20 Nov When friends slip away…

January 2024

Ben’s sudden death was our family’s epochal moment – and not in a good way. It changed the course of our lives. In the blink of an eye everything looked different, felt different and will always be different.

However, something I never expected to change so much was my circle of friends. Yet as I look back over the years I see that even that looks different – some have slipped out of my life while others have slipped in.

I know I’m not the only person to say this and wonder if it’s simply that some friends and family (for a host of different reasons) are just not able to walk through our darkest days with us.

It’s also possible that we might actually push them away (without meaning to) at the very time we need them most.

But whatever the reasons – losing friends hurts and adds another layer of sadness to our already broken world.

The death of a child (of any age and for any reason) causes our emotions to go into a tailspin. We lose the ability to think, cope, reason – and become sad, vulnerable, forgetful, fragile, withdrawn, irrational and over sensitive. We may also feel anger, numbness, anxiety, sleeplessness, jealousy, exhaustion, brain fog, depression, despair, emptiness, guilt. The list goes on…

In all honesty, who really wants to be friends with someone like that?

And to add insult to injury – the juxtaposition between those grieving and those supporting means noone really knows what to do or how to do it!

There is no timescale – grieving is different for everyone. There is no right or wrong way to survive such a catastrophic loss. We are all doing the best we can.

So this blog is not meant in any way to lay blame but rather to try and understand why and how relationships can all go very horribly wrong!

Five years on I feel like I should be coping better – should be stronger – more focused on using my pain for a greater purpose or to make me a better person!

I dip in and out of trying to live well to honour Ben; trying to be a good wife, mum, nanny, friend; fundraising for important causes; throwing myself into the job I love. On the outside I may seem fine but inside I’m often just about holding it together and don’t feel that I do anything well – probably teetering somewhere around the half way mark at best!

I hardly recognise the person I used to be and am shocked by how needy and vulnerable I’ve become. Things that were once important seem to have lost meaning.

Every so often I manage to summon enough energy and determination to try to slip back into my old life – but like a square peg in a round hole, find I don’t fit in any more.

And on top of all this I never realised guilt could play such a huge part in grief. I feel like people expect more – that even those who love me are disappointed by my inability to cope with loss. I fear that others are coping better and worry that I might appear too happy, too sad, too sensitive, too attention-seeking… so many insecurities hiding behind my carefully constructed mask.

I’ve no doubt even close friends probably think I’ve been grieving for too long. They must wonder when I’m going to get back to normal; why my faith isn’t helping more or why I can’t just accept that death is simply part of all our lives and move on.

I honestly do try – but it’s not that simple. Those living with a big empty space where their precious child should be, know that moving on (whatever that means) is almost impossible. The pain does get easier to manage but only because we get used to living with it – it becomes part of us.

But shock induced flashbacks still have the power to take us right back into the moment, waves of extreme sadness come out of nowhere and it’s easy to get stuck in a cycle of recurring agony as we see their friends lives moving on when our child’s ended mid flow!

Years become peppered by debilitating significant dates that have to be endured over and over again. The fallout of this gigantic loss filters into places we never could have anticipated and the bottom line is we miss our precious children more than I could ever put into words.

Their absence is a constant ache that never goes away.

One of the difficult things to get to grips with, is how much it all inevitably impacts on friendships…

– It can’t be easy for friends to watch someone they care about suffering, and not know how to help.

– It must be frustrating to feel like you’re walking on eggshells – afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.

– It’s complicated when friendship dynamics change and one becomes high maintenance or a burden.

We’re told to look after ourselves and our own wellbeing – to surround ourselves with positivity and avoid those who bring us down…

Which is all well and good until you realise you’re probably the person bringing everyone down!

So I wonder if only those who have known trauma can have the confidence and strength to climb into the pit of the traumatised – and (most importantly) stick around for the long haul.

The reality is friendships inevitably do change over time. And as soon as I feel let down by someone I remember with shame those i wasn’t there for when I should have been.

So here are just a few personal reflections on surviving the terrible! Bear in mind those early days are a blur so this is written through a very foggy grief lens…

The days/months (even years) after Ben died are like a living nightmare. It’s impossible to accept something so unbelievably horrific. We were trapped inside a bubble of the worst pain imaginable and didn’t have the capacity to consider how this must be affecting those around us.

Friends reeled in shock. We received an abundance of cards, letters, messages, flowers, food – love gifts from the hearts of those feeling our heartache. This incredible outpouring of kindness helped get us through those early days.

On the flip side we felt hurt by the few who would cross over to the other side of the road or pretend they hadn’t seen us, rather than engage. Then I remember there were probably times I did the same. Grief is debilitating and making conversation was sometimes more than I could manage.

And of course our brokenness continued long after life for everyone else had returned to normal. As the numbness started to wear off, raw agonising grief took over and became complex, unpredictable and torturous – it completely messes with your mind!

People would kindly ask how I was, then probably wish they hadn’t, as my reply would lead me deeper and deeper down a rabbit hole of nonsensical blurb! I knew it didn’t make sense – but that was the problem – nothing did…

– Why us?

– Why Ben?

– Why our child?

– Why any child?

I didn’t want to say I was fine when I wasn’t – however it took me a while to realise that a casual ‘how are you?’ is NOT an invitation to offload!! I shudder when I remember how awkward I must have made people feel by trying to describe a pain that gets worse not better – disclosing some of the irrational complicated thoughts that swirled around my head at night.

It’s hardly surprising friends slipped away!

Some would try and rationalise the turmoil in my head by telling me what (they thought) I should be doing or how (they thought) I should be feeling. They might even casually mention how well another loss parent was coping (comparisons are brutal). No one meant to be unkind – in fact people were usually trying to be helpful but I would just come away feeling even more guilty, judged and misunderstood.

“The human soul doesn’t want to be advised or fixed or saved. It simply wants to be witnessed — to be seen, heard and companioned exactly as it is. When we make that kind of deep bow to the soul of a suffering person, our respect reinforces the soul’s healing resources, the only resources that can help the sufferer make it through.”
- Parker Palmer

I got tons of advice that I didn’t need – ‘just try to focus on the happy memories’ or ‘be thankful for the years you had’ or ‘God has a plan or ‘lean into Jesus’ or ‘he’s in a better place!’…

I tied myself in knots trying to explain that it’s the present I struggle with NOT the past. Memories are wonderful but the fact that Ben isn’t here NOW is what breaks my heart and makes me want to scream. It’s impossible to rationalise a pain that is so real and present. Plus although I wasn’t actually angry with God my once simple faith had taken a battering. I felt let down – disappointed and confused that he had allowed our beautiful boy to die!

I was sent Bible verses such as blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted (Matthew 5:4) – as though I should be thankful for grieving because I was blessed!

I didn’t feel comforted and I certainly didn’t feel blessed! I believe now that God must have been carrying me but back then I felt nothing but pain, pain and more pain!

I know people were just trying to help but I needed to feel what I was feeling – it was the only way of expressing the agony in my heart. I guess I just wanted my pain to be validated. There is no cure for grief and nothing anyone can say or do can take it away – nor would we want it to because it keeps us connected to our special person.

And anyway I hardly knew what I was feeling or what I needed because it changed from day to day – minute to minute. I wanted Ben back so badly (and still do) I could hardly breathe and no one could help with that!

All friends could do was provide a distraction to help me get through the hours from morning to night – every day! I hated being on my own and needed company even though at times my body language may have been saying the opposite.

How are people meant to work that one out??

“I had no idea with grief
comes fear,
A terror that swoops in 
from nowhere. 
You fear the future 
you fear the now. 
You are left feeling 
like an innocent child, 
waiting to be rescued,
needing to be protected,
longing to be hugged. 
Who knew grief like this…
that it’s not just a feeling,
it’s a new way of living.”
- Zoe Clark-Coates

There simply are no rules following the death of a child – just a multicoloured mosaic of pain and love, joy and sorrow. A lifetime of dancing between conflicting emotions – learning to live differently!

I know now that instead of spilling my messy thoughts to anyone who would listen I should have been more discerning – but how can you think rationally when you’re not?

And the brutal reality of grief is, that in amongst the sadness, lies a raft of horrible complicated thoughts that quite frankly are not very nice. I once made the huge mistake of trying to explain to one friend that I felt let down by another – a perfect example of what not to do.

I honestly didn’t (and still don’t) want to be that person!

I’m discovering more and more there is healing in pouring my Ben love into others. Ben was so full of love and that’s the one thing death has never been able to steal from us.

Yet I still often find myself pathetically whispering to God ‘please help me!’ – not even sure what I’m asking for because the one thing I want, I can’t have.

His answer is always to send the right people into my life at just the right time. So I cling desperately to those who try to understand and am drawn like a magnet to those living this life too.

Thankfully I am blessed to have beautiful friends in my life – albeit not necessarily those I expected. Some dip in and out when they can, others are consistently always there. Their love, wisdom and kindness are a constant source of hope and strength. They have become precious silver linings on this hideous journey.

I just hope and pray I can be as good a friend to them as they are to me!

And finally, despite everything I can confidently say – this is definitely not the life I would have chosen and I will be grieving the loss of our beautiful boy forever – but I am still blessed!

For Ben 💛

CREDIT: Ruth McDonald 2024