I joined the dead parents’ club on a Tuesday. Like all members, I was inducted against my will, literally kicking and screaming. One minute I was 18 on a nursing prac for uni and then I was sitting in the hospital chapel hearing that my life would never be the same again.
I rarely talk about my parents. Mum and dad died a lifetime ago, (26 years since dad died, 11 since I lost mum), but this loss has changed me. It remains heartbreaking and affects every aspect of my adult life. It’s not just the birthdays, anniversaries, god-awful grandparents’ day at school and the excessive advertising around Mother’s Day and Father’s Day that cuts like a knife.
It’s the little moments, like when you pick up the phone and realise you have no one to call. It’s being surrounded by friends and feeling separate from the world. I go through life in a carefully guarded space. My walls are always up and defended at all costs to avoid letting anyone in. I can’t stand being hugged, I hate carnations because they remind me of funerals.
I became independent out of necessity. It has served me well as an adult, but it messes you up a bit too. I wish I had known that you don’t get over it, you move through it and carry it with you.
I’m so sorry you’re here, and you’re reading this. Make yourself a cuppa in your mum’s favourite mug that I know you kept, and read this handy guide when you’re ready.
This, in 13 steps, is my advice to the newly bereaved:
1. Ignore all advice that isn’t helpful, even mine. Don’t be brave and don’t be strong. Just grieve. People who “send you strength in this tough time” don’t have any idea about what you’re facing. Fuck off, my parents just died. I’ll be on the floor sobbing for as long as I need to be.
2. Use your playlist wisely. Stop listening to Supermarket Flowers, don’t ever listen to The Day You Went Away. Throw in some Limp Bizkit. If you find yourself Googling Counting Crows lyrics at 3am you’ve gone too far and you need to wake someone up or call Lifeline.
3. My goodness the paper work sucks. Outsource the admin where you can, cry when you need to. I know you want to call your mum for help and you can’t because you’re filling out the paperwork to get the death certificate. It’s horrible. Redirect the mail, sooner rather than later. Delegate one day a week to read it and cry.
4. Tell funny stories at the wake. Share happy memories. Laugh, even when you feel like you can’t or your heart tells you that you shouldn’t. These will be the moments that stay with you in years to come, the brightness among the dark.
5. Don’t let important things slip. Cancel their subscriptions, ensure you keep insurance paid and the car registered until you’ve figured it all out. Don’t forget to file a tax return for them.
6. The financial side can be tricky. Be prepared to fight for life insurance and superannuation payouts. Don’t fight with your siblings about money; it’s never worth it.
7. The house is hard. Most charity places will accept almost anything in good condition, but call first. Many will come and collect bulk donations. Some councils offer an additional bulk waste clean-up for bereavement. Any of your friends who say “let me know if there’s anything I can do to help” should be handed the number of a local skip bin hire place.
8. You don’t need to keep the teaspoon collection. You are never going to watch their boxed VCR set of The Sullivans. Let things go, particularly anything ordered from an infomercial.
9. Mum’s aqua jumpsuit is never going to come back into fashion. You’re never going to wear her wedding dress. That scarf matches nothing you own. Choose one warm jumper that smells like her and reminds you of the warmth of her hugs. Keep the tie your dad wore to your wedding.
10. You will kill the house plants. The stupid orchid is never going to flower again. This is not a failure on your behalf.
11. Don’t feel bad if you can’t remember the names of all their friends. Mum talked to Betty from bridge about you constantly, but has never mentioned Betty’s bunions or her husband Albert’s water works problem to you. You are not expected to know this.
12. It’s OK to feel some relief. In time you will watch your friends’ parents grow old, and see the hardship of navigating aged care and mental deterioration of the people who raised you, and be glad that burden is not yours. Although you would give anything to have a beer with your dad and call your mum to talk about your kids, there is the tiniest piece of relief that your loss, as hard as it was, means it’s over. The only burden is grief.
13. It will change the way you parent. I’ve raised my girls to not need me. They can cook, do paperwork, change a car tyre, mend a tear in clothes and have been able to head out into the world with confidence since they were very little. We always think we have time, and it always runs out before we expect. Use it carefully.
I was too young to have been left all alone in this world and I have messed up because of it. The only people who have ever loved me completely and unconditionally left early and were never coming back. There was no one to turn to in the darkest moments. I keep my mum’s fluffiest cardigan and her dressing gown in a box in the garage and when the world gets too heavy and I just need a hug from her I wrap myself in them and cry. I still feel that huge gaping hole where my cheerleaders should be. All I can do now is try to be my own cheerleader and help others who have sadly joined this terrible club.
So to you, the new member, I say this: you are doing a really, really good job and you’re going to be OK. Your parents would be so proud of you.
Emily Thompson is a writer based in central western New South Wales
In Australia, support is available at Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, Lifeline on 13 11 14, and at MensLine on 1300 789 978. International helplines can be found at befrienders.org
