I lost my middle sister, Carrie, who died by suicide on February 20, 2017, and my son had his 2nd episode of seizures on the day of my sister’s celebration of life.
I lost my parents and brother, my entire immediate family, within a space of 5 years. All whilst becoming a new mum, moving countries, and dealing with physical challenges.
I always knew I was facing a life of challenges right from age 11 when I endured major spinal surgery. My life, even then, had taken a different turn from all my friends. I learned adversity and how to push through pain, how to throw off mean comments and dismiss the way I was being labelled different because I was physically challenged and not able to participate in activities like a typical teenager.
Since I was very young, I was besotted with babies and gravitated towards little ones to play with wherever I went. I knew one day I wanted to be a Mum.
I met my husband in London in 2009, and soon after we were married in 2011, we knew we wanted a family, which didn’t come easy, but eventually, we were blessed with a pregnancy in August 2014. Just a couple of weeks later, I was on a plane solo back to New Zealand, where my parents lived, where I was born and raised, to face the unimaginable heartbreak of saying goodbye to my mum. She passed away 36 hours later from complications after contracting pneumonia. She had fought much of her adult life with rheumatoid arthritis, a life of prescription drugs and limitations, but in the end, she couldn’t fight anymore. I was 6 weeks pregnant, facing life as a mother without my mum.
I didn’t know grief like this, the heartache, the pain, which, for the most part, while I was pregnant, I shut away the grief, and after my daughter was born, it hit me like a ten-tonne truck. I´ve never experienced pain like it. I was diagnosed with depression, put on medication, and thrown into motherhood under very different circumstances than I had imagined it would be.
Fast forward to February 2017, when we found out we were pregnant with our second. In between this, I cared for my ailing father back in New Zealand. In 2016, I had been home to move him into a care facility and to be nearer to my brother. Alistair was my only sibling, and he, too, was enduring many health challenges and had gone through major heart surgery that year.
In November 2017, our son was born; he arrived two weeks early via emergency c-section. We had something to celebrate again and be happy. After losing Mum, I had managed to embrace being a Mum, looking after Dad, and, for the most part, keep moving, with waves of sadness and grief thrown in. But five weeks after our son was born, my resilience was about to be tested again. On 7th December, I received a phone call late at night to tell me my brother had died of a massive heart attack. They found him alone in his hotel room, where he was staying while travelling for work. I had to call my father to tell him his son had died.
That familiar feeling of despair, overwhelming sadness, and pain returned. The worst part was that I couldn´t jump on a plane this time to be with my father or say my goodbyes to my brother.
Now, not only was I a mum without my mum, but I had also lost my only sibling. And just as I had managed to get to a point, having come off antidepressants before I became pregnant with my son, I was thrown back into a world of grief again and again with a new baby.
At this point, life wasn´t just throwing me challenges, and I felt like it was throwing me a great big finger, saying, “You were put on this planet to be resilient, no matter what life throws at you.”
Life was difficult, but once again, I had to face milestones without my mum and brother, and in the back of my mind, waiting for the next shoe to drop, constantly wondering why this was happening to me.
I had lived in the UK for 12 years by this point; we’d bought the house and had the family, but after so much tragedy, you start looking, perhaps even running towards something where you might begin again, escape, or find a new perspective.
So, when the opportunity arose with my husband´s work to move to Spain, we took a leap of faith, put our entire life into a truck, and moved to Madrid with no spoken Spanish. With two little ones, it seemed like the perfect time, a fresh start, maybe even one giant distraction, but it was an opportunity to feel alive again and try something new.
Resilience wasn´t new to me. I had moved countries before, not with two little ones, but I knew what needed to be done. I could accept the challenge of learning a new language and culture, but in the back of my mind, I still had my only immediate family member, my dad, in New Zealand on his own, with potentially less than two years to live.
In April 2019, I flew back to NZ, and my worst fears were coming true: I needed to move Dad into palliative care. By this time, he had lost his eyesight and ability to walk. He had severe neuropathy and was having regular blood transfusions because of a severe form of anemia. The one saving grace, his cognitive ability, was more than okay, which was the one thing my dad and I connected on: great conversations about world events, family history, and stories from his past. He always had advice on situations I was struggling with, and he was my go-to sounding board and a great dad.
I had taken the children with me, knowing that this would potentially be the only time he would meet his grandchildren and the last time I would see my father alive.
On December 24, 2019, I received one of those calls again. Dad’s carer was with him in the lead-up to that week and had been by his side the whole time. She had read him a letter from me; I´d been able to write to tell him everything I wanted to. I wasn’t able to get on a plane because, just 2 weeks prior, I had major foot surgery.
In the space of 5 years, I lost my entire immediate family. I wasn’t alone because I had my kids and husband, yet I was. I was faced with navigating a journey that looked very different from how I envisioned it.
Through all the turmoil, I´ve somehow turned my pain into purpose. After much therapy, a lot of sadness, and downtime, feeling sorry for myself and feeling lost or stuck in my grief. I read mountains of books, listened to many podcasts, and searched the web endlessly for answers and potential ways to help others through their grief.
In 2023, GriefSpan was born. I became a Certified Grief Educator under David Kessler, and it has given me purpose and completely changed my life.
Now, I walk alongside individuals from all over the world in their grief journey. Being proactive in therapy, journaling, exercising, reading books, seeking inspiration from others in their grief, eventually becoming certified as a Grief Educator, and helping others has helped me practice resilience.
Talking it through is the only way to get through your grief. Sharing your story by honouring your loved one and keeping their memory alive through you.
Are you ready to share your story of RESILIENCE? You can do that HERE.