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THE STRANGEST FEELING you’ll probably ever have is willing someone you love to die.
After months of hoping, accepting defeat is the only option left on the table. You want them to be free and feel no pain. And so, you wait in this weird pre-death limbo.
Dad didn’t smoke and barely drank. He was very active – a farmer.
After a few weeks of symptoms – that could easily be put down to several other minor issues – he was diagnosed with a type of cancer I had to Google the spelling of: oesophageal. As the doctor informed us, it’s often associated with smokers and heavy drinkers who are overweight.
As I said, Dad never smoked, hardly ever drank alcohol and was far from overweight.
It was a shock, but then again lots of people get cancer and lots of people survive.
Before we knew Dad was sick, I had began the common post-college ritual – flights to South East Asia were booked and my working visa for Australia was sorted (months before we knew anything was wrong).
As fate would have it, the day I was due to fly out was the same day Dad had an appointment with a specialist in Dublin: 1 September 2012. After hours of sitting around, we heard the three worst words in the English language: It has spread.
I spent the next few months in Sligo and, bar some Christmas work in Penneys, was gainfully unemployed. I wouldn’t take back a moment of those months.
After the initial shock of the diagnosis dulled, fight mode kicked in and treatment began. He responded well and had a good Christmas. Hope was there.
When the treatment stopped working, the doctor assured us there were other options and they’d try a new type of chemo. It didn’t work. Again, the doctors said we’d go back to the drawing board.
On a Friday evening at our house, a nurse told us:
A week is a long time in your father’s life.
It was the first time anyone had been that honest about what was happening. The truth hit. I was mad at the doctors and nurses for what felt like them deceiving us over the past few weeks. But what were they supposed to say? ‘He’s dying’ is too blunt.
All the positive, hopeful language is what you’re supposed to say so you say it. In hindsight, we were in denial. But you can talk away any symptom or sign if the truth is too painful.
In the months while he was sick, Dad had conversations with us about what would happen if he died. He and I sat one night in the dark watching a David Attenborough documentary and mused on the meaning of life. Spoiler alert: Neither of us knew.
A countdown kicked in once the nurse said what she said. It was agonising, but also a beautiful period that many people don’t get before someone they love dies. We cried and we laughed and we talked.
As Dad himself pointed out, if he had been hit by a car and died instantly, we would have never had the chance to say how much we loved each other. Nothing was left unsaid and he died at peace.
It was 1am on Monday morning went he went and the house was soon filled with neighbours. Then the funeral process kicked in – picking the readings and the coffin and the suit.
As the writer in the family, the eulogy was my job. It’s a strange, difficult thing to write – you have to sum up 60 years of life in a few minutes. It should be respectful and funny, but not too funny. At the time, I didn’t know I’d get to perfect the technique in the coming year.
In the days and weeks after, the house is full of relatives and neighbours and sandwiches. It’s all very surreal and what just happened doesn’t hit you until much later. That was my experience anyway.
Even now, my primary coping tactic is not thinking about it. When I do, I sob within about three seconds flat. In those moments when it hits me that he’s gone, I find it hard to breathe. Until I take up acting, the crying-on-cue thing will remain a largely useless trait. But I can picture myself as ‘weeping girl #4′ in some depressing film.
Humour is another helpful tactic – it’s kind of like the mental equivalent of jazz hands, akin to shouting: ‘I’m actually grand! Don’t worry about me! Don’t be awkward around me! Let’s pretend none of this is happening!’
You can make fun of grief when you’re grieving, you get a free pass.
Anne Enright has a great line about bereavement in The Gathering – your grief is comparable to your farts: Basically, you can happily dwell in your own, but, dear god, you want nothing to do with someone else’s.
Nobody knows what to say when somebody dies. And that’s okay. To try and make situations with friends less awkward I had some stock answers for when they would sympathise about my Dad: “You didn’t kill him … did you?,” I’d say. Or…
It could be worse, everyone could die.
Then everyone died.
Really.
Six months later, it was my granny. Then my friend. Then my granda.
About seven billion people didn’t die, but that was largely irrelevant at that time. It was a fucking shit year.
As the family’s writer-in-residence it fell to me to advise on what should or shouldn’t be included in the eulogies and, in some cases, write and deliver them.
Trying to do justice to a person’s life is not a straightforward thing to do – whether they lived until 89 or 23. When a person has died of old age it can be easier to accept than when they were taken unexpectedly, but there is no easy death and no easy grieving.
Memories
Lots of things remind me of my dad. I got his thumbs, for instance. Every time I see a black Toyota Corolla I still, for a split second, assume he’s driving it.
I wish I took more photos of and with my dad. I wish he could pick me up from the train one more time – and carry my suitcase to the car even though it has wheels. I wish I could talk to him about the farm, the weather, the marriage referendum, Mayo not reaching another All-Ireland final. I wish I could talk to him about anything.
Above all, I wish he got to be a grandfather. He would have been SO good at that.
I’m very aware of the fact this grief is not mine alone – it belongs to many people. We all deal with loss in our own ways – some openly, some silently. Whether you’ve loved someone for minutes or decades, parting is not easy.
Shortly after Dad died, one of my sisters said she was going to run the Dublin City Marathon to raise funds for cancer services in Sligo General Hospital. She asked my sisters, mum and I if we wanted to do it too. I hated running – to be fair I’d never really tried running so it was an assumption, but a fair enough one to make.
I’m sharing this fact because this was a really big deal for me mentally.
A marathon seemed like a genuinely impossible task. Having to run a lot and for prolonged periods seemed like a way of making a bad situation worse, but I couldn’t really say no. What would my reason be? ‘I’m actually pro-cancer, but you work away.’
In the end it was actually one of the best things we’ve ever done.
People stop asking how you are
It’s been over three years since Dad died. People usually stop asking how you are within the first few months, or once the first anniversary rolls around.
Sometimes I wish people would ask me about him, sometimes it might be best they don’t (see previous paragraph re weeping). There’s no handbook for any of this stuff.
Sometimes you’re told, by well-meaning people, ‘It gets better with time.’ In my experience this didn’t really happen. It’s true, to a point. You get on with your life. You’ll be happy, you’ll have fun. But your heart will always be a little bit broken – and that’s okay.
For anyone who is recently bereaved, don’t feel the need to get over it. Just let it be. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to shout, shout. If you want to laugh, laugh. There is no right way to grieve – whether it’s been three days, three years or 33 years.
The grief I feel a couple of years on is deeper in many ways. When I lost people I loved in quick succession everything happened so fast there was an unrealness to it. The more time that passes, the more it sinks in.
Call someone
I’m not special. Everyone has or will feel like this at some point – probably several times. People die all the time. Other people keep living. That’s life.
People are taken from this life at all ages and for all types of reasons. My dad was a wonderful person, so was my granny and my granda and my friend. I was lucky to have had them and I miss them every day.
There is no end point with grief. You won’t suddenly be okay – and that’s okay too. The main thing I’ve learned from being bereaved is to appreciate the people you love and make sure they know that you love them.
If there’s someone you want to hang out with, arrange it. If there’s someone you should forgive, forgive them. If there’s someone you should call, call them today.
Over the next five days, Last Rites will look at death and dying in Ireland in the same way that Irish people do: with sadness, celebration, sombreness, humour and irreverence.
We will examine everything from awkward giggles at a funeral to not knowing what to say to a friend who has been bereaved when ‘sorry for your loss’ seems inadequate. If you have a story about your own experiences you’d like to share, please send a couple of sentences to News Editor Sinéad O’Carroll on sinead@thejournal.ie or reporter Órla Ryan on orla@thejournal.ie.
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I lost my beautiful twin sister to cancer in April of this year and I totally understand how you are feeling. Cancer sucks no doubt about it, she was only 53 and left a husband and two daughters 14 and 18 years old. When I think of her I totally lose my breath and cry. Vey well written and my condolences to you.
Over 16 months later it doesn’t get better but reading this article I know now I’m not alone. Thank you for sharing.
truly honest x
Seconded.
Thirded. Well done – went through something similar, takes a while to get used to the change.
Excellent article and congrats on the marathon!
Love this…Excellent article and very well written. Well done Órla.
Hey Orla it was impossible almost to finish reading this as I was just crying so hard. Yesterday was the anniversary of my mothers death. My wonderful selfless beautiful mother. The truth is I envy you . I’m even jealous. We had a long slow tortuous goodbye with my mother . A goodbye where we lost her whilst she was sitting right next to us ,to me. Dementia the viscous ugly thief that it is stole our mother long before she died. There was no way to converse with her. I told her all the time I loved her but she just kept looking for her mother or her daughters . I was right in front of her and she was in a panic looking for her golden haired little toddler . So much left uncommunicated so much left unsaid. The last time I saw her alive she showed a glint of recognition just for a second . That’s the moment I treasure forever. Her funeral was a surreal experience where I instantly felt I could talk to her again like she was somehow whole again. Strange as I’m not at religious . My grief wasn’t given it due time and respect as six weeks later my teenager was diagnosed with cancer. I had to deal with the delayed reaction and I still am 9 years later. Still she deserves no less.
Catkins when I read something like that I realise how truly blessed and fortunate that I really am and that my worries are none at all, I wish you nothing but absolute love and hopefully happiness!
Brian.
What a beautifully written article. I can relate so much to this,as I have lost my father very suddenly to cancer in January and then lost my nanny in March also. Best wishes to the author x
Thanks for sharing this, Órla. In the 18 months up to last June, I have lost three close relatives and I know how difficult it can be to keep going, sometimes. Again, thank you.
A very true , honest and well written piece , thanks for sharing .
My mother died suddenly in 1989 when I was 12. Upon hearing the news, I made myself cry because that’s what I thought I should do. In reality, I was in shock and the tears didn’t come naturally for that very reason. If you’ve been lucky enough never to have experienced a close bereavement, you would be forgiven for thinking that when the time comes, that’s what you’ll do. Because we all have a pre-conceived idea of how it will affect us. The truth is, there is no right or wrong way to grieve. And every death affects you differently, as I found out when dad died from cancer in 2003. Even though it was expected, it hit me like a brick and I ran out of the room as my brother whispered the Our Father in his ear as he left us. I sobbed like a baby in the hospital corridor and those tears came naturally. And just 11 months later, that same brother went to sleep one night and never woke up. Apart from the tears I felt angry. Angry at random people on the Dart who got to carry on living while my brother’s life had ended at the age of 37. Three close deaths, three very different grieving processes. When it happens, be kind to yourself, don’t expect to feel a certain way, let it happen. And if it gets too much, share it.
You never ever get over losing a parent or a loved one, you just get used to living with it…oh and your always your parents ‘kid’ no matter what age you are, and they are always mum and dad (miss you dad, coming up to nine years next month and a shared birthday).
very true . lovely words x
Well done. Can’t have been easy to write and hopefully in some way it may be a new milestone reached for you, and cathartic,
#Fromtheheart. Lovely article that will touch everyone at some level. Nobody is an island to loss.
A wonderfully written article, well done.
I think this article has touched a lot of people. Having lost my brother to oesophageal cancer when he was very young I could relate to this so much. It’s hell to watch someone you love slip away and it’s cruelty when they are gone and you can’t tell them how much you miss them. Well done on the article.
That broke my heart. It just split it in two.
I hope Orla that you are ok. I hope u continue to write and offer hope to others.
You are right. Grief is everyone’s, but sharing it makes it somehow more cope-able. To know others are going through it too.
Thank you.
Beautifully written article. one I can relate to having lost my father in January and then my nanny in March. I spent months feeling numb but having read this article I find comfort in the authors words,knowing its ok to cry and let it out. best of wishes to the author.x
Beautifully put Orla-sorry for all your losses-each one takes it’s toll and invokes the memories of the previous one. The best phrase I’ve heard about grief that it doesn’t better, but you get better at it. Take care of yourself and I hope the good memories of those you’ve lost eventually bring you smiles instead of tears,xx
Hi guys,
I just wanted to say thank you for all the kind messages and for sharing your own experiences of loss. The article seems to have really struck a chord with a lot of people and I hope they can find some comfort in it.
More information on support available to those coping with a loss can be found here: http://hospicefoundation.ie/bereavement/
A bit too close, I am a 9 year oesophageal cancer survivor which was diagnosed when I was only 32. I have lost many friends to cancer though, one whose anniversary is the 23rd, he was only the age I am now. It never leaves you.
Beautiful. Xxx
I’d a sister die a few years ago, luckily I’m still in close contact with her husband and kids and you see a part of her in them, it’s in the long haul that support is needed and we’re not afraid to talk about her and if a situation comes up we say things like what she would have done, liked, or thought etc about it. To me she’s still part of the family.
Really good article. As long as they are alive in your head and in your heart, they are never far away. And thanks for raising awareness of cancer of the oesophagus. I live with a precursor (Barretts) but I’m actually one of the lucky ones in that I’m scoped twice a year. If you suffer from reflux, lose weight, have a persistent cough, then go see your GP. Sadly, the survival rate from cancer of the oesophagus is minimal, but like most cancer the quicker you can catch it, the better the odds.
Beautifully written article – well done Orla!
Your Dad was lucky to having some one like you .
His Spirit Lives On .
Keep Walking Tall .
I lost my Mam in March 2014, after a long illness. She and I didn’t always get along when I was much younger and I did many things that disappointed her. However we always loved each other and became quite close over the past couple of decades.
I’m still trying to come to terms with her death and miss her terribly. I have not been the same since she died and I don’t think I ever will be again
Having had a similar experience in life over 15 months starting in March 2011 I can identify with a lot of what this author writes. Death is something nobody wants to have experience of dealing with, and grief never goes away. Some days are better than most,and days that aren’t birthdays/anniversary dates can hit harder than the ones that are expected to. In about 5 months time I’ll be getting married and I have moments almost every day where I don’t know how I’m going to cope with 3 hugely important people being there that would make the day more enjoyable than words could describe. Really hope the author can keep on dealing with their losses in a strong positive way going forward. Fair play for writing this and it was worth the read from start to finish
My dad died of lung cancer when he was 52 and I was only 11- I eventually got used to him not being around, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t still miss him. I always feel he’s here with us, but of course it’s not the same as him being alive, and there were many things I would have loved to talk to him about as I was growing up. You do get used to it, but you never stop missing the person. Best wishes Orla, I hope all goes well for you, and thanks for your lovely article!
Bittersweet story but well done,,,,,can relate to it all unfortunately ,,,,,,,, chin up
Beautifully written piece. Your love for your Dad shines through every word & fair dues to the women in his life for doing that run (I too would be the slacker in the corner desperately seeking an excuse not to!) Condolences on your losses – you had a rough run of them all at once.
Reading all the above contributions makes me realise that many of us….Yes me too….May need to access some bereavement counselling to help us through the darkest moments. Rainbows is one parish based group but I’m sure there are others
Yeah it does tend come in threes for some reason. My father died suddenly .for some reason that suited him as cancer is so prolonged.
Lovely article
The regrets I have with my father , are for the unsaid things. The questions I never asked him because I didn’t have the courage , he bore his cancer too strongly
My Mother and Nan passed away in 2013 and I have never gotten over it. Reading the article was so painful but it was a brilliant piece on the pain of losing a loved one.
What a brilliant article. I lost my Mother over 30 years ago and I still miss her. Once you have loved you will always love them. Yes life goes on and it has for me. I miss sharing with her. Thanks for the thoughts
This is a beautiful article and so well written. I’ve lost 3 siblings in the past 3 years, including two brothers to short battles with cancer. You’re right, there is no handbook and no right or wrong way to grieve. I guess I was lucky that I have a large family who were all there for each other through the dark times, and for sure our humour, even at the worst times helped us through it. There is truth and comfort to the writers words that with an illness like cancer at least there is time for goodbyes. Unlike with my sister who died suddenly and in otherwise good health from DVT at only 47. It can be a cruel world.
Such an honest piece. Very true to my own feelings of loss. Thank you
Great article Orla.All the best.
Well written and very real. I cried.
Sorry for your loss Orla, he seemed like a great guy. My dad was diagnosed with the same cancer your Dad had earlier this year. In his case the outcome is good as there is no spread and he had the operation which was a success. Not a smoker or big drinker either. Cancer they say will get one in three of us at some stage. Live life while you can is my new mantra.
A heartrending read which made me cry. The death of my sister 3 months ago, at 33 has altered my life forever. The grief can slam into me without warning and there are days when I wonder how to manage the loss. Time doesn’t diminish the devastation of loss and what she meant to me. The memory triggers are everywhere, a song, a scent, seeing her uniaue handwriting in a card she sent, even a glimpse of a horse in a field can open the floodgates. I let the tears come and allow myself to remember the memories. She’s forever with me. The love we shared cannot be extinguished, even by death. My heart’s incomplete but how fortunate I was to have this beautiful, kind,warm, witty individual as my sister for 33 years. I’ll love and miss her for etetnity.
Thank you for sharing your experience I can empathise with all of it Both my parents died last year, dad in August and mom followed him five and a half weeks later. They were both elderly but that actually makes no difference to how you feel about your loss. I miss them dreadfully to the point of still feeling traumatised. I cry when I think of them, which is often. I get on with what I have to do but I know I’m not dealing very well with my situation. I feel I should be further along the road with the grieving even though I know there is no defined end date for this. Grieving is different for everyone. The parishes run bereavement counselling, it’s called Bethany, and I intend to avail of the service shortly. Hopefully it will help me come to terms with feeling bereft all of the time …..
How awful. …hope you’ve gained strength and support thru this ordeal. .I lost my father and 2 sisters in a short time and as a result almost my mother. Nothing prepares you for these kinds of shocks. But strength comes as the other end. God bless
Thanks so much for this. Absolutely beautiful.
You’ve nearly reduced a 30 year old man to tears.
Thanks for sharing, Beautifully balanced piece, honest and funny at the same time. Glad you haven’t succumbed to the death paranoia, “everyone I know is dying, death is following me with a vendetta”.
Touching article and very well written. It’s lovely that they got to spend time together before he left. I wish I got to say goodbye to my father and tell him now much I loved him, I just hope he knew. Unfortunately, tragic accidents don’t work like that. :(
That was eerie,my dad died of cancer,then my granny died three weeks later,then my best friend died,its a long road back to some form of normality hard to think about anything else for what seems like forever,wee people keep you goin though i find
The heartbreak that is grief…I lost my sister to breast cancer 6 years ago coming December 2nd …Brenda was 46 years old…she left behind 2 young children and a heartbroken husband….6 years later and it’s still,a struggle to accept her passing…My mam and dad who are in their 80′s lost their daughter…..it’s so hard to see their pain..I became their carer….tried to look after my brother in law who was widowed at 44 years and struggling with his own health…and on dialysis as a result of poly cystic kidney disease…life was hard for us all…. I could barely breathe some days with sheer panic….Your article is beautifully written and is without doubt very accurate and honest piece. Like yourself, we got to,say goodbye…but it was all very quick, we learned her cancer was back in October…by 2nd December Brenda was gone….I still can’t believe she’s not here. I miss her. Every single day. Your dad is very lucky to have a daughter like you, I’m sure he is very proud of you. I hope you find comfort and strength from,sharing your story. peace love and light to you and your family
My dad died 24 years ago, and I still hear songs or see someone who looks like him, and my eyes well up. I’ll always miss him. He was a great dad, and like you, I wish I’d spent more time with him and had more pictures of the two of us together. It’s a beautiful piece and I’m sure your dad is very proud of you.
Great article, so accurate, your Dad sounded like a gent!
I’ve lost three people I loved the most in the past 18 months. I’m a mess.
Thank you for those wonderful words oral
I lost my young brother Jason Corbett tragically
John P Corbett
I lost both my parents to cancer within a few months of each other. Near broke me. Five years on I still miss them everyday. I now get comfort from the memories and the time I had to care for them at home when they were dying. Beautifully written article that brought the deluge of tears again
Lovely piece. Thank you for sharing.
I heard Sir Bob on the radio recently talking about his most recent tragedy. What he said struck a chord so I’ll pass it on in case it helps anyone out there.
He said – time is not a healer it just accommodates. Personally I think that sums it up very well.
I lost my dad at 54 when I was 20. I’m now in my fifties and have recently buried my 89 year old Mom. Both were awful events in my life and I still cry as hard for my Dad who died all those years ago as for my Mom who died just in April.
I do think though that Irish people are good are dealing with death and in commiserating with those in mourning better than some other nationalities I know.
So perhaps we’re all doing not too bad overall.
My thoughts are with you , I lost three very close members of my family in 3 weeks , over Xmas period . Then happened again 13 years later . Be strong and reach out for help .if you need it .
Very honest and I can relate to what he is saying. You think you will be prepared for these things but you never are.
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In support of the purposes explained in this notice, your device might be considered as likely linked to other devices that belong to you or your household (for instance because you are logged in to the same service on both your phone and your computer, or because you may use the same Internet connection on both devices).
Your device might be distinguished from other devices based on information it automatically sends when accessing the Internet (for instance, the IP address of your Internet connection or the type of browser you are using) in support of the purposes exposed in this notice.
The choices you make regarding the purposes and entities listed in this notice are saved and made available to those entities in the form of digital signals (such as a string of characters). This is necessary in order to enable both this service and those entities to respect such choices.
Non-TCF/GVL Vendors
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