Emma’s thoughts on time
What does the term anniversary mean to you? In my mind it cultivates thoughts of celebration, an exciting milestone to look forward to with parties where people dance joyously. Which is why I always found it odd that the word was used for deaths and painful reminders of terrorist attacks or huge battles lost. The word anniversary just means “a date which returns yearly”. Not only a day for celebration but also commiseration, observing and honouring.
It transpires that it was only my mind that had chosen to associate the word with happy moments which is why for the last 9 years I chose to look at the day Dad passed away as a day of distraction and avoidance, that as an individual I would ignore entirely. At best as a family we would be more sensitive towards one another in the month of November.
The first few years were a blur in all honesty. November always had niggly undertones that sometimes showed themselves in wobbly teary moments in the toilets at work, avoiding speaking to Mum and Abi (who for context are the most wonderful strong family unit), as I didn’t want to upset them, nor hear how upset they were. Drinking too much wine meant I could blame headaches (or heartaches) on a hangover, as opposed to admitting that I was just suppressing grief.
The grief was always suppressed as it was prickled with thoughts like “I can’t feel too sad, he didn’t want to be here. Poor {insert name} lost their Mum to cancer, that’s so unfair as she desperately wanted to be here, to continue living”. So, in turn I continued to try and push the anniversary to the back of my thoughts, every year shaking off the dread and guilt of the memory which was engulfed by anger and sadness.
Life carried on, in the most part I was happy, thriving & focused on making the most of life.
Fast forward to November 2019. 10 YEARS! A DECADE! How did that happen? I couldn’t hide from this anniversary, which coincided with the year I turned 30. It felt much harder to focus at work, much harder to enjoy moments of loveliness without thinking about all the milestones in the last 10 years that Dad had missed; desperately trying to coach myself through the thoughts that “he chose to miss these moments” forcing myself to refer to the literature which explains mental health and remind myself that acceptance that mental health illnesses are just as uncontrollable and volatile as a physical illness. On the 10th year I celebrated that as a family, we have managed to create a new normal and recover from the trauma of losing Dad to suicide, but also commiserated the years lost.
As my anger fades and my empathy grows, I reflect that mental health isn’t a choice, he didn’t choose to miss all these milestones. Talk your thoughts through with yourself, with your friends or with a counsellor.