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In this blog, Olivia shares her experience of grieving for her husband. She reflects on her experience of the journey of grief and starting this process early – grieving before a loved one has passed. 

From a night out to a life changed

The 18th of March 2019 is a date that has been etched into my heart forever, a permanent scar in my memory which will never fully heal. On that day I watched the love of my life, my best friend, my everything, die. After a nearly three-year battle (and I know some patients think that word is clichéd, but trust me, life had become exactly that) with chondrosarcoma, a rare cancer, my husband drew his final breaths.

Dave and I met aged 18, working at a supermarket. We didn’t actually talk that much at work, however one evening bumped into each other on a night out with our friends. We made the most of the evening’s Dutch courage with a dance and a kiss, swapped numbers, and I suppose you’d say the rest is history.

Fast forward seven and a half years and I am widowed at 26. Life, changed forever.

The first few days after Dave’s death are somewhat blurry. I remember barely eating (not like me!), crying in the supermarket because I couldn’t decide what to buy, and having a meltdown about getting in the shower. It was probably because I just didn’t feel motivated – what was the point in doing anything at all now that Dave was dead?

Grieving early

Nearly eight months on and every day still hurts, but the levels vary. Grief is a very personal journey, and everyone’s experience is different.

I started grieving for Dave when he was still alive, and other widows and widowers have told me the same of their terminal partners. I believe it’s partly because I started this process “early” that I’m coping relatively well, better than I expected.

There are other factors which help. I have an amazing network of family and friends, I’m in touch with my emotions and how to manage them, I’m an open person and don’t often bottle things up. Most importantly, I’m comforted knowing that Dave isn’t suffering any more, trapped in a body which by the end only enabled him to exist (and in agony at that), not to live. Even coping well, though, has its own issues – feeling guilty and the fear of being judged (I’ve learnt these feelings are quite common amongst widows and widowers).

The difference between coping and happiness

Coping well and not being fundamentally happy, though, are not mutually exclusive. Because I’m able to socialise, go out, and have fun doesn’t mean that I don’t live with pain in my heart every single day. Because I’m able to enjoy doing nice things for myself doesn’t mean I don’t constantly miss and think about Dave. Because I’m able to find another person attractive doesn’t mean I wasn’t and won’t forever be deeply in love with Dave; we’ll always be together. Because I’m able to genuinely smile and laugh doesn’t mean there aren’t nights when I cry myself to sleep. Because I don’t feel completely broken all of the time does not mean I feel whole.

I have felt married, widowed, and single all at the same time.

I hate dreaming of Dave because waking up is awful – but at least in dreams I get to be in his company. I can’t bring myself to watch Bake Off or Gogglebox if it can’t be with him. I dread future Easter seasons (his birthday, our wedding anniversary, and the anniversary of his death all fall around then). I can’t bear the thought of Christmas without him. I experience triggers, and have flashbacks to his dying moments, out of nowhere and then feel I could cry forever.

“Everyone you have loved is still loved”

Some of these things may change over time, some may not. The unpredictability of grief can be hard to process. It’s also horrible having to accept that my life will now contain moments of indescribable pain, and that nothing I can do will ever change that, because Dave is gone.

But he is only gone in person. It feels appropriate to end this blog post with a quote from his funeral:

“Everything you have done is still done. Everyone you loved is still loved. You will live on in our hearts, and in stories that will be told for generations to come.”

Olivia Meheux

Enjoyed reading this blog? Leave a comment below to let us know your thoughts. Have a story of your own to share? Email us to get in touch and share your advice.

In this blog, Rachel reflects on how song writing has helped her through her experience of grief. The driving force behind Rachel’s music is her desire to evoke compassion toward ourselves and one another by sharing vulnerable experiences with the hope of encouraging connection & authenticity. She hopes that her songs provide hope and a source of connection for those who listen.

Pain and beauty

My grief journey has felt like the most profound combination of painful and beautiful. Kristoff and I crossed paths when we sought healing from our own personal battles, mine being depression-related, and his relating to the tragic loss of his son to suicide in 2017. We were lucky enough to seek healing in the same place and found tranquillity in each other’s support and kindness. Kristoff had a beautiful willingness to vulnerably share his struggle and created a safe and empathic space for mine.

His unexpected passing on the morning of February 3rd, 2019 flooded me with shock, disbelief and deep sadness. It felt beyond unfair. He remained so kind-hearted, loving, and hopeful, despite the immense emotional pain he had to encounter in his life.

“I stand in awe of life”

Wanting to connect with his memory, I picked up my phone to revisit our last text exchanges. It felt like he somehow knew those words would be his final goodbye. He possessed such admirable optimism, writing, “I stand in awe of life. However brief, it is magical.”

He ended the text with these beautiful words, reflecting on our time together: “I felt your pain, & revelled in your happy moments. I am here if you need me.” It feels as though he was telling me he would look out for me even when his physical presence was gone.

Feeling helpless, I sent a text message to his phone, unsure if anyone would ever see it. A portion of it read, “If anyone can receive this, I just want you to know how incredibly impactful Kristoff was on my life. He had to endure such pain & somehow still provided the rarest of light to those he crossed paths with. I’m so grateful to have known him.”

To my surprise, his 15-year-old daughter replied, thanking me. She said that my text was the only one she answered, and she didn’t know why, but she felt drawn to me and my message. That in itself felt like the first of many synchronicities Kristoff would leave for me.

Sitting at the piano

My overwhelming grief was the driving force behind what drew me to the piano on the day he passed. I allowed my sadness to flood over me as I sat at the piano and played. Somehow, as if on autopilot, Kristoff’s last words were woven into a song.

In all other circumstances, the song I wrote for him wouldn’t have left my notebook pages, but I felt the undeniable need to bring it to life in the recording studio as a gift to his daughter.

“Warrior” was the first song I ever recorded, and my life has changed in so many ways since then. I realised that there can be a beautiful purpose in sharing my songs publicly (something I never thought I would do).

Sharing the love

I started a project called #lovethroughlyrics where I share my music along with the knowledge that has helped me through my darkest times. Each song touches on different areas of mental health and I have begun showing younger generations how to express themselves creatively and therapeutically through song writing.

I wholeheartedly believe that Kristoff has had a hand in all of this and that he is ever-present throughout my days. I will be forever grateful to him and strive to approach life in a way that he would be proud of.

The lyrics to Kristoff’s song, “Warrior,” are included below.

You can listen to “Warrior” (original & acoustic) on any music platform by going here: https://fanlink.to/rachelleycroft_warrior

Rachel Leycroft 

You can connect with Rachel & follow the #lovethroughlyrics journey via Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rachelleycroft/

Warrior lyrics

Liam, one of our meet up Hosts in London, has written this piece about his experience of being bereaved at a young age.

This blog is about my personal experience with grief and being a bereaved male in a world that expects us to ‘man up’. I promise to be as honest as possible, and if I can help just one man relate to something and feel less isolated then I have achieved my goal.

Boxing Day, 2011, I got the news that my best friend had cancer. At the age of 20, you never imagine that something like that could happen to your closest friend, and my reaction initially was one of denial. He will recover. He is my best friend. He is too young to die. Isn’t he?

A new reality

After a heroic six year battle, Matt passed away two years ago. You would think that knowing what was coming should have made it easier, but when that day arrives there is nothing that can prepare you for your new reality without that person and their presence in your life.

I have never been married but Matt is my Best Man. A once in a lifetime friendship gave me the privilege of being his best friend for 15 years. We have a great group of friends and I know I speak for us all when I say that his presence is missed every single day. No social occasion has felt quite right since and I don’t think it ever will.

The unpredictability of grief

Grief is a journey and a rollercoaster; one that will never stop. It is different from day to day, week to week and month to month. Sometimes raw and painful, other times lighter and less intense, but one thing that never changes is that it is always there in some capacity. This used to bother me but over time, I’ve learnt to accept it and embrace it.

It is almost two years to the day since Matt died, and needless to say the emotions are still raw and difficult to manage. Although grief is unpredictable, my experience has taught me that time goes a long way towards learning to accept the bad with the good and ride the wave.

There are landmark dates: May (his birthday), September (the date of his death), October (my birthday and his funeral), Christmas and New Years Eve (his diagnosis). Although painful, the inevitable emotions that come with these dates provide something of a much needed cathartic release.

I am personally very guilty of allowing feelings to bottle up and keep them under wraps, and this is not sustainable. 

The pressure to ‘man up’

In society, there is a dangerous pressure on men to ‘man up’. Men shouldn’t get upset. Men shouldn’t cry. Men shouldn’t get depressed.

But we do, and the world hasn’t accepted that yet. Fortunately, these views are (slowly) changing and us men are beginning to fight the stigma, but we are a long way from where we need to be. 

I promised I would be honest. It’s clear that being open and honest is something that I and my fellow bereaved men don’t do enough, because opening up and asking for help is scary. I thought keeping quiet and getting on with life would benefit my relationships with those closest to me. I was wrong. 

Grief changes us, it’s inevitable. In some ways the changes are obvious, in others only my friends and family were able to notice.

I’ve gone weeks at a time barely speaking to anyone. Is it because I don’t want to, or don’t care? Of course not. It’s because of the fear of bringing others down with me and being a burden. If it was as simple as ‘just talk about it’, we might not have half of the problems we currently do with mental health issues in men.

Finding a balance

If there is any advice I can offer to people living the bereaved life: be good to yourself. If you need to lie in until midday at the weekend, do it. If you want to stay at home alone and watch Netflix with ice cream, binge the series and finish the tub.

Everyone has their own happy place. Mine is going for long walks listening to Country music (Matt would never let me hear the end of that one). When your thoughts start to run away with you, take deep breaths, practice mindfulness, do whatever you need to do to ground yourself. It really works.

And talk to someone. Please, please talk to someone. Reach out to those close to you and ask for help. If nothing else you’ll learn who your real friends are.

I’ll finish by sharing one of my favourite quotes which sums it all up beautifully:

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to.” 

Liam Butcher

Got a story to share? Talking about loss is a powerful, brave thing and helps us all feel less alone in our grief. If you want to tell your story, email us at blog@letstalkaboutloss.org.