Hey, my name is Erin! I’m 20
years old and currently studying to be a primary teacher at university. One
more year and I will be unleashed on a class of 30 or so little children! I’m
not quite sure whom I fear for the most – myself or the children!
Anyway, I know
there are sooo many blogs out there already, and writing my own will just be
adding another to the mix. But, for a long time I haven’t wanted to share my
story. I haven’t wanted to share my experiences and feelings because I hadn’t
properly dealt with them. I guess I needed to come to terms with what I had
been through to get to the point where I am now. The point where I do feel
comfortable sharing. Where I actually want to share my experiences in the hope
that it helps someone!
So, here goes! (Just hang on in there - this first post is a little long!) At the age of 15, I lost my dad to cancer. It was a fairly quick process,
around 5 months from the time he was diagnosed with a tumour to the time he
died, but it felt as if it had been going on forever. My family and I would
pray that our dad would die sooner rather than later so that he would no longer
be in pain. It wasn’t easy seeing a man who was strong and manly turn into a
skeletal figure who couldn’t even do the simple things, like open his eyes or
say ‘hello’. However, at least for me, part of every one of those prayers was specifically
for me. I wanted my dad to die sooner because of the pain that I was feeling.
For
a long time I believed that I was selfish for wanting this. But isn’t hindsight
a great thing?! Looking back now, 5 years on, I can see that it wasn’t as
selfish as I once thought. I was 15. I was in the midst of exams and was
beginning my GCSE’s. I had few friends that actually bothered to ask how I was
doing. Even some family members were in that same boat – forgetting what we
were having to deal with. I was spending the summer going in and out of
hospitals and hospices. Talking with nurses and doctors. Negotiating times for
my dad to return home, where he would inevitably have to return to the hospital
or eventually the hospice, almost every time being taken there by an ambulance.
Hardly how all my friends were spending their summer holidays.
I had a lot
going on in that one summer and it didn’t finish when school started up again.
I began year 11 whilst this was all still happening. Trying to make it through
each day was a battle. I remember sitting in all my classes thinking about how at
any moment, a teacher will come and get me to tell me that he had died, or, was
being given the ‘last few hours’ checkbox. It was excruciating. Again, this pain
was mine. I wanted it to end. Going home everyday only to have the process
repeated over and over, day after day was torture.
Ultimately, my
dad did die. And that was a whole different type of torture. The realisation of
what had happened felt like a tonne of bricks being dropped on top of me, many
more times than just once. But, as I did, and still do, I threw myself into my
work. I spent my lunchtimes and break times in the library working on my
homework. I guess I isolated myself so that I could grieve, but I don’t think I
began grieving properly until fairly recently. This work ethic was learnt from
my father. At his funeral, all his colleagues commented on his solid work ethic
and dedication. Adopting such an approach myself improved my grades but it also
cost me time with friends and a social life – not that I was much one for going
out and drinking.
I isolated
myself to deal with it all. I felt guilty that I was still alive and could keep
going. I knew that the rest of my family were continuing with their lives too,
as were all the other relatives of my dad’s, but I still felt tremendous guilt
that I had the opportunity to take exams and make something of my life. There
was also a lot of guilt when it came to my mum. My dad wasn’t the noblest of
men that ever lived. He made mistakes at the expense of his family – and this
was something I severely struggled with when he was alive, and have struggled
with since his death. Due to this, I have felt a lot of guilt for wanting to
move past the whole situation when my mum, and others, were and are still
struggling.
Grieving is a
funny thing. You think you know how to do it and NOPE!!! I couldn’t pinpoint
how it is someone should grieve. Nor would I want to. All that I have learnt
from my own experience is to let go of the guilt that comes along with trauma
and pain. Otherwise, you let the guilt stop you from living. I let this happen
– and let it continue for too long. Five years on and I am realising that for
me to live, I have to rid myself of the guilt and actually move on. There are
painful memories that will stay with me. There are times that I know I will have
those memories return. There will be special occasions when I wish my dad were
still alive. There are so many things he has already missed and there are so
many that have yet to happen that he will miss. But that cannot stop me from
living, I cannot be afraid of the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘what could’ve beens’!
The purpose of
There is Life Out There . . . is to encourage, inspire and help one another to
overcome this guilt, to realise and acknowledge the concept that there is life out there even after a
traumatic event or experience – you just have to go out and find it! You have
to continue living because you ARE alive!
Erin x
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