The following post has been classified M. It contains strong coarse language.
I recommend that it is not suitable for viewers under 15 years, Nanna and anyone with an aversion to the F bomb.
Not long after David died someone approached me and offered their condolences, I know just how you feel …. I put my dog down last week.
How I controlled my fury I do not know. Maybe I was numbed by grief, but I held my tongue when every fibre of my being screamed I put a dog down once too Champ, and it didn’t fucking feel like this.
There’s some space between that day and me now. With time, I’ve come to realise that it was an innocent comment from someone who was trying to offer comfort. She was simply comparing my loss to the most painful thing she’d experienced. Truth is, I hope she never experiences a loss that makes her dog’s death pale in significance.
It took me a while to get here. For a long time I compared my loss with others'. Would it hurt more to grieve a baby or an adult child? a child? a brother? a lover? Eventually I realised I wouldn’t have traded David as my brother, so comparing grief was a moot point.
Eden Riley is marking the first anniversary of her brother Cam’s death today. She writes a blog called Edenland. Her words have been a gift this year. I wish like hell that she wasn’t in this position, but her posts have been like a song from an old Roberta Flack record my dad used to play; She wrote as if she knew me, in all my dark despair…
I wanted to send her a little gift to show her I was thinking of her, that I knew what #fucktober felt like because I’ve survived three #fucktembers. I’m a reluctant crafter, but I rushed to finish it yesterday. It seemed important that it was completed within the year that Cam was still alive.
After it was finished, I sat looking at it. Was it good enough? It seemed so frivolous. What would I write on the note? Sorry you joined the Dead Brothers Club. Here's a scarf.
Then I remembered that on David’s anniversary it doesn’t matter what words are on the text message, the email, the voice mail. On that day, all I hear is I remember him and I remember that life will never be the same for you. So I packed up that imperfect scarf and posted it.
Since David died, I’ve thought about grief as a club. Only those who’ve experienced great loss are members. The bereaved recognise the darkness of loss in others. Yesterday, Eden described it as Griefworld - big gates, lots of roller coasters and no escape. I like her description better.
Living in Griefworld is like living in a foreign country. Your friends who've never been don’t quite get it. They try to understand but they can’t.
Losing a dog doesn’t grant you entry to the big scary roller coasters. That said, having ridden that roller coaster yourself, you don’t ever want them to get a ticket.
Robyna says
Thank you - what a beautiful poem - I had not come across it before. I too try to weigh grief against my own but it defies that kind of measurement. It just sucks to be part of the club. And I am very sure that the scarf will be welcomed and treasured.
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Thanks Robyna. It does suck to be part of the club. I'm very sorry you had to join. x
Liz Hollier says
I love the words in that poem. My girlfriend gave me a "Happy Plant" to say I am thinking of you at a similar time. It is out the front of our house and every time I drive into our driveway it reminds me of what I have lost but, also of what I had as well. I am sure the scarf will be loved in the same way. xx
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Liz, I'm so sorry for your loss. I know what you mean about remembering what you had, I try to remember how lucky we were too. xx
Janice says
how sad that you are a member of the club too. You are right in that people generally don't know what to say to you and the old 'I lost a pet' so I know how you feel gets trotted out. The thing is everyone who has lost a child or sibling has no idea how someone else in a similar situation feels. I lost two teens and a few years later lost my only sibling (my precious sister).....I do feel for you beautiful lady.
Your imperfect scarf will be something your friend can use and think of your love for them. Actions speak louder than words.
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Oh Jan, I have no idea how you can have born that magnitude of loss. I'm so very sorry that you're a member of the club too. Much love. x
Jan says
Dear Amanda,
you are doing the really hard yards at the moment but I have a feeling reading what you say that you are a survivor. It takes time, for some more time than others but you use your special memories of your precious brother like that scarf. You take is them out and wrap yourself in them when you need to. Then you lovingly put your memories back into the little pocket nearest your heart till you need to look at them again.
There is no formula but know that many people are thinking of you and wishing they could take your hurt away.
You are a real survivor.
God bless from another survivor
Jan
therealedenland says
Oh god Amanda today felt like I might die from the pain of it. Thank you, thank you. So so so much. You made me cry - a relieved, achy happy cry, because you've been there and your beautiful scarf is your way of throwing breadcrumbs to show me the way. "It's this way, Eden! It's hard! I know!"
You know. I am sorry that you know - that we know. At least we can know together.
xxxxxxxxx
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
I thought of you so often today Eden. If it's any comfort, I found the first anniversary the hardest. After that we'd proved we could survive. xx
Kirsty Rice says
Beautiful. xx
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Thank you Kirsty. x
Shari says
Lots of love heading to you Amanda and everyone else in Griefworld x
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Thanks Shari. x
Kirsten and co. says
Amanda, this is one of the most beautiful posts I've ever read. You have articulated grief so perfectly. Something I've never been able to do. Thank you x
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Oh Kirsten, thank you for that comment. I felt like I might be sick this morning when I published it.
A xx
claireyhewitt01 says
I have had moments when I wanted to publicly declare that my grief hurts more than yours. MUCH MORE. At those moments, it is the bitter dark bottom of the pit, where you can't imagine anyone else has been in this place, because how ever could they arise from it. On Monday coming it is my own Fucktober anniversary. So far I have just been pretending it is not coming at all.
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Claire, your situation is much tougher than mine. I have the luxury of just being sad, I don't have the massive responsibility that you do. I admire your strength. I'm not sure I'd have it in me.
You'll be in my thoughts on Monday lovely. x
Have A Laugh On Me says
Gulp. This is sadness wordified (yes I know it's not a word) but you have captured it so well. Hugs and strength to you now and always lovely xx
Sammie @ The Annoyed Thyroid says
Beautifully written, Amanda and that's a beautiful scarf. It sucks so bad that you and Eden both have tickets to Griefworld, but I love how you can both comfort each other with your words. You both have such a way with them. Thinking of you lovely and thank you for the reminder to get on with Operation Fucktober xx
MrsDplus3 says
Mwah!!!!! perfect post, beautifully written. I don't ever want a ticket. ever!
Nardia says
This is the first time I've read your blog (thanks to all the stalking going on over on FMS Gift Exchange - and no, I'm not your elf!! lol) and can I say after an hour of poking around I love it!
As corny as this sounds, I feel like I was supposed to find this post today. I've been pondering since Babymac put out the call to rally around Eden during #fucktober what on earth I could possibly give her that would make a difference... I still don't know, but I do know what it's like to visit Griefworld and I find myself there quite often of late despite the fact that it's been nearly 16 years since I lost my mum and 2 years since I lost my dad.
Reading Eden's blog over the past 12 months has been confronting at times, harrowing to watch the pain she's in and confronting for the feelings it brings up when questions are posed about death and why and how you should and do feel. And even moreso now that I have two little girls of my own. Until Cam's death and Eden's posts about it I didn't even know that I'd been harbouring a fear that I might, for some reason, not be around to see my two girls grow up and that they'll never know who I am... I find it hard to breath even thinking about it!!!
But I find it bizarre that this is the response that I have to a blog. I don't even know Eden, I didn't know Cam... I don't know you for that matter... but it has just hit me tonight reading this that there is an invisible tie that binds those who have experienced that kind of grief. Yes there's understanding and empathy, but there's also something greater that is inexplicable. Abrupt and sudden death is not what I know. Suicide was not in my scenario. Our experiences are so different yet I get it. Not just the impact of death and what that means for the short term. But also the grief that hones in on all that the world and the future has lost. How we've been ripped off. Grief that I thought was loooooong suppressed (because yes, I'm an emotionally challenged being who struggles to break the (perceived) expectation of being a monolith of strength) and has been bubbling up to the surface again but it's different. It's the mourning of all that could have been... my mum being a nana, of seeing me graduate uni, get married, achieve my dreams. Achieve her dreams.... And it's because of blogs like Eden's and yours that I've actually allowed myself to go there again and not lock it away because I know that I'm not alone in feeling ripped off. And posts like this one today make me realise, that that's actually ok.
So thanks - for the post and the opportunity to spill my guts in your comments area 🙂 and I look forward to being a regular reader! xx
Amanda, Cooker and a Looker says
Oh Nardia. I understand feeling ripped off. You have been royally ripped off! Becoming a mum without your own mother around must have been so difficult. It's such an emotional time as it is. I'm sorry you're a member of this club too.
I'm not sure of your beliefs, but sometimes I get signs that David is around. Your Mum wasn't here to see you achieve your dreams or meet your babies, but do you ever get the feeling that she and your Dad might be around watching over you?
Thank you for spilling your guts in the comments.
I think Eden is doing a service by talking about grief and loss so openly. I don't know how she does it. I felt physically ill after publishing this one!
If you ever need a more tangible version of the invisible link that joins us Griefworld inhabitants, my email is hello@cookerandalooker.com. xx
mamagrace71 says
Timely, timely post, Amanda. I have no words left except thank you for writing this xxx