My Dad Died When I Was 19. Here's Why Grief Education Matters.

Grief - experiencing and supporting it - isn't a skill we're taught. But we should be.

It was 6.30pm when my Mum called me to say Dad had died.

Wednesday 17th June 2020. It was that long, hot, drawn-out lockdown summer that didn’t have an end or beginning. The era of fighting for loo roll, being cautious to go outside and being separated from family was well and truly in full swing. My own was spread across 3 different British Counties, and we hadn’t seen each other since February. We were the type of family who organised seeing each other at least one weekend a month, so safe to say, it was uncharted territory.

I knew as soon as I picked up the phone he was gone. We had created a family FaceTime arrangement, every evening at 7pm, and they always rang from Dad’s phone. Always. And I just knew from the steadiness of her voice. It’s weird but when you get the phone call, you just know.

I was 19. My life changed indefinitely. My Herculean hero of a Dad was no longer there as the steady axis of our world, and yet, life continued. As it always does. I had no idea of the mountain ahead of me - the deep, guttural sobs that felt like my lungs would collapse. The awkward ‘he-passed-away-oh-I’m-so-sorry-no-it’s-fine’ conversations in years to come. The acceptance of friendships that couldn’t quite stick it out.

The most charted uncharted waters.

What’s confusing is how much art and discourse humans have created around grief.

From Charlotte’s Webb to Harry Potter, to Seamus Heaney and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, to Pixar’s Coco and Marley and Me. We don’t exactly shy away from it, and we certainly don’t shy away from the catharsis of it. That is, when it’s dressed up in some digestible form. A colourful sing-song about remembering those who’ve gone is, I suppose, easier to watch than those guttural sobs mentioned above.

Therefore, grief becomes that one thing we will all experience, and yet, we never seem to talk about. Or at least we shy away from it because… we’re nervous, fearful of upsetting others or most commonly, as I’ve found, without any clue of where to start.

What Grief Does to the Living

Where does all this leave the grievers? The grief holy trinity - alienation, isolation and loneliness. I know these seem like synonyms, but they’re not.

Alienation - a natural by-product of grief, no matter what age and when, because it’s a vacuum. The unique conditions of your grief often become the points of alienation.

Isolation - can be both active and passive, but an outcast feeling occurs, even when you’re being included.

Loneliness - the above compounds, along with the deep absence you feel from your grief.

So, when on top of all that, you have people who say they’re there for you but find it nearly impossible to speak to you or show up in non-verbal ways, your loss amounts to something greater. The loss of living relationships that can’t figure out how to inhabit your grief. It’s certainly a path I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

If you want a village, be a villager.

Ultimately, the ask from grievers is big - show up, don’t turn away and be brave. Help me navigate something that I don’t even know how to do and be courageous enough to do it even when I don’t want to or communicate it to you. I will never reduce the weight of the ask. And it’s unfair on everyone - you didn’t ask for this, I certainly didn’t want it. At least not at 19 when the world is meant to be opening up for me.

But I think this raises an interesting current observation on friendships and community as of late. There’s been a surge in discourse around what ‘showing up’ looks like in an age of self-care and a self-therapized online generation. I myself am completely guilty of cancelling multiple plans because I’m ‘going through it’, whatever that means. And there have been moments where I absolutely have been at grief rock bottom, and going out is absolutely not an option. But it’s become an easy, acceptable excuse that people don’t question of their friends, otherwise, by extension, they question their mental health.

What this signifies, I observe, is a loss of an authentic, show-up-even-when-it’s-really-fucking-hard connection. A loss of prioritisation in an era of individualism. And naturally, the impact is that when you need people to show up, they don’t.

Grief is the ultimate ask. The ultimate ‘test’ of being a villager. But I want to reshape it into an opportunity. That’s now how I think of it. I went through this terrible, world-crumbling thing at 19. I have truly incredible friends who showed up for me. And one day, although I hope it never comes for them, I know I will be able to show up for them with hindsight and knowledge they weren’t graced with the privilege of having.

Lived experience shouldn’t be the only teacher.

As with anything, just because you haven’t been through it doesn’t mean it’s not relevant to you. Or that it won’t be one day.

That grief holy trinity is fueled by lack. Lack of knowledge, understanding, exposure and skill. When you don’t know, it’s easier to back away into a state of ignorance. Those admirable friends of mine who jumped into the fire with me, I see as gallant medieval knights in their armour, willing to get burnt. And my god did they. But I expect they’d also say how worth it it was as threads of grief start to weave their way into their own lives.

But what if? What if they’d had a little prep - some vocabulary to use, an understanding of useful practical as well as emotional support options or a navigation of helplines and websites. It always lingered in my head that maybe that could’ve eased the growing pains of it all to some capacity, whilst also making it more normal - less alienated, less isolated and less lonely.

Fundamentally, this isn’t just about grief. This idea of support and skill can be applied to most ‘othering’ experiences.

So, I Turned Pain Into Practice

At Matriarch, our mission is to help people face life’s toughest moments with less fear. We do that through transformative workshops, and I’m proud that this year, we added Grief to our arsenal of topics. Our Grief 101 workshop covers,

• The basics - getting familiar with the what & how

• The response - how to express & how to receive

• The self-care - the practical guide

And it’s something I am endlessly proud of. It was created for every person who’s been alienated by grief and every villager who wants to show up.

Find out more about what we do here. Work with us here.

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Thanks for reading! And if you’re new…

I'm Ria, CEO & Founder of Matriarch and I yap a lot about education, women and entrepreneurship.

What do you do at Matriarch?

We help people face life's toughest moments with less fear. We bring our workshops to schools, corporate companies and the public to learn about those taboo life topics and grow practical skills we so desperately need.

We do it through our game-changing workshops

- a beam so when life throws you in the deep end, you have more confidence, knowledge and empathy to navigate it. Because when people know more, they can do more.

Work with us.

Email me: riamtrrch@gmail.com