How Creativity Can Help In Grief
When we first lost Ben, it was like standing in the devastation of an earthquake to me. The ground I was standing on felt suddenly unsteady and my world seemed unfamiliar, broken. The landscape that had been ripped apart by this unfathomable situation we had found ourselves in fourteen months earlier, had ended with our family of five, now a physical family of four. It was and remains a complete shock. When I think about childhood cancer, I still feel like half of our experience has been a complete blur and something akin to a dream, or perhaps better termed as a nightmare.
Yet in the midst of cancer and chemotherapy, being separated from my girls and husband for some of the time, basically living in hospital for several months at a time, there was laughter and moments of real magic. Perhaps the sort of magic you will never experience if you aren’t focused on paying attention to every single second, when you know that life is balanced on the flick of a coin.
I don’t know how to really express the full impact, after only two years since losing Benjamin to cancer, which, in itself, writing it down, doesn’t feel real. He’s a bubbly, strong-willed, fiery character with passion, wit and determination in my head; not someone who’s no longer physically here. It’s very difficult to grasp and I don’t think I will ever really come to terms with any of it. The love I have for my children has only increased. Cancer and death has taught me to hold my children closer, yet allow them so much more freedom, because they can’t live their lives wrapped in cotton wool and under a shadow. It’s a very fine balance to navigate on a daily basis, because every emotion you feel is so much brighter and so much more acute after losing a child. So, therefore every aspect of motherhood for me has bizarrely become ever more focused, almost with gold light around it if that makes sense. Losing a child makes your heart ache and toil and love and break and sparkle.
In the first few days and months of grief, I would feel lost, helpless and dysfunctional. Nothing was right and nothing mattered. I’m not talking about my family or family life here, all of that was and remains even more important now. I’m talking about everything else; everything that seems so blessed trivial now. We all talk about the worst things that can happen in life, yet most of us (me included) would easily complain about something so simple that we take for granted, like something that breaks in the household or the car breaking down; we’ve had a bad day, in that things got a little bit difficult. Going through a traumatic experience in life brings what really matters very sharply into focus. This world we live in is so fast, so full of pressure and rubbish and nonsense. I have always seen the good in people and sought that out in others. The life that was before is treasured and you realise in all its ups and downs, that it is and was perfect. The life before you is altered, forever changed, as are you and there is an anxiety that hangs in the air. We didn’t think it was going to happen to our family and yet it did. My over-protective nature is now an occasional barrier and embarrassment to my children, but I am working on it. This changes you. It’s changed me, for sure, but hasn’t changed the love I have for all three of my children. For all the sadness I feel, nothing can take away the magic of all that life still has to offer you. I find that difficult to write, but I really do feel that there is still magic. I am so blessed to have three children and so blessed to be able to see all the incredible wonderfulness that my daughters will bring to the world and the people they meet in their lives, just as much as I hope Ben will remain with them throughout.
You might think that in grief, nothing will ever be able to distract you for a moment or help the magic reappear, albeit to light up a new landscape; one which takes courage to explore and wander through.
For me, something i have learned in the one hundred and seven weeks without my son, is that some days are impossible and I reach breaking point. The best way for me to relieve that inner anguish and upset, is simply to walk. I walk for between forty-five minutes and two and a half hours fairly regularly, with the dogs. I imagine myself walking three steps ahead and try to breathe in the sounds, taking note of the birdsong, the leaves shushing in the trees or the sunlight when it flickers through. Quite often, my heart will throw images into my mind of previous holidays with all five of us and I’ll hear the echo of the children’s laughter, which will bring tears to my eyes and in nature, I just allow myself that time to cry. For all that has been and all that is to come.
After a few months, I found myself beginning to focus a little more on nutrition and began to take the time to bake. I would bake Ben’s favourite (and actually a firm favourite of all of us), lemon drizzle cake and over time, the cake has got steadily more citrus and sweet, I swear! I would indulge us all in shortbread and chocolate brownies; more recently confetti cake. The act of concentration it takes to undertake the simplest of activities as baking, is therapeutic. The motion, the focus, the desire to create something, is just what allows the grief side of the brain to temporarily shut down and allow the creative side to blossom. This, in turn, offers the griever a chance for an emotional break.
Grief is exhausting; draining and overwhelming at times. It’s never. going. to. leave. It’s something that you will begrudgingly become used to and sometimes even feel comforted by, because all the love you feel is held within it.
Being creative in grief is a great blessing in the most arduous of times. As you will see, I tend to gravitate towards writing, because it’s an outlet that I feel helps me to face my fears and release it all in to the universe. I hope so much that by speaking so honestly, I can help someone somewhere to realise that there are ways you can help yourself when in the deepest experience of loss.
It’s important to feel everything and not let go of that part of it. If you don’t feel it, how will you not become numb? To live fully, we have to experience it all; the beauty and the devastation and learn to find the magic in the quiet in between, which takes courage. I long for my children to be growing up together, but I know that I will never be afforded that luxury. I have two beautiful daughters and they need me to be there for them in whatever capacity that might be over the coming years, something I take great pride in (I can see them both rolling their eyes at that comment!).
Some days, I find painting rocks for DKMS Rocks extremely therapeutic. Or I might get out the acrylic paints and create something on canvas. It doesn’t have to be Van Gogh, but any creative pursuit has the same spark of magic that allows you to dive into something you can enjoy, if only for a matter of minutes. The more you create, the more your heart can be soothed and your mind, rested. You might even discover that by helping yourself, you can also help others, but that’s one for another blog post.
The important message here is to go gently each day, putting one foot in front of the other. Taking time to nurture yourself and allow yourself to explore your abilities and interests. It might be hard at first and some days, to be honest, it might feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulder and nothing is achievable. Don’t fight it on those days. Rest, sleep, allow yourself to feel rudderless and sad. But even in the darkest moments (and I have many), I still manage to see that one little sparkle of something that fills my heart with meaning and hope.
So, when you’re ready, allow those ideas to come, write them down in a notebook or on your phone, whatever they may be and over time, one idea might stick which could lead you to a whole new adventure.
To that end, I am putting together (very slowly at the moment!) a course for Creativity in Grief which will find its way on to this website at some point in the coming months, so please do keep a look out for it and join in if you feel it will be of some help.
Grief will always be with you and so will your child; in memory, in love, in all that you do and all that you are.
Love to you all xxx
Very delicious cake!