The following blog is an opinion piece. I am not a healthcare or bereavement professional.
If your friend tells you that they're engaged, you know to say 'Congratulations!'. Or, if a relative gets a promotion, you may find yourself replying 'Well done, I knew you could do it!'. These are both instinctual responses to exciting announcements that require little to no thought. However, what are you meant to say when somebody tells you that their loved one has died?
I have circled around this topic for a while now, not knowing whether it was too dark and distressing for a blog covered in bubblegum pink. I desperately want Tamsin Talks to be an honest space to document my life, but I also know that this discussion is extremely personal. However, my uncertainty is evidence in itself of the taboo that surrounds this important subject. So, I've decided that I want to talk about grief.
Now, before you close this tab and go back to completing your daily Wordle or scrolling on TikTok; I get it. Grief feels like an uncomfortable, emotionally vulnerable and difficult topic of conversation. Considering that the majority of us will one day experience life altering grief, I find it bizzare that discussions on the subject are few and far between. Why is this?
Admittedly, I have been guilty of avoiding conversations with grieving people in the past. Convincing myself that I would only say something to make their situation worse, I have found myself giving space to grievers without knowing if that is what they wanted. On reflection, I was being selfish. With no rule book on how to approach somebody who has just had their whole world torn apart, I felt frightened. How ironic that I was the one that felt scared, when that person was experiencing the aftermath of one of the most terrifying encounters in life: death.
As the person now facing the incomprehensible horror of a world without their loved one in it, I feel more equipped than ever to speak on the subject. This is upsetting for more than just the obvious reason; it's upsetting because, until grief is experienced, it's difficult to understand. I acknowledge that emotional concepts are abstract and can be challenging to comprehend; however, opening up about the subject before a death is experienced could make grief easier to navigate for everyone. If we were all more comfortable with the concept, being supportive would be simpler.
Now, you may be wondering; as someone that is grieving, what do I think you are meant to say to someone when they tell you that their loved one has died? Well, the answer is: I still don't know. I have experienced grief before; however, every time it has been different. From my emotional intelligence to my relationship with the person I've lost, so much has impacted my grieving experiences. The emotions I've endured can also be juxtaposing: I'm not sick, but I'm not well. I don't feel like being around anybody, but I can't stand to be alone. With my emotions swinging back and forth like a pendulum, I can see why someone may find it hard to approach me. So, if I as an individual can experience grief in many different ways, there is no way of predicting how someone else may be feeling when they are mourning.
According to my doctor, I am now going through a traumatic bereavement experience. Characterised by the sudden and traumatic nature of the loss, it is something I didn't expect to have to go through at the age of 23. Admittedly, I have never felt grief so deeply. I think of what he will miss out on, the agony my family are feeling and all the milestones I will have to do without him. I mourn not only my Brother but a best friend and, five months of tears later, I still feel lost. At a stage in my life where everyone around me is working towards their life goals, I feel stunted. How can I be expected to think about the future when all I want is in the past?
I recently watched a video by Megan Devine that resonated with me. On the whole, when we see someone upset, we want to cheer them up. However, when it comes to grief, looking on the 'bright side' is counterintuitive. Rather than allowing the griever to express their pain, it can make them not want to communicate their feelings through fear of being misunderstood. I think this is where the discomfort surrounding grief comes from: we don't like to see people suffering. Don't get me wrong, trying to make someone happy is not a nasty act but, in this instance, it doesn't help.
With this in mind, I suppose all I want as a griever is to be seen. With society viewing grief as something to be avoided, it can make you feel invisible. By acknowledging my grief, you are not only recognising my feelings, you are acknowledging the person I have lost. This means far more to me than any 'everything happens for a reason' cliché. Also, I think acknowledging my own personal grief is important, too. So, my name is Tamsin Hough, I am grieving, and that is okay. Yes, I am enduring a desperate period of my life, but it is not all bleak. I have an incredible support system of friends and family, all of whom I am very grateful for.
Grief is all consuming, and there is no timeline for it, but by being open about my journey I feel like I am understanding it better. However, I am by no means an expert on anybody else's experiences. Due to the complexities of grief, it's almost impossible to know what a person needs without communicating with them. Therefore, I think that the best way to support someone grieving is to ask them what they need. They may want space, they may want someone to vent to, or they may not know what they want. However, by starting the conversation, you're giving that person the opportunity to establish how they want to progress. And that, in my opinion, is the kindest thing you can do.
Unfortunately, I cannot offer any concrete answers. This blog is simply recognising grief in a society that wishes it didn't need to exist. I wish it didn't need to exist. I yearn to go back in time and change the outcome, but I can't. Death is definitive and, ultimately, that is a fact I cannot deny. Whether it's not being able to sleep without the light on, or feeling the need to smell their clothing for comfort, grief has made changes to my everyday life that I cannot ignore. And, maybe that's all grief needs. Not to be fixed, or to be distracted from, but to simply be acknowledged.
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