Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live…

I recently re-read a book that I picked up for the first time 24 years ago when I was just 18, the book is called Tuesdays With Morrie and it is another of the many books that has left its mark deeply on me.

Morrie's words always remind me that the essence of love and connection transcend things like time, and even things so large and final as death, both a beautiful revelation and a daunting prospect to me…

Death and I have had a difficult relationship, I experienced death through the loss of childhood pets and grandparents as many do and, and then as a teenager I experienced death through the loss of a boyfriend in an accident. I was far too young to manage to process the huge loss of a first love in such a way… to lose a boyfriend through death and not a typical break up like many teens my age then had meant life suddenly felt painfully fragile, my ‘immortal’ teen innocence, where life stretched out before me simply vanished in that very moment of getting the news that he was gone. I aged overnight, I felt an urgency to live, to pack everything in as soon as possible.

This particular experience of death and loss (coupled with much earlier childhood traumas) was the catalyst to me starting a spiral of manic, reckless abandon. I was already a few years down the slippery slope of using alcohol and drugs as a means to numb my emotions and escape crippling anxiety at this point, and this loss pushed me further and deeper into what was to become a 20 year long cycle of needing to feel nothing and experience everything all at once…

My most recent experience of loss through death came just 7 years ago when my father died suddenly. I’d had a complex relationship with him throughout my life, yet somehow despite the complexities of our relationship, me living in different countries or counties for most of my life, I was there with him in person when he actually died. It was the early hours of the morning, paramedics had tried their best to bring him back and consequentially I took the long drive to the hospital morgue with him in the back of the ambulance. I sat there on a cold plastic coated fold down seat, wearing clothes I had grabbed off the floor in the dark before rushing to his room to see what the noise was about, I was groggy and had been thrown rudely into a new day that I could never have imagined starting in such a way. The first day on Earth without my father here anymore, the reality of which felt like it was biting into me in the cold morning light.

I held and stroked his hand the entire way as the ambulance slowly twisted through the Cornish lanes to the city hospital. At the time I thought I was holding his hand as a way to comfort him, letting him go onto the next stage of his journey without feeling abandoned… in reality, looking back now, I think I was in as many ways comforting myself… This was the longest I had spent in his company for at least 20 years, I moved out of home when I was just turned 18 with only brief stints back at the family house when various bumps in the road had come along. At this moment in time I had been staying in the house with him for a week along with my husband and 2 children, we had come back to the UK from living in Portugal and were considering finding a short term let for the summer, and this ambulance ride was, without any doubt the longest I had ever had physical contact with him in my life, he did not ‘do’ hugs and he certainly would never do hand holding!

Subconsciously I knew it would be my last and only opportunity to hold his hand, to touch him and not risk the rejection of having him pull away, I wondered what he would have thought of me had I been able to save him that night, would I have been less of a disappointment to him? would I somehow have redeemed myself in his eyes for all of the hassle I had caused him during my erratic and rebellious, ‘must fit it all into life’ years?

Answers of course that I knew I could now never be given...

One of the most striking things which hit me in the days following was the way I suddenly felt so totally free, I had never been restricted or held back by my father, I travelled the world, moved to new cities and countries, left jobs that he said were ‘good’, sold houses when he advised me against it, he would likely have said I rebelled against any suggestion he ever made, but still, suddenly I felt utterly free… Free of expectation… Free of the fear of judgement…. Feelings which somehow overshadowed even this deep crippling grief that I was in.

I remember standing on the beach a few days after my father died, still totally numb with shock, watching my sons flying a kite, it pulled hard on the string as my eldest son held on tight. Mentally, I cut the kite string and watched it fly and dance all over sky, it looked frantic, crazed, panic-stricken, like it suddenly had no idea what to do despite it finally getting the freedom it had strained for… I was the kite which had been cut free… Emotionally I had cut free… How could I feel like a disappointment to someone who was no longer alive to disappoint? Did I even want to be free from this supposed burden after all?

Sitting here now seven years later, I still actually feel like the same cut free kite, but I am mindful of how correct Morrie was when he explained that the complexities of our relationships don't just dissolve with death.

Death had closed doors and squashed hopes. The hope of a better, closer relationship with my father gone for good—along with many unanswered questions and none of the pain or longing for a closer more loving relationship had gone just because he is no longer physically here. In many ways, the finality of him not being here anymore is harder as there is now zero hope of ever forming the strong bond I always hoped we would find. Yet, it also has somehow evolved the connection with my father which is now tinged with more love than disappointment, complex yet comforting, a continuous bond that brings peace despite the unresolved.

I no longer have the same desperation to cram as much into life as possible. I do not have the same petrified relationship with death, it is not something to challenge or run from, and by learning to accept the finality of death I learned to live, I AM living right now, and that is enough.

I see death simply as the next phase in my journey, but it has taken me many years of inward work, reading, asking why, and reaching out for solutions to get to this point of acceptance. Morrie's wisdom confirms that in death, as in life, our connections endure, not in silence but in the echoes of our shared past and the subtle presence in our ongoing stories.

Inspired by my journey, I have been drawn to create a gathering space for others navigating the complex losses and transformations that life throws our way.

Over the coming months I will be announcing dates for an online space and an in person one off gathering where we can come together to share, release, and find acceptance in our stories.

Together we will explore the depths of our relationships, past and present, allowing us to honour our feelings, using my training in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and trauma-informed practices, my aim is to incorporate grounding exercises, meditation, painting and journaling.

If this is something you would be interested in please sent me a message to register your interest.