I recently made a discovery. With the help of friends, family and therapy, I came to the conclusion that my life since August has been like a wedding. Not a wedding for a bride or groom, but a wedding guest. A distant wedding guest as well, where they don’t know many, or any of the other guests. The tension and awkwardness arriving there brings. Not knowing where to stand, who to stand with. Not sure how to extend conversation beyond ‘how do you know the happy couple?’ or ‘What do you do for work? Or ‘How did you get here?’ Its stifling, awkward and tiring.
The ceremony gets started and whilst it all looks stunning, you are stressed with where you should sit, worried your phone might go off, and your leg is bouncing as everything is taking a while in getting going. You even get a slight wave of emotion come over as you picture yourself stood there, knowing someone very important won’t get to see. The particularly difficult part of this wedding is that period between the ceremony and dinner.
No one is too sure on how to approach conversations or how much to drink as they know food will be soon. Some might feel hungry, bored, tired and maybe jealous of the huge group of friends seemingly having the best time. Dinner comes, speeches and tributes are made, cakes are cut and the night begins. The tension subsides as you start to feel more settled, and you go onto have an amazing night.
This post is going on a Substack and a website that predominately talks about grief, so a commentary of a wedding might seem oddly placed, but it is appropriate.
I recently moved home, moved jobs, and took on a bigger working responsibility. It truly has been a summer of change. New people, ice breaker conversations, new systems, new commute, even a new run club. Same and maybe even stronger grief. This is why the wedding analogy feels appropriate.
Lots of new people and ways of living, meaning a lot of that feeling of constantly sitting slightly awkwardly. Not feeling settled in my surroundings. Even needing to work out new running routes.
All of it can be explained by being out of my comfort zone. Adding grief to this makes it extremely difficult. I knew and even said in my leaving speech how part of me felt terrified about leaving my old job. That school was the last place Mum knew me as a teacher. It was the last place I got to tell her about silly things kids had done, or dramas caused by the adults. Most importantly, it was the place I worked when she died. Meaning it was an absolute safety blanket to me. Everyone knew what I had been through, and everyone was so supportive of me and would have moved mountains if I wasn’t feeling strong. Leaving that safety net was and still is terrifying.
I don’t regret it at all, but it hasn’t been easy; moving somewhere where no one knows what I have been through. Even when I have told some of them, they don’t have that recognition of the shock that I still feel in my bones. Whether it’s that they think I’m 36, rather than 26, or it’s the very nature of my words being ‘Mum died two years ago’ means people will not feel the shock of things like I still do. It’s also the case where I can’t go into detail in how it happened in that first conversation; so, in their head, death might mean a long fight with cancer, in their head Mum was in her 70s making it more bearable. I don’t hold it against any of them either. Over a busy day and at the start of a new school year, none of us, including me, has the brain capacity to concentrate on a topic like this. This is where the wedding analogy becomes relevant. I know I am in the very early stages of life at this workplace. Things will align and settle down, just like how a wedding becomes more fun after the first dance. Things will also settle in this new workplace; there may even be space to discuss and talk about my experience with bereavement. But I am incredibly aware of my space in time, and that settled feeling doesn’t happen overnight. However, this is still new territory for me. Moving jobs with grief and ‘starting again’ is daunting. That same heavy feeling of loss feels more profound when you can’t share it quite as smoothly. Being caught in-between the feeling of wanting to be stoic and prove myself before I overshare, but also not wanting to feel like I am stifling my feelings and love towards Mum. I know the words that have come out of my mouth in the recent past have been ‘I don’t want to let it define me’. But that isn’t authentic. It does define me. Yes, there is more to me than the loss of my Mum, I run, I guess. But something I said in my leaving speech has stuck with me:
It truly doesn’t matter what I do now, titles, greasy pole, none of that matters. The thing that will give me most joy and satisfaction in this job, and in this life is the chance to keep her present, speak her name, tell her story and do everything I can to keep her spirit alive. So, thank you all so much for allowing me to do that.
Me not speaking about her, my grief and my love towards her would just lead to an unhappier experience. There is scope to be measured and not burst through the doors and immediately tell people the trauma I have been through. However, it also wouldn’t be right to mitigate, and limit mention this part of me out of the fear for my social capital. This is an ongoing process, I don’t have answers or understanding of how this reflection will play out, but knowing what is true to me is so important. This won’t be the same for everyone; this is not the undeniable way to approach a new job as a griever.
This new job has also highlighted how much I miss her. Her jobs meant she had a life full of dealing with interesting personalities. Whether it was in the asylum; trying to stop a patient from running into the local field, or as a dinner lady; stopping a 6-year-old child throwing a chair. Being a mother of a child with cerebral palsy meant she was well versed with life’s more tricky situations, and I think found an element of joy in the chaos.
My new job means I am at the forefront of developing students personally and socially.
In one month, everyday there has been a situation that she would have loved to hear about. She was never a natural academic and never excelled at school herself. But she always had a fascination for life and people within it. The best compliment I received when she passed was from a Mum of someone who was at my junior school. She said, ‘Lorna was a ‘school mum’ with me and was honestly my absolute favourite… seeing how Lorna just poured love into your family, and the whole community, has always been so inspiring’.
Of the messages I received when she passed, this is by far and away the best. I started watching Motherland recently and while the show is obviously incredibly funny, it also had me reflecting on this tribute as well as how she was as a ‘school Mum’. I know I am bias but looking back she truly held no judgement. She was never going to allow popularity, class, wealth or social status dictate who she was going to be friends with. It didn’t matter to her whether a parent’s kid was a high achiever or extremely difficult, didn’t matter if they were rich or poor. Kindness was paramount to her.
She truly never looked down at anyone and had time for everyone. I reflect on this now, both as a person and as a teacher and feel incredibly lucky to be inspired by that. So, whilst it is painful she doesn’t get to hear about the very many stories and dynamics that I am coming across, I hope she knows how much her values are living through me and hopefully being passed onto others.
Moving away Dad and the childhood home has brought me a feeling of what life was once like when Mum was here. The last time I lived in a situation I am now was university, so I have honestly caught myself reaching to text or call Mum about something that has happened for the first time since just after she died. Obviously, the wave of realisation that hits when that isn’t a possibility doesn’t need to be described right now. But it again shows the fact that grief truly does lurk and strikes in times and ways one would least expect. The familiar experience of sussing out new kitchen appliances, buying things for the flat and so on and so forth, but the still unfamiliar feeling of not having her guidance on the questions that she would have answered so keenly.
Dad, leaving him at home has been hardest of all. In the two years without Mum, and the personally chaotic 1 year of living with him. He provided a constant feeling of calm and stability.
In a practice I should do far more than I do, I was writing, or journalling to Mum whilst sat in the garden with him. This is what I said: We are just sat here, we aren’t speaking, he is going between daydreaming and scrolling through BBC sport, and I am sat here writing to you. We may not be speaking, but I feel so safe right now Mum, and I know that’s all you ever wanted for me’. He has renewed the sense of the little things providing happiness and joy rather that the big performance. Every Saturday, he puts on a load of washing, asks if I want a fry up (I never did because Saturday long run) and pop to B&M to top up on household appliances. He would drive us to go see Thomas, we would have a pint, and then we would go home. We might get a takeaway, or one of us would cook. Sundays; we would go through the day, and he would always make an extra effort at dinner, neither of us being the best cooks. We would eat early and then sit together, watching whatever football match was on. The routine of it was so calming, and the comfort of being around someone so gentle is something I miss dearly.
Whenever I hear of someone who lives in London who is suffering from anxiety but is still spending every weekend finding the next ‘niche’ spot with their friends who wear loafers, white socks and shorts, I think they just need to spend some time away from this madness. This city is truly one of the world’s best, but it can give people a false sense of security and can dilute people’s perceptions of happiness. I will truly be forever grateful to Dad for helping me realise that life doesn’t need to move at one hundred miles an hour. At the time of writing this, the 2nd episode of The Traitors has just come out and the whole nation fears Richard E. Grants inevitable banishment. Most of us in the grief community are probably well aware of this individual and his beautiful tributes to his wife on social media. Many of us would have already known of the quote he said when he became a traitor: “When my wife was dying she said, ‘Please make sure you find a pocket of happiness everyday’.” Dad, thank you for reminding me how to find pockets of happiness in my days. Thank you helping me keep some love, care and romance in the ordinary things.
Moving day was utterly brutal, I haven’t cried that much in a long time, and driving with teary eyes was particularly difficult. But I cannot begin to describe how grateful I am for the time I spent with him. I wrote in the past about the difficulty of ‘those who remain’, this experience has realigned my priorities for him and my brother. He will never replace the relationship I have with Mum, we aren’t ‘best buddies’ who tell each other anything. But it can’t be stressed enough, there’s no one on this earth I’d do more for than him. No one I’d defend more than him. There is no positive to be taken from Mum leaving us sooner than she should have. But I can’t begin to explain how fortunate I am to have a Dad who only wants the best for me and continues Mum’s unconditional support and love in anything that I do.
Moving on and stepping out of one’s comfort zone is so important to do. Professionally, I had to leave my last job as I wanted progression and felt my skills were better utilised where they are now. However, I didn’t want to leave because of how protected I felt there. Going through grief makes that professional step and ambition incredibly difficult. As with many other situations, I have a lifetime of navigating and managing professional ambition with personal grief and ensuring I don’t allow my grief to become an afterthought. It would simply be a lie to say it has been easy to make these steps. But I’m grateful for what it has taught me: the love I have for family, the importance of keeping Mum present, and the awareness that difficulty and awkwardness doesn’t last forever. Whether you have been through grief or not, I hope you can think of a time where the wedding analogy can be applied either in your past or moving forward. Whether it’s a new job, new home, new partner, even a new tv show! That awkward pit in your stomach will subside, and you will find your rhythm and comfort soon.