Healing Loss & Grief My first experience of ‘loss’ and ‘grief’ came, when in the middle of the night, our family did one of our ‘moonlight flits. I think I was about 7-8 years old. I remember I was sitting in the back of a van with my cat Fluffy in my arms, and she, being frightened by all the fuss and noise going on, jumped out of the window, leaving painful, bloody scratches on my arms and hands. I leapt out after her and ran around in the dark calling her name. Dad was desperate to get going (as would become the norm - non-payment of rent) and picked me up and carried me back to the van, telling me to be quite so I did not wake the neighbours in the caravan park where we had been living, assuring me that he would go and see if he could find her. I sat in the back of the van, absolutely panic-stricken, already knowing from past experience that they would leave my beloved cat behind. I was right, after a cursory look for her, Dad got in the van and we drove away. I thought then - my eyes throwing daggers into the back of his head, silently nursing my wounds and the anger and despair I felt - that I could not have hated him more; this was to be proved wrong as the years went by. For weeks after, every night when I went to bed, grieving and feeling sorry for myself, I would cry and relive that horrible final scene in my head. Then I would go on to imagine that something terrible had happened to Fluffy; that she had been run over, or that she had starved to death. I felt I had abandoned her and that it was all my fault. I felt so guilty and missed her so much, I was heart-broken. I think I remember Mum and Dad trying to console me by saying that she was such a lovely cat that someone was bound to have taken her in, and gradually, as the scratches on my arms slowly healed, my dreams of her began to change and I came to imagine her being in my friend Junes caravan; and being well looked after. I slowly stopped grieving for her, though I can still remember her as clear as glass. Losing Fluffy had been my first brush with grief and although I came to accept that she would never come back to me, I was left with a residual feeling of emptiness and a sadness that would never leave me. Not knowing then at 8 years old, that grief left unexpressed, was to become a constant partner on the complex path that would become my life. Over the years Dad was to buy us other pets, but they all got given away or left behind when we moved again. We would come home from school and the dog that we had all loved and grown so attached to had mysteriously disappeared! The rabbits, guinea pigs, all gone. One minute they had names; we were playing with and looking after them, the next they weren’t there. What happened to them, who knows, only Dad! Even as a child I would wonder what his intention was in buying these pets for us. Did he think he was doing a kind thing getting us pets and then continually leaving us bereft? Each time this happened I loathed him more. And I could not forgive him. Like all our possessions, photographs, and the friends we made along the way, our loved animals were gone, left behind in the complicated game of ‘pick-up-sticks’ that Dad invented so that he didn’t have to get a full-time job and be responsible for the financial and emotional lives of the family he had so thoughtlessly created. Each successive loss, whether a friend or a pet, was a dagger in my heart, and learning how to not to show my feelings, each loss was another thing to grieve silently over. Far too early I learned the harsh lesson of not getting too close to anyone or anything. After all the experiences of loss and the grief, I learned to love everything and everyone from a distance. Desperate to feel close, but terrified I would lose those I loved, I built an invisible wall between myself and all who wanted to get close to me, eventually either driving them away, or leaving them before they too disappeared. I often had this dreadful feeling that I would go home and they would all have simply vanished. By staying detached I could then keep validating my deep held beliefs over and over again that ‘everyone and everything I love leaves or gets taken away from me’. The saddest thing of course is, when reflecting on the past, the memories of all the lost friendships and broken relationships, the love withheld because of our fear of getting too close, and the awful grief that surely follows heartbreak. Better to be alone than be grief-stricken. Fortunately after eliminating many negative beliefs, I can now write about this incident; and although I am still be able to connect with it and still remember all the animals, friends and loves I have lost, I now have no grief or guilt attached to them. Just the fond memories of the love and happiness they gave me in the limited time they were in my life. And I have forgiven my Dad! ©Annie Moyes – 2004- 2105 – All Rights Reserved.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Jan 2015 02:41:44 +0000
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