Posted on May 16, 2021
Today is the most difficult, emotionally weird day of the year for me: the anniversary of my Dad’s death. I still find the whole series of events really difficult to talk about so instead I want to talk about getting through a grief anniversary and maybe even making something of it.
I’d never thought of us as a family that couldn’t talk about things but for some reason, it always felt really difficult to talk about Dad. No one person made it that way; I think it was just because the emotions were so big, no one knew how to navigate them, especially around other people. And because Dad didn’t live with us, it was relatively easy to slide straight back into normal routines because while there was this huge emotional hole, there wasn’t a physical one. So it just became easier to avoid the subject than engage with it. And after a while, it somehow became the new normal, something that I kind of hate when I look back at that time. I wish we hadn’t let that happen, even if I don’t know how it would’ve been possible to cope any other way.
For a while, we tried to do things on the 16th May. On the first anniversary, we went up onto the South Downs and played frisbee as a family – nothing intense or overly emotional, just something that we did together. But the tradition didn’t last very long. We were all very aware of the date and what it meant but I think it just hurt all of us too much to actually do anything about it; just surviving it was hard enough.
For a long time I just couldn’t even think about him because it hurt too much but at some point, he started creeping back into my consciousness, in more than a fleeting-painful-thought kind of way, even though it was still painful. But slowly it was more than just painful and I guess I stopped pushing it away as fast as possible. Because even though it hurt and made me sad, there came a point when I needed to think about him. It was important.
Almost everyday, there’s something that makes me think of my Dad, of a memory we made together or a memory we could’ve made had we had the opportunity: a TV show that he would’ve liked; something superhero related; when I FaceTime each of my parents, I wonder what it would have been like to have him to FaceTime too; seeing girls with their dads at concerts; something animal related or space related because he used to give us books on them and we’d look at all the pictures together; something wolf related because they were my favourite animal and he used to draw them for me… And then there’s the constant wondering because I know so little about him. I was only thirteen when he died and I wasn’t thinking about how long I had with him, how I only had a limited time to learn everything I could about him. Why would I have been?
A lot has changed over time and the family dynamics have obviously changed since we’ve moved into different houses, even different cities. Recently, my Mum and I have tentatively started doing something each year on the anniversary of his death, even if it’s something small. For example, on the first anniversary after we moved into the new house, we bought some wisteria plants for the garden, the flowers of which we both get great joy from. We liked the idea of having reminders of him around us, even if it was in indirect ways. Only one plant has survived but it’s growing well and that feels really special.
Last year, I ordered a poster of the Justice League that I found on Etsy. Justice League was a TV show we (my Dad, my brother, and I) watched obsessively together and he’s the one who got me into superheroes, something I’ve avoided for a long time but came back to fairly recently because they make me feel close to him, rather than just making me feel painfully aware of his absence. Superheroes and the surrounding stories and mythologies are now somewhat of a common thread in my life, in my writing, and in my view of the world and that’s something I got from him. That is his legacy to me so the poster felt like an appropriate purchase to make on that day.
We’re creating positive memories – or we’re trying to, at least – to associate with him, even if he isn’t here anymore to be a part of them.
I haven’t decided what to do this year, not yet. Life has been fairly chaotic and my brain has been very full: of last semester’s work, of the upcoming semester’s work, the migraine that swallowed up almost a week of my life… So I’m not sure how I’m going to commemorate the day this year but I’ll figure it out. With all the research into him and his family history, I feel like it should be something to do with that but I haven’t come to a final conclusion yet. I feel like there’s this weird pressure to get it ‘right.’
Ultimately we all deal with grief in our own way. I’ve read a lot about grief, about the five stages of grief, about the seven stages of grief… And in the context of those, I don’t really know where I am. Most of the time, I still feel frozen on that day, like I haven’t dealt with it at all. There was never really any anger or bargaining and yes, there’s been depression but that’s an incredibly complex issue for me and one I’m pretty sure can’t just be attributed to processing grief. Having said all of that, sometimes I do feel like I’m moving forward: I write songs about him, superhero stuff is a big part of my life, me and Mum have been talking to anyone we can to find out more about him before all of those stories get lost in time. I want to know who he was. I want to know where I came from. And, although it’s probably not super healthy to dwell on, I want to know what my life might have been like had I had him for longer. I can’t help thinking about it, at least from time to time.
Grief is so complicated, possibly the most complicated emotional process that we can experience as human beings. It takes on so many different forms, is attached to so many different circumstances, and even when the situation is the same, two people rarely feel it the same way. But that’s a discussion for another day. I just wanted to take a moment to talk a little bit about grief anniversaries and my experience and… I don’t know… talk about all of this in a way that felt… okay. I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m doing here today but I needed to write something and this is what I wrote.
Posted on April 24, 2021
So, on the 4th January, England went into another national lockdown and this list was once again revived. This one felt much more like the first lockdown than the second, where many schools, businesses, etc were still open. When schools and universities started to open, my course remained online (it was one of the courses that could function solely online and meant less people going back to the uni) so lockdown continued for me. My life has only just started to involve going out again – swimming, getting a haircut, (safely) seeing a few people – and that’s why I’ve kept this list going as long as I have…
As I said in the last part of this list, hopefully there won’t be reason to continue this post; hopefully there won’t be any more lockdowns. But I guess only time will tell. I’ve found it strangely comforting to keep this list; it’s kind of like a time capsule for these strange periods of time, if that makes sense.
I hope you’re all keeping safe and well and I’ll see you in the next post.
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Posted on February 9, 2021
It’s been just over a year without our beloved Lucky. I’ve thought about this post for a long time, about whether to post it a year after he was put to sleep but I decided that I’d rather post on his birthday. As of today, he would’ve been seventeen years old. We had to have him put to sleep roughly a week before his sixteenth birthday, a long life for a Labrador, especially one with several long-term health problems. I wish he was still with us but he was ready to go. I’ve heard people say that before and thought I knew what it meant, but I only truly understood it the night we had to make that choice. He was just ready, even if we weren’t.
I still miss him. I still miss him greatly, as I know the rest of my family does. He was one of those dogs that even dog-ambivalent and dog-disliking people fell in love with. He was so sweet and gentle and obliging. And he just loved everybody he met; you couldn’t help but fall in love with him in return. He became a bit of a legend within our circle of family, friends, acquaintances, and further; there are connections in our lives that are entirely a result of Lucky inviting himself, and therefore us, into their lives.
There’s so much I miss about him, so much I think about when I think of him. It hurts but it also makes me smile because he always, always made me smile. He was a dog of simple pleasures. Affection, food, a good walk, and a good snooze was all he needed in life. But he certainly had his quirks (just like the rest of the family). As a puppy, he ate everything he could get a hold of, from bananas to the radio remote; he once turned the gas oven on in an attempt to reach a cake on the sideboard – that could’ve ended disastrously… He loved meeting new people but always seemed somewhat confused about what he was supposed to do when he met other dogs. He spent a lot of time sleeping on his back with his legs in the air. He got upset and left the room when people on TV got emotional, let alone people in real life.
Some days, it still doesn’t feel entirely real. I’ll still look for him when I pass ‘his’ spots and expect to see him there. I’ll still tiptoe when I get up at night to make sure I don’t disturb him. I still expect him to greet me at the front door when I get home. And then it hits me all over again. There’s a hole where he should be and I feel it every day.
But as much as I miss him, I am – in a way – grateful that he hasn’t had to cope with the pandemic. He obviously wouldn’t have understood the pandemic itself but he was so sensitive and he definitely would have sensed our anxiety – certainly my almost constant panic. It would’ve been so distressing for him; I would’ve hated for him to go through that. And given his age and all of his health issues, chances are that we might’ve had to have him put to sleep during one of the lockdowns and the only thing worse than having him put to sleep would’ve been having to do so without being allowed to be there with him. That would’ve been unbearable. So, as awful as it was, I know that it could’ve been worse. That doesn’t make me miss him any less but it does give me a sense of… something… that I don’t think I could’ve had otherwise.
So, here we are, just over a year without our lovely Lucky. It’s hard and it hurts but I wouldn’t have given up that time with Lucky for anything. And to be the ultimate cheeseball, he might’ve been called ‘Lucky,’ but we were definitely the lucky ones.
Hi! I’m Lauren Alex Hooper. Welcome to my little blog! I write about living with Autism Spectrum Disorder, as well as several mental health issues. I’m a singersongwriter (and currently studying for a Masters in songwriting) so I’ll probably write a bit about that too.
My first single, ‘Invisible,’ is now available on iTunes and Spotify, with all proceeds going to Young Minds.
I’m currently releasing my first EP, Honest, track by track and all five songs are now available on all major music platforms. However, there’s still more content to come…