‘Let’s Talk About Loss,’ a bereavement charity for 16 to 30 year olds, are aiming to ‘talk through the taboo.’ They do not identify as a support group, but as a safe space for young people to share their experiences of losing a loved one. Their meet-ups have been active in Nottingham for a while and when the charity posted details of a new group launching in London, I was keen to show up. However, by the time the date arrived, my enthusiasm had been almost stamped out by a crippling anxiety. As the end of the working day neared, the office clock seemed to pick up speed and my fingers twitched with nerves against the keyboard.
The drive home to get ready for the evening was less than peaceful. This time it wasn’t just the Home Counties potholes causing jitters. My brain was over-revving with suggestions of why, despite having a bereavement as a young person, I wouldn’t be wanted at a young person’s bereavement group. Would I be less welcome since the loss happened over a year ago? Maybe I wasn’t grieving enough to be justifiably included? I’m quite private when it comes to sharing my bereavement. Might this be read as unwillingness to take part? Or would everyone else be far more open, leaving me looking frosty? Perhaps there would even be a ‘top trumps’ of bereavement going on - “You play your cousin, I raise you my sibling.” “Sudden or expected?” “Number of teary breakdowns in public?”
However, on this rare occasion, poor time management was on my side. With such a tight turnaround between work and my train, there was minimal time to agonize. After a hasty shower I put on my sparkliest sweater, which I hoped might be mistaken for vivid self-assurance. At worst, it could be a conversation starter. My new plan was to revisit the in-car anxieties on the train and, if they were truly overwhelming, catch the next return from London. I grabbed a rice pot from the cupboard as dinner-on-the-go and drove to the station, playing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ to match my Queen-esque attire.
It was Friday evening and when I arrived in the capital, Piccadilly Circus was roaring. The lights were bright against the hustle and bustle of Londoners hurrying along with their baggage, whether visible or not. My nerves had been restored on the journey by a toddler I befriended at Rickmansworth when her dad told her to give me a high five. The hugs, laughter and aimless chatter were just what I needed. “Where are you off to this evening?” asked Dad as his daughter placed her bobble hat on my head. “Just seeing friends for dinner,” I lied, with a fresh calmness about my true plans.
I found the café without issue and spotted a sign that identified the group of young people at a corner table as the crowd I had come to see. As I pulled up a chair to join, a strange feeling of relief washed over me. I am used to being the only person in a group of my peers to have experienced a close loss. On meeting new people, I often worry about how their perceptions of me would change if they knew I had suffered something that made me a little different from them. Here was a bunch of strangers, and yet we already knew, more or less, about the worst thing that had happened to each other. That feeling as I sat down was a process of the usual worries rising up, only to be instantly silenced by the comfort of a shared understanding around me.
In spite of the nerves and tears that had built up to it, I had a really great evening. The hosts introduced themselves warmly to everyone and then we peeled off into groups to chat amongst ourselves. There was absolutely no pressure to talk about grief or to share personal stories. I spent most of the evening chatting about completely unrelated topics as we all introduced ourselves to each other and discussed about everything from Netflix to the headaches of London Underground.
When the subject of bereavement did come up, it wasn’t met with the usual squirming discomfort that makes me feel achingly apologetic for my grief. By contrast, there was in fact a lot of laughter here as we recounted our most awkward stories of uncomfortable situations. From a distance, I doubt we looked like a bereavement group at all! In particular, it was nice to chat to people who were further along in their grief than I was and to hear how they felt it had changed them in the long-term. Interestingly, quite a number of people now worked in the charities sector. I wondered if this was just a coincidence or a hint towards a similar post-bereavement outlook on life.
I’m glad I went to the event and the next meet-up is already scribbled in my diary. Grief affects people in such a wide variety of ways and it was interesting to hear how other’s experiences both compared and differed to mine. I boarded the train home that night high on relief and drove home with ‘We Are The Champions’ playing on full blast.
