: My personal journey of love and loss

People say that time heals, but I cannot believe this to be true. It has not healed me. My grief is still so raw, I do not know how to move on. March 27th was my papa’s birthday. He would have turned 94 this year. This will be his fourth birthday without his family. But perhaps he isn’t truly alone. I believe he’s with his mom and dad, and now his brother too.

People often say that every parent has a favourite child, and every child has a favourite parent. For me, that favourite was always my grandparents. I ran to them whenever life felt unfair or when my siblings upset me. I had sleepovers at their house and went to them whenever I was sick.

A bond like no other: My love for my papa

My papa had a long and interesting life. He used to tell me all sorts of stories; maybe that’s where I got my love of creative writing and reading. He used to tell me of how the Black and Tans burnt down his mother’s home and how his uncle almost set sail on the Titanic.

He would tell me stories about the shenanigans my mom and uncles, and aunts would get up to. It became harder for him to remember these stories after his fall, after all the illnesses. So I began to tell him the stories that he used to tell me, but I never managed to do it as well as him. I try not to remember him like this; is that selfish of me? I do not know if it is.

There was so much fear around COVID-19, I did not worry about catching it. I worried for my grandad; I was young, and he was old. I was healthy, he was sick. He fell down the stairs a couple of weeks before the pandemic. I remember him being sat down and told he was in the hospital. A couple of months later, I remember being told he had COVID-19; two weeks after that, I remember crying tears of joy that he was testing negative.

Coping with loss after a loved one passes

He died on the 9th of December 2021, I did not cry when I heard. I did not think of myself; I thought of my mom and my siblings, of my granny. I consoled my brother as he asked me if it was true. I felt only numbness and a sense that it was not real. How could it be? He was my papa, my person, and suddenly he was gone, ripped away from me as we both slept.

The days of the funeral were a blur. I remember sitting in my grandparents’ house with a mask on while writing him a letter, trying to be helpful and feeling like I was taking up too much space. I wrote a letter to tell him everything I never could; it did not help, but I am glad I did it. I think most people have gone through the “talk”, the one where you get prepared for the eventual death of a loved one. It does not make it easier.

There was this cake I made, nearly brought me to tears every time I made it. It was a cheesecake with a sponge base and a dark chocolate filling. Almost every time I made it, something went wrong. I turned the cream into butter or over-melted the chocolate. But I made it with love, love kept me going when making that god awful cake. I made it because my papa loved it. He could become irritable after the fall, but that cake could make him happy. My papa loved a sweet treat. He used to say that every time you walked by a dessert, you had to have some. Some of my fondest memories were bringing him a 99 on a hot summer’s day.

Finding comfort in small moments

My grief is still raw, I do not know how to move on. I cried writing this. I cry a lot remembering my papa. I worried in the days after his funeral that I did not love him because I could not cry, and now, four years later, I can not do anything but cry when I think of him.  I wear one of his jumpers on my bad days, it is this grey knit jumper, something very granddad-esque. It is massive on me, it no longer has his smell. I have always wanted to honour his impact on my life. I have been debating whether to get a tattoo for the last year or so, but I think my papa would not appreciate the gesture. I do not think that I can adequately describe his impact on me.

Love, loss, and the memories that remain

I can not capture his memory with justice.  I carry him with me every day, I will carry this grief with me until the day I die. He was the best bits of me. For me, it was a privilege to love him, one I am forever grateful for.

Grief for me is the testament of my love, it is all the love I have. My love for him is in every tear, lump in my throat and every ounce of longing in me.  I do not know if I can move on, and in honesty, I do not know if I want to. He was my person and I think he always will be.

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