Ellie’s Story

I’m Ellie, I’m 29 years old and I lost my dad as I’d just turned 26. I’m an only child and have always been incredibly close with both my parents. I spoke to my dad every day - he was my best friend, idol, and a walking contradiction in the best way.

My dad was wickedly funny yet stern, silly yet smart, soft yet tough, likeable yet seriously knew how not to be (love you pops). He was dependable, loving, and above all the best parent I could have ever wished for. We shared so much; in experiences, views and qualities - and dad unlocked a part of me that I miss a lot in itself. A quote that I would’ve rolled my eyes at this time 4 years ago has always aligned to my experience of grief

"Where do we go to grieve when it’s our safe space that died? how do we tell the lungs to breathe through the pain when they’re mourning the air itself?"*

My dad passed suddenly and unexpectedly the morning after Fathers Day 2022 as I was visiting my parents in Spain.  He was in the bathroom; I was getting ready for the airport, wondering why the man whose ethos was 'on time means 10 minutes early' wasn’t calling out my 5-minute warning.

That’s when I heard my mum scream as she’d found my dad collapsed. The next hour was hell and I won’t recount it, but time stopped for me that morning and it didn't quite reset itself for a long time after. 

For the first few weeks I was in a state of shock and experienced a very physical manifestation of emotions. I couldn’t eat. My face was scabbed over from crying so much. I developed a huge patch of grey hair. All round, not cute. 

The trauma of the event also brought layers of complexity I wasn’t remotely prepared for. Beyond the grief, I struggled with recurring flashbacks. That was the beginning of what I now understand to be PTSD, where loud noises would send me into a panic attack. To try cope with that, I changed my phone background to a photo of my dad smiling and trained myself to look at that whenever I couldn't unsee. I needed to remember my dad, not the way we lost him. 

During that initial period my mum and I couldn’t even sit inside without a window open because it felt too claustrophobic. We walked. And walked. And walked. There was something therapeutic about open spaces that made it that bit easier to breathe; and slowly, each day got a little easier to deal with. Then I went back to London and tragically - the following day - I got a call to say my beloved grandad had passed away unexpectedly in the night. 

All that followed was numbness. The two men who meant the most to me for my entire life, gone so suddenly and without getting to say goodbye to either. 

The first two years…

The first year was the trenches and in all honesty a bit of a blur - thinking of my dad consumed most of my time and my concentration levels were in the pits. I was worried for my mum and was travelling up north every other week to be with her. Looking back, that probably wasn't doing me any good - but she was my ultimate priority, and still is.

The focus then was just getting through each big milestone: my dad's celebration of life (how we approached a funeral), birthdays, Christmas. I realise now that such hyperfocus on the next event equated to a slight state of denial; as if when I got to that year mark, the pain would magically be over and he'd be back.

As a result, the second year was probably the hardest. I'd changed immensely but I was depressed and I didn't know how to fit into the same life anymore. Understandably after a year, life moves on and your support system dwindles. My relationship broke down, and though I'm so grateful to my ex-partner for how much he supported me through the initial pain, I was simply a different person by then, and I needed different things.  

Grief is isolating when you’re young. Not many people understand the emotions you’re going through; how omnipresent grief is and in how many ways it can exhibit itself. It really does shake you to your core. It rewires your belief system and responses to the world around you.

So when you've been through significant loss, it can feel like you've outgrown people. Sometimes you do, and that's OK. Over the past 3 years I've lost friendships that didn't serve me anymore, I've nourished others and formed new relationships along the way with depths that I wouldn't have been capable of prior.

…and the rest

Grief has been the undercurrent of my life over the last 3 years. It's been a crash course into the complexity of emotions, which have significantly more depth and confliction now. 

Of course, there has been deeper pain than I ever knew was possible. But grief also drives growth. Significant loss, especially sudden, is a stark reminder of mortality. It's an impossibly loud alarm bell to stop you sleepwalking through life. 

And there have been other silver linings. Though grief caused me significant anxiety at times, it also rid me of it. Small niggles that would have previously kept me up at night - deadlines, saying the wrong thing, losing things - Just. Don't. Matter.

Grief made me more grateful for the amazing things that remain in my life. My mum, a loving family, a healthy body, access to education, economic certainty, fabulous friends, a partner I adore. A best friend who would move the earth for me - and who brings me to tears every time I reflect on all she does to keep me sane. 

Another positive lesson has been how freeing vulnerability is. There were (and still are) moments when emotions consume me - that means getting comfortable with crying in front of people pretty sharpish. Showing vulnerability has even strengthened my relationships as it's often met with a mirror. Most people are harbouring more than they'd readily admit and softness often acts as a bridge to connection.

In the name of vulnerability, just sitting down to write this brought more heartache than I’d felt in months. But the next day, I felt lighter, calmer, clearer. 

I've learnt to ride the waves rather than drown in them or skip swimming altogether. And though I would do unthinkable things to bring my dad back, I refuse to let grief defeat me. If I’d have discovered this website in the early days it would have given me at least a little comfort that the path forwards can be navigated, and that light will return.

Nothing will be the same again, but it will get easier. Now, 3 years down the line I feel joy which I didn't think would be possible. I think about my dad every day and there is a deep sadness sometimes that's hard to shift, but I've accepted that this is my new reality and I still have so much to be thankful for. You survive or perish, and I find peace in knowing that my strength to survive comes from the love of that wonderful man. Miss you constantly papa, but I got this x

If you're in deep grief, you’re not alone. Lean on the people around you and feel all the feelings you need to. Look for a small piece of happiness in every day.

*Quote by Sara Rian