The First Grief Escape Artist

The other day, five separate emails arrived inside my inbox. They looked important. One for me. One for each of my three children. And most poignantly, one for my dead husband. It had been some time since I had received mail for him. The emails were from the Australian Government warning that the time to activate our visas had almost expired. Of course, the department of home affairs weren't to know that our families time had already expired. Cut short when my husband died, incidentally just 24 days after those 5 permanent residency visa's had first been granted. A cruel juxtaposition. Seeing those emails, bold and unapologetic, was like a punch in my guts. It ripped the air from my lungs, leaving me reeling as I stared at the screen. What I realised in that moment was what these emails represented. The passage of time. Almost 5 years of time to be exact. 

Back then, there had been a brief moment when I had considered emigrating to Australia anyway. I envisaged grabbing hold of my three children, jetting off to Australia and showing them that you can be resilient in the face of adversity. That you could get over almost anything by starting a new life. Even the death of your dad. Quite clearly, I was in complete denial. 'Getting over' sudden death is not something anyone really does - not ever! Even if you were to live in easy access of the beach and the Pacific Ocean. Moving to Australia would have simply been an elaborate and isolating avoidance. Trying to Houdini my way out of the onslaught of grief, while living half way across the world - what on earth was I thinking? Well the answer was that I wasn't - thinking that is. Instead, I was feeling. And I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to feel any of it. It was simply too painful. This particular denial didn't last too long however. I realised pretty quickly that I needed to be as close as possible to family, routine and familiarity if we were to locate the road to partial recovery. And just like that, my fantasies of being the first grief escape artist fizzled out. 

Then, nearly five years later, the arrival of those emails. Their true significance took a few days to filter through. And when it did, along came that familiar swelling up of grief. It bubbled in my throat and came out as angry words. At first, it masqueraded as many other things. Impatience with my children after what had felt like a long easter school break, frustration with my partner, a general overwhelm with the complexities of life now. Eventually, the tightness in my throat choked me into silence and the tears came. It was grief. Definitely grief. I knew, because even when the tears were triggered by something else, as my tears fell I thought of him and those 5 emails. I thought of a life that was going unlived. I thought of all the possibilities that I felt had been obliterated. Yes. This was grief. And what had the last five years taught me? The undeniable truth. I couldn't protect my children from their grief by running. And in Australia I would have met my own further down the road. No matter how hard we may try, nobody achieves Houdini status in grief. It's simply impossible to escape. 

Through grieving I have learned many other things too. In so many ways grief has been my greatest teacher. It has put me in touch with my emotions in a way I never was before. The result? Being able to detect even the slightest of shifts in how I feel.  Knowing when I need to recalibrate things to make sure I am looking after myself as best I can. Grief has also taught me to live in the here and now. More present than before. There was a time before he died. And there is a time after. I'm not the same person I once was. And that's a good thing. Because tomorrow isn't promised. 

To read more of Dr Laura's grief writing you can purchase her bestselling book and self-help resource for those grieving 'Grief Writer; A Journal' at Amazon.