Endings are always the hardest...
Why death is not the only thing we must grieve
The final chapter
When it came to writing the final chapter of my book, Breaking Waves, after two incredible years of interviewing, reflecting, researching, swimming, remembering, listening, sharing and connecting, it felt like an impossible task. How could I end this journey? How could I summarise the experience, and most importantly; how could I let it go?
Although I had written a good half of it during lockdown, I had never felt more connected as I spoke with women across the world about their life experiences and connection with water. From Fiji to Finland, from Arctic ice swimmers to Cornish mermaids, from water births to swimming with multiple sclerosis, it was truly magical and I didn’t want it to end.
I wrote a first draft of the final chapter, then threw the whole thing away and exclaimed to my sister ‘argh this is impossible!!!’. She replied simply with:
‘endings are always the hardest’.
Ain’t it the truth.
That became the title of my last chapter, and once I accepted the inevitability of that part of the process, everything flowed from there.
Life is a series of endings
In many ways, my whole book is about endings and new beginnings, and not just in the obvious ways. Yes, I write about grief in the aftermath of death, and it is a huge part of my own experience, yet there is so much more.
Life is a series of endings, and that is ok because each ending does indeed foreshadow a renewal, yet it is important to acknowledge each impact. The end of a life phase, the end of a relationship, the end of a career, the end of health as we have known it, the end of a friendship and so much more... All of these things are real, and must be worked through in order to unlock the doors to the next chapter.
Hierarchy of grief
A dear friend who is currently experiencing the fallout of the end of relationship said how he didn’t think he should talk to me about it, considering what I have experienced, as nobody has died. I couldn’t disagree more. What he is experiencing is also the ending of that person in their life, and that is just as heartbreaking.
There is no hierarchy of grief.
It is a necessary process which indicates the value of that presence in your life for the time that it was there - whether the object of that grief is a career, a home, a partner, a mother, a son, a way of life, or any number of things. All of these are valid, and to diminish the need to grieve endings is to diminish those experiences themselves.
I have had my own reflections on this many times. I ‘only’ lost a brother, and then a father who was 79. I have friends (and family) who have lost children, have had stillbirths, have lost parents when they were young. How dare I be so affected? I do not live in a war zone. How can I speak of loss when I see what others have experienced? But it doesn’t work like that, and it’s NOT a competition.
On Radio 4 Woman’s Hour today there was a piece on losing aged parents and it was wonderful. Whilst that might be much more ‘in the natural order of things’, it doesn’t necessarily follow that it is easier. Whilst grateful for the years spent together, the longer they have been in your life, perhaps the more there is to miss? Long drawn out endings (of whatever type) may afford opportunities to say goodbye, but they also bring the agony of witnessing deterioration. Sudden loss is brutal and devastating, yet immortalises a memory. These do not need to be ranked against each other, but must be given their own place.
I think about those who are separated from or estranged from loved ones. How do they grieve someone who is totally absent but has not died..or maybe unbeknownst to them, has? I get to talk about my loss and people are lovely to me, comfort me and celebrate my memories. What do you do if the loss is hidden and entwined in other complexities? What if the loss is due to factors that test our societal tolerance and understanding - incarceration, addiction, abandonment, violence... or circumstances that we pretend don’t occur?
Grief does not know shame. It cannot be bounded by that which we tell ourselves we should not feel. It does not hurt any less.
There is no mathematical equation, inverse proportionality or statistic for how grief ‘should’ be. It does not present within our normative frames of rationality or process. The only imperative is to let it be - however it needs to be. To know it is necessary, and it is ok and that by accepting it, it will eventually pass. To allow grief the space it needs to pour into, in order that its energy can rage freely and then dissipate; to give chaos the time to make sense; and to always, but always, show kindness to others in theirs.
New chapters
It is not just death we must grieve.
Two of the women in my book were medically retired, like me, from careers they devoted their lives to. One from the police force, one from the army, and for me - air traffic control. These endings were as a result (directly or indirectly) of trauma and injury, but can equally occur through redundancies, changes in circumstance, and things we would never have imagined (global pandemic anyone?).
One of their stories I shall save for the book for now, as its impact on me was so profound, and the other I will shout from the rooftops as this remarkable woman is about to embark on a world first, which has come about as a result of her experiences..
Gill Castle, (who was also on Woman’s Hour this morning!) was medically retired from the police in the aftermath of severe birth trauma, which whilst resulting in the delivery of a gorgeous baby boy, also resulted in a 4th degree tear necessitating a lifelong stoma bag and subsequently causing PTSD. Gill knows more than most the need to grieve in order to start a new chapter and regain control of your own story. She is now the CEO of a charity, Chameleon Buddies, promoting social inclusion amongst those living with a stoma or childbirth injury in the UK and in Kenya.
She has told me of supplying stoma bags to young girls who had previously collected their bodily waste in discarded crisp packets, thus enabling a 15-year-old to return to school, and another young woman to ultimately carry and deliver a healthy baby. Her work is literally transforming people’s lives. She is now about to swim the English Channel as the first ever ostomate to do so, to raise money for the charity and further increase awareness of birth trauma.
Gill does not know how her stoma and bag will cope with what she is about to face. No one in the world has tried to do this before, and I cannot wait to cheer her on. This is not the ‘career’ she had planned, but what a role she now plays in enhancing the fabric of humanity. Her remarkable story can be followed on BBC sounds.
Unexpected gains
When I was retired from air traffic control, I hid the reason I left for several years. I felt embarrassed, sad, ashamed. Mental health was not as openly discussed then as it is now, and so I inferred that I had decided to leave voluntarily. Only when subsequent physical health problems forced the end of my next job did I finally accept that my working life as I had known it was over, and allow myself to grieve. It took me two years, but I did it.
If my ‘career’ hadn’t ended, however, I would never have written my book. If I had not experienced my own endings, I would not have been able to support others through theirs. I am an eternal optimist but I always struggled to see any positive from the tragedies I experienced in my 30s. Now I realise that it has given me a gift to try and support others through their own experiences. To help people stuck in their own grief to feel understood, heard and less alone, and that is such a privilege.
Writing the book has shown me how we all experience endings in life, and how by sharing our stories, and showing compassion for each other, we bring real meaning and purpose to our being. Ending my first book has allowed me to begin on book two, and that is already an exploration of such joy. I can’t wait to share more!
Allowing ourselves to grieve and process whatever endings we need to allows us to write our next chapters. It instils the knowledge that we will survive whatever may have befallen us, and then we can let others know that they will too.
We all have another story.
Your lemon soul
How do you feel about endings?
Do you allow yourself to grieve?
Do you recognise any of these emotions in yourself?
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Love & lemons 🍋
Em x
If you know anyone who you think may benefit from reading this,or who may want to follow and support Gill’s swim next week, please do share. It’s so important to me that the words reach those who may need to hear them.
Beautiful post Emma. I love how you write about grief in such an inclusive way. My biggest grief has been for something I never even had - children. It's invisible to the outside world and therefore easy to find yourself minimising it too, but I've learned that grief needs to be felt (and shared) for healing to occur ❤️
So incredible to read about your process here Emma. What beautiful and important work you have been called to do. When I said goodbye to my Grandad for the last time I cried myself from the train platform to home to the sofa to sleep and when I woke up in the dark I drove to the sea to watch the sun come up so I could see something bigger than my grief. It was everything I needed and I’m still trying to find a way to share it as medicine with others. Much love to you. ✨ 🌊