Grief

 Grief, as we now know has various stages, not necessarily linear. When I first heard the news D had died, there was no 'I can't believe it' stage for me. I think that came a day or two later, when I wrote those words to his sister, 'I still can't quite believe it.' No, immediately, I knew it was absolutely true. I was gutted; quietly emotional; reduced to a flood of tears.

Of course, like so many other thousands of people who are or have been in grief, I played the 'if only' game with myself. If only I had been in touch on chat in the last few months; if only I had been more persistent, more loving. I finally realized that I don't have and never did have that sort of control. This sort of thinking and feeling is like the bargaining stage.

There was a bit of anger in the mix. Why couldn't he have taken better care of himself? I had tried in any number of ways to achieve that goal. Grief has a component of desire for something to happen, so I wasn't without some desire, but protected from that physical expectation that usually associates grief.

What I didn't have to contend with, as his partner now has to do, is the expectation that he would walk through the door sometime soon. I only had to contend with the fact that he would never answer my final email to him; that our chats were now over forever.

Depression is another stage of grief and I suppose my waking at odd times in the night is associated with that stage. I think it's all part of the acceptance stage and trying to make sense of these things that happen. In the right circumstances he had another fifty years to live, to love, and to achieve more great things for the communities he had served to date.

Although it hasn't been a long time since his death, I have in large part accepted what happened. I think I had some time to prepare for this knowing what I knew for some time. I think, and I am trying to pry open the door of my subconscious here, it is why I didn't communicate so often in these past few months; I expected it and found it too painful to watch too closely. I wanted to believe the song I had been sung; that all was well and I could do that better with some distance.

So, my grieving is also about giving myself some self-compassion. I tried valiantly to protect and I failed. But, I did try and I did care. I find myself with profound compassion for those professional people who work with people who have experienced terrible things.

A final stage of grief has been added to the model of the five stages of grief and that is meaning. There is no meaning in his death but there was great meaning in his life. He loved and was loved by a great many people. He was frustrating at times, bloody stubborn in moments, but he was a very lovable character who vehemently worked to make the world a better place. His time on this Earth had great meaning for many, many people, including me.

He was someone who was tolerant of difference and deeply caring of people; particularly those underprivileged. I once told him it seemed he was trying to carry the weight of the world and maybe he needed to take a rest. No, no, he said, there was too much work to do. The world had to be made a better place.

As his mother wrote, he was overcome by beautiful women. It wasn't easy for him to see the entirety of a woman because he was besotted with love; not necessarily romantic love, but the deep caring a compassionate woman could provide. Mostly, I think he felt safe with a caring woman of any age.

We both appreciated Ricky Gervais's 'After Life' and discussed it one day this year in quite a lot of detail. He wrote to me, 'Do you know the female character that sits with him (Tony) in the graveyard?' Yes, I did. 'She reminds me of you.' 'Oh?', I replied, though I had a fair idea what he was meaning. 'She listens to him and she cares about him. But she calls him on his bullshit too.'

Of course, I smiled. It meant a lot to me. My more strident comments didn't appear to be well received and I didn't make them often,but I carried on when I felt the need. This was his acknowledgment of them as a form of my care and it felt good to be seen in that way.

All he ever really wanted was peace. When I would ask him what he wanted, and I must have asked a half dozen times over the years, it was always the same; just the one word, 'peace'.

May his ashes fertilize the landscape where he grew up. May he find the peace he so richly deserves