Dealing with the loss of a loved one is something we all have to deal with over the years. Coming to terms with the situation is rarely easy but acceptance of the fact is one of the most important factors. This is probably a little easier if the loved one had reached a decent age, rather than a life lost too early. You may feel a need to blame someone, be that a disease, a drunk driver, even a killer, but a burning hatred of who or what you feel was responsible will only do you harm in the long run – and still does nothing to change the situation. This is where acceptance is so important.

On a personal level, my first loss was when I was seventeen, and sweet on a girl who was a year younger than me. When she was born a problem with her lungs meant that doctors had only given her a few weeks to live, but she had got on with life and enjoyed her time for those sixteen years. When she fell ill towards the end she was in hospital for her last seven weeks. I was extremely upset and finding it hard to deal with so, and this is not something I would recommend to anyone, I took to marking the back of my hand for every week she was in hospital. Those seven scars lived with me more many years as a comforting reminder of her. Another thing that hurt me at the time was how it was that some people at her funeral were laughing and joking with each other at an event which I found really upsetting. What did help me through was the thought that she had beaten the odds to spend as much time as she did on this Earth, and that, in some small way, maybe I helped her towards the end.

Many decades later my father was getting very ill and eventually confined to his bed, crippled with arthritis, among other things. For some time my attitude was to tell him that he was going to come through this and get back to good health once more. Then in a moment of enlightenment I realised that this was not going to happen, and that he was not going to recover. He wanted to be at home in his own bed when the time came and, with help from wonderful carers, this is what happened. This final period in his life gave me a chance to talk to him in a way I had never done before. We had always been close but I had never told him I loved him, how much I appreciated what he had done for me over the years, what a great dad he had been, how I would look after mum, and so on. Those were very emotional moments but became very precious to me after he had passed away. I had spoken to him on the phone the evening before I had the call from my mother to say he had gone. I was living a hundred miles away at the time and the journey that morning was traumatic, to say the least.

We had discussed the funeral arrangements beforehand, and one of the things he wanted was for people not to wear black, and not to be upset at the service. One of the things he had been well known for in the family was his love of magic, and he owned a fez hat, like magician Tommy Cooper. I told the funeral directors that I wanted that fez to be on the head of his coffin at the service. I delivered the eulogy, outlining his life and actually making the congregation laugh at some of the events I described, but stopped at one point, walked over to his coffin, removed the fez and put it on my head as a gesture to let him know that I was continuing his role. I was more than a little surprised to receive a round of applause at the end of the eulogy! I know that dad was looking down and appreciating everything.

Having taken the opportunity I had been given to be able to let him know my feelings was a valuable crutch to let me move on after losing him. I did the same some years later when my mother was in a nursing home, nearing the end. She had carried on with life at home on her own for far longer than I ever thought she would, and I was very proud of her for that, then gradually she needed more and more help until a nursing home was the only answer. She was happy there, and very well looked after by the wonderful staff, and we often talked about past times. As dementia set in this became more and more repetitive, but I still used to joke about it with her so she didn’t feel too bad about it. Again, I told her I loved her, and how much I appreciated all her efforts in bringing me up. She was ninety nine and eight months when she passed and, much as I wanted her to reach one hundred, the time came when I told her she didn’t need to keep hanging on if she felt she was ready to go to sleep. That everything was going to be alright and she could let go without any need to worry. At that time she could hardly move in her bed, unable to take food or drink. She tried to smile at me as I held her hand, kissed her and wiped a tear from her eyes, when I left her for the last time to go home, a few miles away. I had the call from the home at six o’clock in the morning to say she had just slipped peacefully away. When I saw her shortly afterwards her face looked so much more relaxed and I knew she was back with dad again.

In conclusion, my suggestion is to tell people how much you love and appreciate them while you have the chance to do that. Once they are no longer here that opportunity has gone for ever. If you know that your loved one has gone on knowing how you feel, this will help to make you feel better in yourself. Also, while standing up at a funeral service and delivering a eulogy is not everybody’s cup of tea, you may find that committing words to paper as though you were going to speak will be another aid to coming to terms with your feelings. Finally, don’t be afraid to talk about your lost loved ones and what they meant to you, keep them in your mind too and these memories will extend their spiritual existence.