Young carers & grief - Amy’s story

Grief isn’t just death. It’s the anger of what’s been taken, the loneliness in facing life without them and the wishing of memories you didn’t get to create. But for many young carers grief may begin long before the sympathy cards hit through the letterbox and when it does, it pulls your identity with it.

I was in primary school when I first unofficially took up the role of a ‘young carer.’ I remember having to decline my friend's offer of going out after school as a meeting at the hospital was on my horizon before I had to come home and start my homework on the nine times table. It was a title I carried quietly for over a decade before it became ‘official’ when I was 19. Thinking about it, I only ever brought it up to a handful of people. Not through embarrassment, maybe a bit through fear of perception, but because it had become second nature. I didn’t bat an eye to the appointments, the cleaning, the feeding and the general looking after was all just another day.

To me my role was simple: look after the people who once had looked after me, until the cruel reality of death pulled that away.

I found that many aspects of being a carer got swept to the side, mainly because people don’t really know how to treat kids who have the responsibility of another life. A major part of that was that grief didn’t just begin through loss. It started in the isolation of the ‘what if’s,’ the physical decline and gritted acceptance that they weren’t going to be there for the milestones that you otherwise take for granted. Those emotions didn’t get time to breathe however as the demands of the role didn’t ever subside for sadness. Then when the person does pass, in my instance my gran, aunt and earlier this year my mum, everything hits at once.

My typically hectic life had gone completely static, and I quite simply didn’t know what to do.

Not only had I lost the person who meant the very most to me, I lost a big part of myself. I no longer had a reason to wake up at the crack of dawn to do morning medications, there were no medical professionals to advocate my concerns to, no need to run myself into the ground because there was no other option. In the midst of trying to spin multiple plates at once, I briefly got involved in my dream career before it dwindled away as the demands of caring grew, so my list of commitments had ultimately faltered to nothing with no plan of where to go next. By this point, over half of my lifetime had been solely dedicated to looking after other people and so trying to figure out who I was or what I wanted seemed like an impossible task buried beneath the pit of grief that my mum, my biggest supporter and person I valued more than anything, wasn’t there to guide me through it.

Grieving a parent in your early 20’s is an experience not shared by the majority. Grieving as a young carer felt impossibly even more isolating. I was left playing self-imposed catch up with the people around me, clutching at a hypothetical deadline of needing to have it all ‘figured out’ before life caught up with me. 

The caveat to being a carer is that your life is entirely centric to someone else. I think because I’d spent so long helping others that I didn’t want or even really know how to look out help for myself, which in hindsight was a benefit to absolutely no one. Opening the door to support whether it be from friends, family or dedicated support networks is as beneficial as it is difficult. Grief doesn’t have to be an isolating experience; the right people are out there to let you know that they ‘get it’ and it’s okay to let them in.

Grief is complex, it’s difficult, it’s not pretty. The people you presume will see you through the rough will filter out of sight and you’re often left with more questions than answers. But it’s the physical proof that love existed and I found that it offers up a legacy to carry at your own pace, in your own way. There’s no rush to get your plans in order, there’s no expectations to have it all figured out in the way I thought. Those constructs only exist to tick boxes. Grief - like life - is unique, and the sole way round it is through it.

It goes without saying that my mum was the most special, incredible influence in my life and so carrying on her teachings through my new experiences has become my motivation to see through even the hardest of days. 

Is it easy? No. Do I have my life plan sorted out? No. 

That’s okay.