Support Groups, Self-Care and Saying Goodbye - Weeks 4 and 5
- Annie
- Oct 9, 2020
- 14 min read
At the time of writing this, it has now been exactly 5 weeks since Madz died. Just 35 days, since my life turned into this nightmare. A lot has happened during that time - I've attended my first support group, I've travelled back to my original hometown in the South-West of England and we held Madz's funeral at the end of this week. My grief feels just as intense as ever though, in fact, there are often moments when I feel just as bad as the day she died...
My experience at a SOBS support group
Two weeks ago, I attended my first support group meeting for SOBS (Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide). I had found out about the group just a few days after Madz's death when I was frantically searching Google for something, anything that could potentially help to ease the horrendous pain that I was feeling inside. I contacted the group, and a few days later one of the organisers reached out to me by text. Funny story - that particular organiser has the same name as one of Madz's friends, and at first, I thought it was her friend messaging me (I expect some of my first replies must've confused the hell out of her!!)
The SOBS meetings take place on the first Monday of each month, so I attended my first one at the beginning of September. Given the COVID situation, there are no meetings currently taking place in-person, so everything has to be done over Zoom. I felt quite apprehensive that Monday evening, and to be honest I expected that I would just be listening and observing the whole time, that it would be too overwhelming to speak in front of all these strangers. I am generally a very socially anxious person - even before Madz's death, I had never been the kind of person to spontaneously pipe up in a work team meeting for example.
Due to confidentiality, I won't be going into detail as to what was said by each person at the support group that evening. At the very start of our meeting, the organiser went round the whole group and asked each person to give their name, as well as their relationship to the person they had lost to suicide. There were about 15 attendees altogether, all of whom had lost someone very important to them. Some people had lost partners, spouses, children, parents - and a few had lost siblings, like me. A lot of us also gave details on how long it had been since our loved one had died, and there was quite a lot of variation there. I was the newest member of the "club" so to speak - my sister had only been dead for 3 weeks at the time I attended. However, there were others for whom the deceased had passed away years ago - and in some cases even decades ago. I guess it just goes to show that there is no "getting over" this pain as such, it's just something that you have to live with as best as you can, and get support whenever you feel you need it.
The rest of the session had a very open format - attendees were welcome to share their stories, ask questions and give supportive comments/suggestions to other members of the group as they saw fit. Suggestions were shared on how to handle anniversaries (a pretty foreign concept to me at the moment - after all I've only just approached the one month mark), resources were shared within the group, and ideas were shared on which distractions group members have found the most useful.
I wasn't intending to share my story at all that first session, but as it came closer towards the end, I was the only person who hadn't shared anything so far. The group leader asked if I had anything I wanted to say, and I felt compelled to open up about my experience. I started breaking down almost the minute I started talking about my sister - usually, I would be highly embarrassed to cry in public, not least in front of a group of strangers. However I didn't need to feel bad about it at the meeting - everyone was incredibly supportive of me, and it wasn't as though I was the first person to break down that evening. The support group felt like a safe space to share my feelings with others who can relate, without fear of judgement or of making anyone uncomfortable.
At that first session I shared how my sister's death had changed my view on what suicide even is - I always thought of it as something carefully planned by someone with mental health issues, possibly by someone who had already made multiple attempts. However, each suicide can be highly unique - some suicides live up to my particular stereotype, and some are completely spur of the moment and unplanned: like my sister's. I have to admit, before attending the group there was this worry in my mind that I wouldn't belong there, that everyone else's experiences would be so different from mine. I needn't have worried though - in addition to everyone being super kind and welcoming, there were others there who had been through a similar situation - where the suicide had been more like a tragic mistake rather than anything deliberate.
Self-care - what is it anyway?
One of the common themes of discussion for that first support group session was on the importance of self-care. I must admit, when the topic of self-care was first brought up in that session I almost got the urge to roll my eyes. I've had rather a lot of lectures on self-care the past few weeks: from books, various articles on the internet, and from several of Madz's friends messaging me to "take care of myself". These all frustrated the hell out of me at first - how the f**k am I supposed to take care of myself when I am unable to think of anything other than Madz's death? When I don't even know what I want, or what to do with myself most of the time: working, binge-watching Netflix and simply staring at the ceiling all hold similar appeal to me right now. How am I supposed to ensure I am eating and sleeping properly at times when I feel sick to my stomach, or when I wake up in the middle of the night and my brain is unable to switch off?
At the support group, self-care was first brought up in the context of anniversaries. What is the "right" thing to do on an anniversary of a person's death - should you come up with some big gesture to memorialise your loved one, or else should you lie in bed all day, if that's all you feel like doing? After the meeting, I was thinking over everything I had taken in that evening, and all of a sudden the penny dropped - and I had this new definition in my head as to what self-care is for me:
Self-care is doing whatever you need to do to look after your mental health and keep your sanity, even if you feel like you are being "selfish" in the process.
As harsh as it may be to say out loud, your loved one is dead - their life is over and they can't be brought back. You, however, are still alive. You are the one having to go through this immense pain, and you are the absolute most important person that you should be looking after right now.
As human beings, I think we often have this perception that we are a bad person if we take care of our feelings and needs first. However, in times like these, I believe that it is crucial to concentrate on your health and healing process, even if it means you aren't prioritising others as much as you would usually do in normal times. So for example, if you are feeling mentally drained and not in the right mind frame to compose detailed responses to messages, either let this go for a few days or else write a polite note on social media that it may take a while for messages to be responded to. Or if you are struggling emotionally and are not feeling up to performing certain work tasks (for me presenting in meetings is a big one - especially considering my current emotional instability), contact your manager to let them know that you are not up to it at the moment*
(*) Hopefully, your manager is nice like mine, unfortunately, that advice might not work if they are a douchebag.
As a sibling survivor, I also had this strong feeling for the first weeks after Madz's death that I needed to do whatever it took to keep my parents happy. I had been thinking a lot about the future, and that I would need to morph into this massive overachiever type person (kinda like Madz in a way), who would excel in their career and personal relationships, and give their time generously to various causes. However, I have come to the realisation now - nothing can make my parents happy at the moment. They are grieving just as I am, and nothing in the world can cure their grief. Madz has gone, and no matter what I do or what I achieve for the rest of my life, nothing can ever replace her in our hearts.
A night of (failed) comedy
Other than the support group, the only other thing of note that I did that 4th week was attending a comedy performance on the Sunday with a meet-up group. We were fortunate enough to get tickets to see Nina Conti perform on The Terrace at Alexandra Palace, and I had signed up in the hope that it would be a good distraction, maybe even kinda fun. On the afternoon of the show, I felt physically exhausted and was close to pulling out, but I forced myself to make the hour and a half journey to Alexandra Palace.
I wish I could say that the evening was enjoyable, but in reality, I struggled quite a lot. Several times the comedians made jokes about topics that never would've offended me before: will-writing companies and killing themselves to name a couple. I was even reduced to tears at one point in the show, and I couldn't help wondering: Is this what my life has turned into now? Where I can be triggered without any notice, at any point in my life? What if I am never able to enjoy a live show again?
Putting aside the comedy, it was somewhat good to get out and see some friendly faces again. Probably the most fun part of the evening was joking with the other girls about a terrible flatmate that one of them lives with, and plotting potential ways of revenge (e.g. the classic clingfilm on the toilet seat, itching powder on toilet paper - you get the idea!) Laughing unfortunately still feels quite foreign to me at the moment though, the second I find something funny I immediately feel another wave of sadness over Madz's death. The thought of her funeral looming ever closer probably didn't help matters either that evening...
Saying goodbye - a celebration of Madz's life
The lead-up to the funeral
The week of the funeral finally came around, the actual service itself taking place nearly 5 weeks after Madz's death, on a Friday afternoon. It had taken quite some time to get the arrangements in place, given the complications with repatriation and COVID 19. Although I felt like I had been in limbo forever, I still wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the funeral would soon be over with, or upset that this really would be my final goodbye to Madz.
It had been confirmed a few days previously that Madz would be in a closed coffin: we had been advised against seeing her body by the funeral directors. I was quite upset by this at first - it felt like seeing her body might bring me some closure, and that I had been completely robbed of that on top of everything else. And of course, the sick part of my brain can't help picturing what kind of state she must've been in by the time the police got to her the day she died. In a way though, it was kind of a relief to have this decision ultimately taken out of my hands.
On Monday that week, we looked at finalising the funeral programme and making any last-minute changes to the tribute. Although I knew full well what the programme would contain, there was something about seeing the completed version that triggered something in me. The reality of the situation hit me at full force again, I broke down completely and I had to let my manager know that I would not be in a fit state to present anything at the work team meeting that morning.
On the following Wednesday, my parents collected me and my cat from my home once again, just as they had the day Madz died, and we made the 3-hour journey back to my dad's house. Having already spent 2 weeks with my parents following Madz's death, I didn't have an urge to spend any longer than a few days with them this time - especially as I was sure I would need some space after the funeral. I had a few things to take care of the Thursday before the funeral, however - I needed to sort out Madz's last paycheck, I had plans to catch up with (and vent to) one of my childhood friends, and most importantly of all: I had an appointment to see my sister at the funeral director's to say goodbye.
Saying goodbye
My appointment was at 3 pm that Thursday. I handed 3 handwritten letters to Madz from me, my mum and my dad to our funeral director (to put in Madz's coffin). She then led me to a quiet, dimly-lit room with Madz's coffin at the end of it. Although my mum had visited Madz several times and sent me pictures, seeing it in real life was still completely surreal.
I spent 45 minutes in that room with Madz. I talked, (well whispered) to her, cried to her, and at one point even sang to her. Mine and Madz's song was For Good, a beautiful song from the musical Wicked. We had seen the musical together a few years ago in London and held hands when that song was performed. And now that she's gone, the song has taken on a whole new meaning for me.
"And just look at you
You can do all I couldn't do, Glinda
So now it's up to you
For both of us
Now it's up to you"
- For Good, Wicked
I didn't want to leave the room that day. Before I left, I told Madz that I never wanted to leave her, we could just stay in that room forever. Just the two of us, like it's always been. I even joked about how the funeral director had told me that I could stay "as long as I liked" and how I could make her regret her words!! In the end, I avoided the humiliation of being dragged kicking and screaming from Madz's coffin. I sighed, kissed her coffin one more time, and left the room.
A celebration of Madz's life - funeral day
Madz's funeral took place the following day, at 1 pm. The weather was unusually sunny for September, which led to my dad having the bright idea to hold a wake (of sorts) outside in some gardens that my sister had been fond of. He started messaging around our family and Madz's friends to get the word out. In the meanwhile, I got dressed for the funeral. The dress code was very casual, so I had decided to wear a purple dress (Madz's favourite colour), some rose-gold sandals and a pair of my Disney ears in remembrance of the amazing holidays we had together in Florida. I also wore the Pandora bracelet she bought me as a gift, as well as my Anna and Elsa bows on my wrist (Madz and I loved the film Frozen, and I often compared her to Anna and myself to Elsa.)
My family and I arrived at the funeral director's around half an hour before the funeral was due to start. We then began the slow journey to the crematorium. As we approached, we saw several people (mainly friends of my dad) lined up in the streets, many of whom were wearing purple clothes and carrying purple flowers.
At the crematorium, a number of our extended family and Madz's friends were already waiting outside. My dad was great at doing the rounds: greeting everyone, hugging various friends of Madz (despite COVID!) and keeping it together pretty well. I struggle to talk to people that I don't know well (and in some cases people that I do know well!!) at the best of times, so I mostly just stuck with one of my uncles and a few other more distant relatives. However I did speak with a couple of Madz's friends just before we went in, in particular one of her school friends who was visibly heartbroken. We talked about how fortunate it had been that Madz and I had got to go to Florida one last time, just before COVID shut down the parks. I broke down for the first time that day - with everything terrible that has happened this year, I do feel fortunate that I was able to see Madz one last time.
Suddenly the entrance music started up ("Everytime" by Britney Spears) and I entered the crematorium hall and sat sandwiched between my parents. There were only about 10 people inside altogether due to COVID regulations, mainly family members but we had a few representatives from her friend groups in there too. We were allowed 20 people outside in the crematorium, but in the end, a lot of people didn't want to risk showing up so they watched the live stream that was arranged for us instead.
To be honest the funeral wasn't actually as upsetting as I expected. I had already mentally prepared myself for it to some extent: I had read through the funeral programme and tribute several times already (and picked out a lot of the songs and the poem used.) I also felt that I had said a proper goodbye to Madz the day before and that the funeral for me was more of a formality than anything else. I fully expected to be a complete wreck during the song "For Good" in the middle of the service, but my initial reaction to the music was just surprise that the Glee Cast version had been used rather than the Original Broadway Cast, and it took some time for me to become emotional.
I couldn't help but feel angry and resentful as well though, during parts of Madz's funeral and that whole day. This whole situation just feels so messed up, so many people have been affected by her death, and it all just feels like it should've been so avoidable. I never wanted to feel so angry at the person I loved more than anything or anyone in the world, but I can't help but feel infuriated at the "unnecessary" pain caused by her actions.
Madz's service lasted half an hour altogether and everything went smoothly (other than the celebrant's inability to pronounce the word "Technology" - but she did very well otherwise!) The celebrant read the whole service - as much as I'm sure some of us felt we should read part of the tribute etc, we were all too much of a mess to take it on. We left the hall (to Britney Spear's "Toxic") and made our way to the gardens for Madz's wake.
Thankfully the weather held up for Madz's wake, and it had a pretty good turnout. I integrated with the attendees a bit more than I did before the funeral: about 10 people commented to me that Madz's service had been beautiful and just the kind of thing she would've wanted. I guess it was a relief to hear those supportive comments, at least. For the most part, the wake was pretty uneventful. We had a few drinks outside, talked amongst ourselves in small groups and admired the beautiful setting. It was all very low key, especially considering it was for Madz who had always enjoyed a good party.
The day after Madz's funeral, my parents took me back to my flat in South London - I didn't have much of a desire to hang around and wanted to return to some kind of normality. They hugged me when they left, and my dad told me I could come back and visit whenever I wanted. In reality though, I think it is unlikely that I will make my return until Christmas.
Life after the funeral
At the time that I am finishing this post, it has been 3 weeks since Madz's funeral. I was hoping that I would feel able to start moving forward once it was over, but instead, I have this horrible empty feeling inside. Everything feels quiet now Madz has gone, the world has lost its beauty and I feel like my grief is a constant weight on my chest.
People say that losing a sibling is like losing a limb, but for me, it is more like losing all my limbs, plus a good proportion of my internal organs. I have lost my soulmate, my other half. Even with everything that I know about her death, my mind is constantly screaming to me "WHY??? - HOW HAS THIS HAPPENED!!!!" My feelings of anger and depression are constantly consuming me, and I find it impossible to reconcile the sister who I loved more than anything in this world with the person who has caused me so much pain and suffering.
Only time, I suppose, will make this any easier.
Love and hugs, fellow sibling survivors <3
Annie xxx
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