These entries shortly after Anna’s funeral and cremation in July 2016. They are based on text messages, email and journal entries. Anna and Conal had been together since 1978.
November 19, 2016:
MY Son’s school formal went fine. The other parents were polite to me. Nobody mentioned Anna. Or the funeral. Or asked if I was coping. Jeez, talk about and elephant in the room! Really, I missed Anna. She would have chatted with the other mums, she was a social butterfly. I tried to be engaging and succeeded to a point. It wasn’t the same. The tears did well up. Not a good thing in a social setting.
Anna had hoped to see our lovely Son end his school days. To see Son become an adult, but cancer had other plans. Anna was proud of Son of what he had achieved and his character. I am proud of Son too. He has achieved so much, despite everything life has thrown at him.
November 20: I came home from work feeling flat and lay on the couch. Just wanted to sit and sleep. And then it changed. Son came to the stairs: “Guess what, Dad? Uni has offered me a spot at college, doing engineering.” I was shocked. Amazed. Over the moon. The stars have aligned. Son is still waiting for HSC results.
***
November 25: I had another appointment with my GP, Dr K to get the results of some blood work. Apparently my thyroid gland is not working properly, it isn’t producing the right amount of a certain hormone.
My brain is compensating and is temporarily producing the hormone that will help me cope with the grief. The real problem is that the brain can’t do that indefinitely, Dr K wants me to try medication. So I am trying a course of daily tablets to boost the missing hormone level.
Dr K tells me: “Grief is like pushing shit uphill, you are doing it with a rubber spoon…” (due to the malfunctioning thyroid)
It is a tiny amount, half of weakest standard dose on the market. I took the first tablet – and I could feel it kicking in. The only way I could describe it … well, I was hormonal.
There was a heat flush, my skin went clammy, my heart started to race, and I cried for no obvious or apparent reason. And that was within the two hours of taking the tablet.
“Grief is like pushing shit uphill, you are doing it with a rubber spoon…
Dr K, GP
On the plus side, I seem to have more energy and am more clear minded. The fact that I am writing this is a testament that the tablet seems to be working on the rest of my body.
November 28: Yesterday, for the first time in months I felt happy. Yes, happy, cheery even. The last time I felt happy would have been mid-January (2016).
I started on the thyroid medication, there was a reaction (days later): “…when it hit me, my heart wasn’t sad, there was no tinge of grief. I was unconditionally happy. There were no reason why I shouldn’t be happy – I could have listed the reasons – but here I was, happy. I am cheery, upbeat, rested, relaxed. I’ve had a week off (holiday) and am back in the office. I feel good.”
November 29: Mood is still positive, seven out of 10 day. No heat flush repeats.
November 30: The high points of my daily To Do list are “Go to work at 9.30am” and “Cook dinner”. Usually I try to write in the morning, over that first cup of tea of the day. It helps to think about the day ahead. Or to write about a troubled night’s sleep.
I am writing a piece about my troubled relationship with My Bastard Consciousness and My Bastard Subconscious. Both of those fuckers owe my big time. I also know about the Grief void, I call it the Pit of Grief. If the truth be told I probably took a three-week walking holiday through this abyss.
These days I take hang gliding lessons over it. This is part of me Publicly Mourning Anna. Yes, I am fucked in the head… And I will not be intimidated by people who insist I move on.
I am not afraid of the Pit of Grief.
***
Last week I was crying at my desk in work. Quietly. I managed to get away with it without people seeing me. Crying in public was one reason I didn’t rush back to work at the office.
I have been working on this belief that My Bastard Subconscious is trying to sort this giant pile of shit I am facing.
My Bastard Subconscious can’t communicate so it is borrowing phrases that I encounter. When I read something that resonates My Bastard Subconscious jumps up and down like an excited school boy saying: “Oh ..oh … Oh”.
Sometimes is a song lyric. Sometimes a Facebook meme. Other times it is a cartoon. A drawing, or a painting. Usually it is applicable to that moment. To how it feels at that time.
There are David Bowie lyrics, lines from a Water Boys song, and the random photos I take… And upload. They all say something My Bastard Subconscious is trying to express. And as I said before, I can’t trust that fucker.
***
December 1: Working from the office. Thyroid meds working well, seem to last for 12 hours … then I run out of steam.
December 3: Son turns 18. Daughter visits we have a steak dinner at Hogs Breath.
December 6: The thyroid tablets are working, I’ve noticed more changes. I’m more aware of things around me. More looking out than in. I’m even taking photos of myself smiling.
“Yesterday, for the first time in months I felt happy. Yes, happy, cheery even.
Conal Healy, Grief survivor
December 11: Yesterday I felt I had woken form a dream. And – like a dream – I felt some of the events of the past six months … had slipped away.
December 19: Unfreeze Anna’s 2015 Christmas pudding in time for the festive season. It was perfect. It was emotional too. I cried. My first Long Cry in weeks. (For Christmas 2015 Anna had made and cooked her traditional Christmas puddings, and put two puddings into the freezer for “treats” during 2016.)
When men mourn…
In Australia, men can feel the need to be strong.
Even in the face of tragic loss, many men still feel the need to be self-contained, stoic and to express little or no outward emotion.
It is very much in vogue today to encourage men to openly express their feelings, but in practice few men do so.
The outward expression of grief is called mourning.
All men grieve when someone they love dies, but if they are to heal, they must also mourn.
You can help by offering a “safe place” for your friend to mourn.
Tell him you’d like to help. Offer to listen whenever he wants to talk.
Don’t worry so much about what you will say. Just concentrate on the words that are being shared with you.
Let him know that in your presence at least, it’s OK for him to express whatever feelings he might have-sadness, anger, guilt, fear.
Around you, he doesn’t have to be strong because you will offer support without judgment.
– griefwords.com
