Finding Solace in the Darkest Depths of Grief

When I was twenty five my beloved cousin Neil died from an overdose and my world was forever changed. I had experienced earth-shattering loss before, my hero of a “Big Gran” had passed away several years earlier leaving behind a gaping hole in my heart for her warmth, legendary cuddles and her beautifully acerbic tongue. This, however, was something altogether different.

If Auld Nelly dying had shook my core, then losing Neil had exploded it. Life suddenly felt unfamiliar. I did not know how to exist in a world where something so tragic could happen to someone I loved so deeply. In the darkest depths of my grief I could not foresee a time in which I would ever be able to move on and get over it. A decade on this feeling remains but in place of hurt, anger, guilt and regret, there is love, warmth, comfort and peace.

How did I get here? Not very easily. Or fast. Or at all some days.

In truth it has taken me ten years to get to this point and it continues to evolve each day. There is still sadness, there will always be pain at the loss of one of my very first best friends, but in leaning into my grief instead of trying to go around it, I found solace.

Why are we in such a rush to skip the sadness?

Perhaps there is an impatience around grief, a discomfort with others or our own pain. I know that I've had people in my life, however well meaning, trying to rush me along and speed up my sorrow. All that this does is turn our sadness inwards. When we try to dismiss our feelings and the feelings of others what we are saying is that it's not OK to feel this way.

Growing up, my family strongly sent out the message that good things happen to good people. It wasn't until my most recent studies that I realised just how greatly this had been imprinted on my world view and thus, my perspective of death. It tied me up in knots trying to make sense of a world that often didn't make any sense to me. I naively thought that if I was good then myself and my family would be spared any heartache. I have since come to realise that there is no great big cosmic plan. Things happen. Life is neither bad nor good. It just is.

Now that may sound upsetting to some who base their lives around destiny or signs but for me, it was revolutionary. Searching for meaning is exhausting. You can devote so much of your time and energy on trying to figure out what the lesson is, causing yourself nothing but distress when you can't unravel it.

My cousin didn't die to teach me some great life lesson. He died because he was an addict and sadly, the addiction was stronger than him. I miss him terribly and I will love him fiercely for the rest of my days and that's OK. You are allowed to feel that loss, to really feel it deep within your bones and to express the pain and anger at the time stolen away from you. Putting pressure on yourself to be OK and to move on and get over it will only cause you more anguish.

And do you ever truly “get over it”? What does that even mean? For me, to “move on” or “get over” these painful experiences is to devalue the impact they have had on your life. They exist because you exist.

One of the parts I found most difficult about losing Neil is that people stopped saying his name. That's why I've chosen to write it here. I felt like he was being erased from history and for me that was more painful than anything. As long as I exist, a part of him will exist within me. His life had meaning. His death has forever changed me and to diminish that is to diminish me and all that I have become.

I write this as someone who has had many years to process this loss and figure out my feelings around grief. It hasn't happened overnight and if you are experiencing a bereavement please don't think there's a right way to feel or act or that you have an allotted time frame in which to grieve. Your grief may not grow smaller but you will most certainly grow from it.

By Laura Finnell