Alison's Column: Shock and grief

By CRY Founder Alison Cox MBE

There can be no more pulverising shock than the sudden death of an apparently healthy child. Or the catastrophic grief that overwhelms those affected.

Shock

The experience of coping with devastating shock can not only affect a person’s mind but also have an aggressive impact on the body.

Jeff Markham

Jeff Markham

I have never met a more composed person than Jeff Markham but when his son James died he not only had to cope with the ramifications of the tragedy but also the aggressive physical effect on his body which left him fighting throat ulcers for most of the following year.

James Markham

He explains:

James died in November 2001, when he was 21 years old. He had left the house at about 11:00 pm to drop his car off at our garage. It was due to be serviced the following day and we suggested he dropped it off in the evening so he did not need to worry about it in the morning. The garage was about 400 yards from our home.

At around 11:45 pm I was getting ready to go to bed, and looked around the house to say goodnight to him, but he had not returned. I wondered if he had had an issue with the car, and decided to walk around to the garage. I left the house and when I got out of the drive onto the pavement, I could see something large laying half on the pavement and half in the road, about thirty yards down from the house. As I moved along the pavement I then realized it was James. Something was clearly wrong by the position he was laying in. Later by finding his keys on the pavement, and from the abrasions on his arms, and with the help of the police we thought he had been running home after dropping off the car, but had collapsed and slid along the pavement.

When I reached him I panicked and shouted for help. Within minutes we had a lot of people coming out of their houses. A couple of them helped me get him onto the pavement and we started to give him mouth to mouth. In hindsight I am sure he was already dead when I found him. He was unnaturally cold, and was losing colour. Within a few minutes the noise had disturbed my wife Sandra and somehow she joined us on the pavement. I say somehow because she was recovering from a climbing accident we had had about two months earlier and has suffered a compound fracture of her left leg. It was in plaster, and I still do not know how she got to the scene.

By now we had an ambulance crew working on James, and around 10 minutes later he was in the ambulance on his way to hospital. We followed in another ambulance, and the drive took about 15 minutes. Although none of the emergency crew said anything to us, because he had been unresponsive to any treatment at the road side, I think we were already thinking he had died. I don’t remember us saying anything to each other on the drive to the hospital, but I do remember us both being in tears.

When we arrived at the hospital James was already there. We sat in a corridor with a police officer for about 20 minutes and were then called into a side room and told James had died. Nobody expressed a reason why, and it might sound ridiculous but I don’t remember us asking what had happened. We were then told we should go and see him which we did. For us a terrible mistake as our lasting image of his was him laying ashen, cold and clearly dead. We were told this would help us come to terms with his death, but for us, it could have been nothing further from the truth. We had already realized he had died, and this agony could have been spared.

I have always wished I could remember the nurse who insisted we go to see him, to explain to her it was a terrible mistake. By all means give the option the see your late loved one, but not immediately after the death when in the state of shock, you are not in a position to make a rational judgement. I also think if going to see a late loved one, an undertakers would be a better environment, rather than a hospital slab with him covered in a white sheet. After being questioned by the police with some unpleasant but necessary questions – Did he take drugs? Did he have any enemies? – we were driven home, and then left on our own. I remember feeling in a complete daze. Had this really happened?

Remembering an exact timeline is difficult, but I started to develop a sore throat within days. Initially I thought this was a result of all my shouting for help at the roadside, but after several days it was clearly something else and I went to see our GP. He said I had developed throat ulcers as a result of stress, and from memory I had these for a long time. They must have been considered quite bad because I remember seeing a specialist, and when I eventually went back to work, six months after James died, my college insisted I see an independent private specialist that they funded.

We still think of James every day, but try to keep to memories of better times. I have recounted the events of the night he died so many times it is no longer so painful, as it was in the early days, and I can think of it all a little more objectively. As examples: I remember being really angry with the police, asking questions about “did he take drugs”, but I now realize they were just doing their job. Likewise, I think the nurse who insisted we go and see James after he had died, was only doing what she thought would help.

I have now realized that holding negative thoughts can be bad for you, and for me trying to look at things in a positive or forgiving way has helped me rebuild my life. As I have said many times I live with the thought “what would James want for me.” It really helps as I know he would want me to be functional, happy and getting on with my life. I think he would be happy with what he sees, and that is a great motivator.

Grief

Sue Ainsworth

Sue Ainsworth

The horrific Tsunami of grief that engulfed Sue after the death of her son, Jonathan, frightened all those close to her. The suffering it provoked affected everyone who cared for her but felt helpless in how to relieve her pain.

Jonathan Morgan

Sue writes:

The day that it happened and the following months have been a complete blur with only ‘snapshots’ of memories being recalled. I remember feeling completely numb and detached from the situation and the world around me. It was like a dream... But your worst nightmare. One of my very close friends was my constant companion during this time and I just remember saying to her “where do I pick up the pieces?” Of course she couldn’t give me an answer, but the range of emotion and fear I experienced terrified me. I had no idea how to navigate my way through this horrendous agony.

Jonathan died in April 2010 aged 21 years. He had returned home from university for the Easter break and was due to return the evening of the day he died. Jonathan had been out with his friends on the Saturday night and I heard him come in and go to bed. I always breathed a sigh of relief when I knew he was safe... little did I know. I say “little did I know” but since Jonathan was born I continually felt uneasy and deep down I knew that I would lose him at some point.

On the 11th April, I was due to take my two nephews shopping for a treat as they had come to stay (with their parents) for Easter with my Mum and Dad. I got ready and at 11am went to walk into Jonathan’s room to let him know I was leaving. As I put my hand on the door handle, I instantly knew what I was going to find. I walked over to the bed and said Jonathan’s name, but no response. I knew immediately he was dead. For a split second I felt a wave of relief... not at his death, but that the constant feeling of worry and unease was over that had lived with me for 21 years. Then panic set in. I was alone in the house as my husband worked abroad at that time.

I flew downstairs and dialled 999, then everything went into slow motion. The responder on the end of the line began to tell me how to commence resuscitation, but I knew it was too late. I could tell from his colour. I rolled Jonathan onto his back and was about to start CPR but then the ambulance arrived and took over. I remember very little, but became hysterical and screamed at the paramedics to save him. I recall one of them asking me if there was anyone I could call to come and support me. I called my parents and my close friends. By this time, I was totally calm. It was so weird. I felt completely detached from the whole situation and numb. I remember ringing my parents and saying that I had found Jonathan collapsed and “it didn’t look good”. I was so calm and collected and kept wondering why I wasn’t falling apart.

The day is fragmented and recalled by snapshots. Friends and family arrived and were crying and upset. I was comforting them and saying, “it’ll be ok”. I now know that I had probably been too overwhelmed to comprehend what was happening so had basically shut down – a defence mechanism, and my body and mind going into some sort of survival mode. Eventually the paramedic came downstairs and said there was nothing more they could do. I just sat there and nodded, completely numb. The police then arrived and took statements, then scene of crime officers in white suits. It was like something from a detective series. They took Jonathan’s phone and searched his room. I didn’t mind this as I just wanted to know what had happened! Needless to say, nothing was found.

The undertaker came to remove his body and this was what I found really difficult and still struggle with today. I couldn’t say goodbye. I let them take him while I stood in the kitchen, blocking out the sound of them taking him away. It was too painful. I said my goodbyes to him at the funeral parlour where I remember asking them to change his hair style as he would have hated the way they had done it!

Following this I could never go back to the house again. I moved in with my parents. I returned for necessities, but found it too horrific to stay. I suffered flashbacks of the day and would be physically sick when I opened the door and smelled the usual smell of an air freshener that I had plugged in in the hallway. It just brought everything back. I remember braving going into his bedroom and just screaming with anguish and pain at the thought of never seeing him again.

A few days later my boss from work had called and left some information about CRY as she had been affected. I really wish she had spoken to me and been honest about the implications as I was not in the right frame of mind to comprehend that Jonathan should have had the necessary cardiac investigations to try and ascertain his death. This later led to many failings by our coronial system, which is another story. Once I had found CRY and was supported by them, I realised that Jonathan’s death had massive ramifications for my daughter and myself. I had lost one child. I couldn’t lose another! I remember calling Alison twice just to clarify what I was hearing, that there could be some hereditary cause for Jonathan’s death. This was overwhelming as not only was I struggling with losing my son, but now there was a risk my other child could be affected. Thankfully she was screened and nothing was detected.

Jonathan died at home and I could never return to the house so we moved in with my parents. A year later I sold it. It was a house of horrors as far as I was concerned. Luckily I had a very understanding and supportive family and husband who allowed me to grieve in my own way... albeit bizarrely at times. I would try and fill my days with socialising and keep as busy as possible. I would go out and feel a need to return home, and when home would want to go out. Looking back I realised I was struggling to find a place where I could find peace. I kept constantly busy. My way of coping was to try and avoid my thoughts of what had happened. I started fundraising for CRY, working extra shifts at work, moved house... anything to face the horrendous pain I felt. After a year and on the first anniversary, I just suddenly ground to a halt. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I accessed counselling again and had time off work. My friends were aware what was happening, but I continued to keep constantly busy regardless. Again, I had a fantastic support network to help pick me back up again.

Losing Jonathan has certainly made me re-evaluate my life; who and what was important. Close friends and family were, and still are, important to me. I find that since events in 2010, I am much more selective with my support network. I don’t have space in my life for shallow or onesided relationships anymore. CRY was definitely a life-line too. It made me aware that I was not alone. Speaking with another mum gave me hope that I could survive and normalise my feelings. I also accessed counselling very early in the process with a therapist from my work place. This was invaluable and without a doubt, saved my life. It was a safe place to explore my feelings without judgement and reassurance that I wasn’t going mad!

Having the counselling (on several occasions), along with the support from CRY, resulted in a change of career for me. I trained as a Bereavement Supporter with CRY and found it so enjoyable (despite the nature of the content) as well as insightful. I realised that this was a path I wanted to continue on a permanent basis. I qualified in 2015 and left my career as a midwife to concentrate on this new role. Not only has this been so rewarding, but also helped me with my own grief. It hasn’t been easy as it has involved awareness of feelings that I have tried to conceal or bury, but it was totally worthwhile.

It has been a long, slow and extremely painful process. If someone had told me how I would cope after losing Jonathan and how my life would change I would never have believed it. Now, although I still miss him terribly and have my ‘bad days’, my life is actually richer. I appreciate life more and take pleasure from the simple things, such as being outdoors, going for long walks and spending time with people I value and care about. I feel Jonathan would be proud of what I have achieved, but I do know I could not have achieved it without the support from CRY, family and friends.

..........

Alison continues:

The physical response of the shock can take a long time to dissipate and can manifest in other ways. Jeff experienced flashbacks and a recurring dream for some time which he found very disturbing and left him questioning whether he would ever be OK again. He and his wife Sandra agreed that ultimately grief is a very personal experience but being able to talk openly and bounce ideas off each other has been a cornerstone in rebuilding their lives.

The shock for Sue left her feeling numb and detached from the world around her. The range of fear and emotion she felt terrified her. But her husband and family allowed her the space to grieve in her own way and training to be a counsellor helped her come to terms with her grief.

The combination of shock and grief can have catastrophic consequences. It would be advisable to discuss the support available with your GP. Many people have also found it helpful to speak with others who have been through a similar experience and understand the immense shock and grief. CRY can help to facilitate this through our private Facebook groups and telephone bereavement support.

For more information on the bereavement support CRY offers, please go to c-r-y.org.uk