Despite being one of life's only certainties, death is still taboo in much of the western world. This means that after experiencing something as seismic as the death of a close loved one, we don't all feel comfortable talking about our grief, opting instead to retreat into ourselves. Millennials in particular, a demographic currently in the grip of a loneliness epidemic, are struggling to come to terms with their grief.
Many report not knowing how to grieve in a world of social media, where people's accounts remain active long after they've passed, while young people are eschewing organised religion, which historically has been intimately tied to how we deal with loss. Websites like Modern Loss exist to expand the conversation online, but in dark times what many of us really need is IRL support. Three millennials told Refinery29 UK the coping mechanisms they turned to following the death of a parent, and advise others how to get through the experience.
Sanya Torkmorad-Jozavi, 24, is a costume designer, milliner and artist whose mum passed away on 10th January 2016 from breast cancer. She was first diagnosed in June 2015, two months after first seeing the GP about her symptoms.
We were told she was going to die on Christmas Eve and the following seven months were like torture, watching her suffer without energy. I don't care much for the NHS – Mum started getting treatment three months after first going to the GP and at stage 4 cancer. Patients with cancer scares are a priority for NHS? Bullshit.
Immediately after her death the news broke that David Bowie had died and then Alan Rickman, who my mum loved, and both from cancer. I just thought, 'What the fuck is happening?' I cried every day and went to the gym every day just to get out the house. I didn't eat and took more hours in my part-time retail job just to keep productive and to see people out and about. A friend advised me not to become a recluse like a girl she knew.
When I was five I remember Mum sobbing when I asked her about her mother. She'd died nine years prior and I never heard about my mum's parents until I was in my 20s. I just remember thinking, 'I don't want to be like that'. My mum was such a part of my lifestyle – I'd call her through the day and we'd spend so much time together. She was more than a mother.
If I wanted to cry, wherever I was – on the bus, in a shop, at the gym – I'd just cry. Two months after she died I went to Portugal for a week just to get away and it did me well. I left retail a month later and went to Iran for the first time, where I'm from, and it was really tough emotionally but I came back refreshed. My brain had been mush for four months prior and I wasn't really present. But going somewhere new helped to get out of my head and confront an unknown world.
We got no support from cancer charities, and when I sought information about cancer from my GP they just told me to feel my breasts in the shower. I even had a fundraiser knock on my door, who smiled when I told her my mum had just died because she thought I'd be more willing to donate. My uncles and aunts from Mum's side have disappeared, but my friends have been really supportive.
The last thing my mum said consciously to me before she died was to look after my dad, and that's what I've been doing since. I just wanted to be the person my mum knew and for her to be proud of me. This meant not taking it out on anyone, not trying to purposely distract myself and to allow myself to feel whatever I felt, not isolating myself, and doing something that was recognisably 'me', so travelling and then throwing myself into making art. My mum invested so much energy and support in me and my work growing up and I had to do that justice.
When she died I knew it would never ever be the same. Things aren't going to get 'better' and I'm always going to be upset about it. My advice is not to fight that feeling and deny your sense of grief and loss, but to allow yourself to feel whatever comes up. Never regret past conflicts with them because ups and downs in relationships are a part of life and you can't be mad about them. Be good to yourself. Mum told me not to stress because it's not good for my health, and Mum knows best.
Ruth Mullan, 34, works for a women's health charity in central London and lost her dad suddenly on 14th February 2018 to a cardiac arrest.
He went into a coma for 24 hours after suffering a cardiac arrest, during which time he was on life support. After 24 hours they turned it off and then he was breathing by himself for another 12 hours before he died. My dad had a big heart. He was sad before he died and I don't think he would have been able to find a way out because his heart was broken and he had forgotten how to appreciate the good things in life, bar me and my siblings.
My dad dying brought up a lot of things for me. We didn't always have the best relationship growing up. He wasn't the best father by any stretch of the imagination. When he passed, a part of me opened up. I can't explain it very well but I experienced emotions both good and bad. He made me sad a lot when he was alive, but I loved him and it broke my heart when he left.
I retreated into myself a lot and took a lot of time to be sad and grieve. I stopped socialising for a while, avoided busy spaces, favoured being around family and old friends who knew me extremely well, around whom I felt comfortable being raw and vulnerable. I threw myself into work, which was so busy I didn't have time to think and I started working longer hours. This helped a lot, although I dreaded the commute.
I read several books on people's experiences of grief, including Option B by Sheryl Sandberg, and When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. These helped me to deal with my grief and helped me release my tears. I stopped drinking so much to give my head some much-needed space. I stopped to appreciate the people I loved most and tried to be a support for them. I was kind to myself. I allowed myself to break down without feeling like I should be coping 'better'. I reconnected with my dad's family and framed my favourite pictures of him to remind me of the good times. Everybody says it, but learning to take each day as it comes does help.
My boyfriend and friends were amazing and a huge support. My family were going through the same thing so I didn't really want to break down in front of them as I knew it would make them sadder. Despite getting so much support from people around me, I began to feel like grief was something I had to do alone.
As cheesy as it sounds, I'd advise others grieving a parent to take every day as it comes. You can't make it less heartbreaking but try to do things that will make the pain go away for a while. Honour the person you loved in your own way. Remember that however you're dealing with it, you're doing great. Someone told me on the day of my dad's burial that it gets easier. I couldn't believe it at the time but he was right. Trust your friends. I wouldn't have done anything differently, it's impossible to know what to do until you're in the situation and just getting through it is enough.
Anna Campbell, 29, a chartered surveyor in London, lost her mum to breast cancer when she was 16 in 2005 and her dad at age 22 in 2011. He suffered a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm and he passed away under a week after complaining of feeling breathless and being turned away by a GP who believed it to be asthma.
I experienced losing a parent twice before I was even in my mid-20s. The first time round, my reaction was to block it out entirely. My mum was the centre of my world, and just at a time that I probably needed her most, she was fading away in front of me. I was angry, I was sad, I was petrified. It left me with a severe anxiety disorder which I still cope with every day; sometimes it's manageable, sometimes it’s not. I’ve had to learn to accept that anger and the girl in me who is still terrified of losing her mum, even though I know how the story ends. Death in this circumstance seemed so isolating and cold. With my dad, I was a bit older, so I was able to process it in a different way. I was obviously bereft without him, but the happy memories and warmth of his personality were easier to remember.
I actually forgot a lot of what happened when my mum was ill. I've been told this type of dissociation is a common coping technique for children and young people whereby your emotional self is overloaded and your brain conveniently pushes horrible memories into a box somewhere deep in your brain. In the years afterwards I experienced a shitload of unprocessed delayed grief and a form of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I sought out therapy, and have had it on and off for several years – some more helpful than others. I suffer from anxiety and panic attacks, which often happen in the most inconvenient of places, such as on the Tube, on the train, at parties and a personal favourite, in client meetings. I get hot and cold flashes, tight-chested, clammy palms, palpitations – the list goes on.
The two most helpful things, I have found, are talking and breathing techniques. I talk to my friends, my family, my therapist, my colleagues and even strangers if I have to. It helps to tell someone how you’re feeling, to get out of your head and to make a connection with a human who will smile at you and hold your hand and tell you that you're safe. It then also helps if you can control your breathing and gradually notice your heart rate returning to normal and the dizziness subsiding. It all passes. The trick is just remembering that.
At the time, I probably didn't get enough support from others. But God knows what the 'right' amount of support actually is or would have been. Everyone was grieving. Eventually, with the support of my vast and amazing network, I've come to be able to support myself.
To anyone else grieving the loss of a parent, I'd say: you are not alone. If you can face it, talk to someone – whoever you want that to be. It really is true that a problem shared is a problem halved. They will listen and this will all be better one day. It feels like a million miles away and it won’t be a quick thing, but you can and you will make it to a place where you feel better.
If you are struggling with the death of a parent or loved one, support is available. Visit Cruse Bereavement Care or telephone 0808 808 1677.
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