Nathaniel’s story
On the 31st May 2024, our lives changed forever. I had taken mum to her work at the care home so she could complete an online training course. I was visiting during half term and it felt like the most routine of things to be doing, much like I did when I lived at home, dropping mum off at work.
Father’s Day was round the corner and I said to her that I’ll get Dad a Father’s Day card and leave it with her – the sort of forward-thinking preparedness for events she loved. I dropped her off, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I said see you later.
About 2 hours later, two policemen turned up at the house and asked if they could come in. They told me how Mum had collapsed in Morrison’s and is going to be on her way to the hospital.
At this point, the seriousness of the event hadn’t struck me as Mum had been known for having ‘funny turns’ as she called them. However, when the policemen heavily insisted on me not driving two minutes down the road to Morrison’s, I felt it was something more serious. I used to work at this Morrison’s part time so as I got there, the sinking realisation from my old manager that it was my Mum who collapsed sunk in as he rushed over to give me a massive hug, doing his best to stay strong for me.
One of the cardio-specialist paramedics pulled me aside and told me the full news; Mum had a cardiac arrest, her pulse stopped and one of the workers performed CPR which helped bring her pulse back. However, there was concern about the amount of time Mum went without a pulse. She was rushed to hospital, I was in one of the ambulance cars behind, drifting from breaking into tears to asking the driver what the training is like to be able to drive so fast.
This was the day life changed forever. There is a very distinct ‘Before 31st May 2024’ and ‘After 31st May 2024’ in my mind now. What followed this date, were 3 agonising weeks of not knowing how life was going to turn out. We knew things would be enormously different, just whether Mum was going to make it or not was so unclear.
She had CT scans, MRI scans, all showing nothing clear that caused the Cardiac Arrest, however she was not responding to any of us. Her eyes would open, she would jerk but there was nobody there. It can be felt as a comfort that after 31st May, she wasn’t in any pain and doesn’t know what happened, but it was an impossible three weeks. The decision was made that there was no improvement to be made, too much time had passed and there had been no signs of her responding.
Through Grandparents dying in the past, we knew what Mum believed – she worked in the care sector for 40 years and had seen people hold on and hold on but leading a more difficult life for it. We knew she would not want that for herself or for us, but it didn’t make the decision any easier. We had hoped to have her organs donated, however she did not pass within the required four hours of ‘pulling the plug’, instead she held on for another 4 days. Another sign of her impressive, unwavering stubbornness.
Then, on the 20th June 2024, Lorna Shields Berkin passed away. Our lives were already never going to be the same, but it was this point where me, Dad, Grandma, my brother Thomas and Uncle Peter had to navigate this new world without the magnetic presence Mum provided.
The three weeks were unbelievably traumatic, but now this was about carrying on. Not moving on, we will never move on from Mum being taken so soon but carrying on. It is cliché, but it has been so important to me to think of what Mum would want.
Mum never had life easy, she was incredibly open with me about the difficulties her and Dad faced. She had a stillborn in 1997 and openly said how she cried non-stop for 4 days.
But she also said how she wasn’t going to let that define her and how important it was for her to carry on. I took this to my heart. She wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t ever want to supress this heartbreak of suddenly losing my Mum. I decided to listen to Nick Cave’s album ‘Ghosteen’, a beautiful tribute to his late son. My friend from work coined it perfectly – ‘poking a bruise’, I took the time to cry over what I had lost, and I still do to this day, but make sure I keep going.
But I wanted to do Mum justice and make sure the funeral was what she would want. I knew, at the very least I wanted to read the poem ‘Do not stand by my grave and weep’ at the funeral as I know it meant a lot to Mum. I read it at Grandads funeral from her recommendation and I know the message within that poem meant a lot to her. Maybe it is the teacher in me, but Mum deserved more than that, I wanted to speak from the heart and have as many people know what a wonderful person she was. Little did I know that this eulogy would provide a basis for me to move forward and to carry on. There were two things that I said that I refer back to on a weekly basis
'She gave me free reign to do whatever it is I wanted, whether that was stay at Morrisons my whole life, go into caring like her or become a teacher. As long as I was safe and happy, she would’ve supported any decision I made. I’ll miss having that unconditional support'.
This means a lot to me and has given me guiding principles for how to carry on. When going through grief, it has been tempting to make excuses for myself. People may turn to drink or different vices, and for me, I know mum was my number 1 supporter. It is very easy to make bad decisions and say ‘well Mum would support me’. However, If I am ever not safe, or not happy, she wouldn’t want or support that.
This has been so important to keep in the forefront of my mind in the year without her. It has kept me on a measured, balanced path. Recognising the trauma and grief her passing has put us through, but not using it as an excuse to go off track.
'I am fully aware that me and Thomas are the lucky ones in that I don’t need to stand here and say ‘I hope I made my Mum proud’. She told me whenever she saw me, and many of you whenever she saw you, just how proud she was of her family. Now it is down to us to keep telling people of the wonderful, beautiful person she always was'.
Nothing will ever mean more to me than knowing for absolute sure that she was proud of me. But more importantly now, it has given me a basis to ensure I don’t allow myself or anyone to forget about Mum. It is also essential that people don’t only talk about her death, but about her life. One of the reasons I have loved this last year is because I’ve made absolutely sure that people know what a beautiful person Lorna was. I love telling people about her practical nature. I cut my finger two days into moving to London. This felt very stressful, especially in the midst of trying to unpack. That stress was immediately mitigated when I remembered mums moving in gift was a massive first aid kit and cleaning products. What a simple, but thoughtful gift to give.
Again, I know how lucky I am in that Mum, without realising, gave me the tools and capability to start to navigate this grief. There is still so much to navigate and work out. If anything, it is harder now than it was in the immediate aftermath of her death. Life does truly move on. Mum’s funeral was the most unbelievable sight I have ever seen, there were people stood at the back and every pew was full. However, people at that funeral have a different relationship to mum than I did. That was their closure, it was the beginning of my grief. I am someone who isn’t good at sharing if they are struggling, so work, social settings, I will present as fine. People then, rightfully, assume I am fine or feel, they better not bring it up in case it upsets me. Someone I spoke to summed this up really well –
‘They don’t realise you think about Mum everyday’.
That quote couldn’t sum it up better. I think of her every single day, and while I know not everyone is the same, I want people to bring her up to me. I want people to ask me questions, talk to me about her. I am thinking of her anyway, so it really means a lot to me when people aren’t scared to ask the questions.
However, I do understand how difficult it is. Only after losing my Mum did I realise I had no idea what to say, or how to speak to people who have been through loss. I am no genius on the matter now, but I know important it is to face those conversations rather than avoid them. That same friend also said how everyone, no matter what age, will go through grief, so it is surprising that as a society it still feels like a taboo to talk about death and grief.
I have seen some significant value and power in engaging with stories of other people who have been through loss, hearing what their specific challenges were, finding kinship and similarity in stories. My big wish though is that people engage in content on how to support those going through grief, regardless of if they have been through significant loss. It isn’t all down to other people though. One of my biggest lessons this year is that people are not mind readers. I can’t expect people to have the same thought processes as me. If I am struggling and want support – it is down to me to ask for it and seek it out.
The major thing for me now, is to live both for me and for Mum. She was 55 and robbed of being given the chance to hold Grandchildren and simply have the long life she worked so hard for. But she won’t want me to stay bitter. The most beautiful perspective I have ever heard came from a senior manager at my work. This was 2 weeks after Mum had passed, and I needed to speak to him simply as a sounding board. Through severe tears, I said ‘I hate how she’ll never be a Grandma’. He said:
'Nat, whenever you have kids, she’ll be the most amazing Grandma this world has ever seen. That’s because of the stories you’ll tell about her, the love she had for her family and the selflessness she always displayed. Those future kids will only know of their Grandma as the beautiful person she is'.
That perspective, for anyone who has a lost a parent before they became grandparents, is so essential. They may be gone, but their spirit and their memory will, as Mum would always insist on, carry on.