Dealing With The Loss Of A Loved One

With so many young people being coerced into selling drugs, or, like Elianne Andam, being stabbed to death, I can't help but think back to the loss of my own daughter. It was some years ago, for exactly that reason, though she wasn't stabbed, but died as the result of being drugged so as to force her into dependency.

IT HITS YOU HARD

Consequently, I know what it is like coping with grief. It hits you like a sledge hammer when you least expect it. One minute you're fine. The next . . .! Sometimes you think life will never be the same again. Well, it won't, of course! Perhaps it's worse when you're dealing with sudden death. And when it occurs in suspicious circumstances, there's always a sense of could I, should I, have done more?

GRIEVING THE LOSS OF A LOVED ONE

The plot of one of my novels, A Painful Post Mortem, is about a sudden death by misadventure. Inspired by my daughter's story, it begins with the death of a young woman, the mother of a baby girl, and shows how the members of her family deal with the grief process. Alongside the guilt and anger, which are a natural part of grief and bereavement, there are fond memories and a sense of having learned something about life. It's a sad subject, but paramount is the enduring nature of love. And that's what one of my characters tries to convey in the poem she writes for the funeral. The implication behind the verse is that death doesn't need to be the end; that if we have faith, then there's only a door between life and death that separates us from our loved ones.

POEM FOR THE BEREAVED

Following is an excerpt from A Painful Post Mortem which puts the bereavement poem in context. Money raised from the sale of the book is used to support charities, as a tribute to my daughter (See my website for details) In the excerpt below, Rosie, Katya's sister, has been asked to take part in the Funeral Service.

EXCERPT FROM A PAINFUL POST MORTEM

By Mel Menzies

The scent of lilies was heavy in the air, and Rosie felt, momentarily, a sense of dizzy unreality. Katya's coffin looked tiny from here, and she hardly dared look as a white wreath forming the word Mummy swam into her vision.

She drew a deep breath and, with shaking fingers, pulled out the folded page on which she'd typed the poem her father had requested, Tennyson's Crossing the Bar. She smiled, bravely, before she began.

When she lifted her eyes during the reading, she felt stronger. By the time she finished, there were those in the congregation who were crying, openly. She cleared her throat.

"I have another poem here," she said, taking a second sheet from the pocket of her jacket. ˜It arrived by post a couple of days ago, and was written especially for this occasion, by my mother's closest friend, Helen. She and her husband, Harry, were unable to be here this morning, in the flesh, so they wanted to assure my parents that they were with them in spirit."

In the front pew, as Rosie continued, she saw that her mother kept her eyes down:

˜Helen particularly wanted me to say that death can overtake any one of us, or our loved ones, at any time of life; when we least expect it. At birth. As children. As parents. She wanted me to say that we need to be prepared for that. And that we should hold onto the hope that the Tennyson poem offers. Helen's poem is titled, From a Child to a Mother.

Rosie stood in silence, composing herself for a moment, then she began to read.

"If I leave you with the sunrise

When I've scarcely drawn a breath,

When the cord that still connects us

Brings not life, but only death;

When your labours leave you fruitless

And your heart is feeling sore,

Will you mourn me, but remembering

That death is but a door.

I may stay a little longer

Til the sun has climbed the sky,

When you've answered all my questions

But I keep on asking Why?

And you've read me all the stories

But I go on wanting more;

Will you mourn me, but remembering

That death is but a door.

You may lose me when I'm adult

And the sun is high at noon;

When I've given you a grandchild,

And my leaving is too soon;

Will you teach my child to love me?

Let her know what I stood for?

So she'll mourn me, but remembering

That death is but a door.

It may be that I shall tarry

Til the sun sinks into dusk,

When my body's bent and withered

Like dried wheat within the husk,

And I'm left with only memories,

Since you have gone before,

Then I'll mourn you, but remembering

That LIFE is but a door."

If you have come to my website because you're dealing with the loss of a loved one, and the struggle is overwhelming, do take a look at other related articles by clicking on the following links.

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/10/bereavement_dealing_with_the_death_of_a_loved_one

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/10/the_initial_shock_of_losing_someone_you_love_how_to_cope

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/10/dealing_with_denial_grief_and_anger_following_bereavement

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/11/making_funeral_arrangements

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/11/do_grief_and_loss_conform_to_a_pattern

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/11/poetry_for_grief_in_the_silence_of_friends

http://www.melmenzies.co.uk/blog/2008/11/bereavement_poetry_crossing_the_bar_by_alfred_lord_tennyson

 

And if you want to get in touch, please leave a comment below, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Mel Menzies, April 2008

The author of many books, one a Sunday Times No. 4 Bestseller, and one No 1 in its genre on Amazon, Mel is also an experienced Speaker and has addressed live audiences of between 20 and 1,500+ in addition to participating in TV and Radio chat shows.

Her books may be purchased online at www.melmenzies.co.uk, via amazon or, possibly, still from bookshops.

ALL PROFITS FROM book sales are for charity.

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