Sometimes it’s not just the loss of someone we love that stays with us. It’s the experience of losing them.
We all know that one day we’re going to die. We know that the people we love won’t be here forever. But knowing that somebody is going to die and actually experiencing their death are two very different things.
I’ve experienced death in many ways throughout my life. I’ve lost children. I’ve watched my ex husband fade away and then had the heartbreak of telling our children. I’ve watched Dad take his last breath. I’ve held my loyal companions whilst they have passed over and I’ve spent years caring for Mum before losing her too. And something I have come to realise, particularly through my own experience and studying grief and trauma, is that there can be two very different things to process. The grief of losing somebody and the trauma surrounding their death.
We talk about grief. We talk about missing somebody, the loneliness, the sadness, the birthdays that will never be celebrated together again and the empty space they leave behind.
But what about the things we witness? The final breaths? The hospital rooms? The moment somebody’s body is taken away? The memories that stay long after the funeral is over? What happens when those memories don’t simply make us sad, but leave us feeling frightened, overwhelmed or unable to settle? This is something I want to talk about because I’ve experienced it. And for a long time, I didn’t fully understand the difference.
What Is Death Trauma?
During my studies, I’ve been exploring what is often called traumatic bereavement, or what I have come to refer to as ‘Death Trauma’. In simple terms, it’s when grief becomes intertwined with traumatic reactions connected to somebody’s death.
Grief is our natural response to losing someone. Trauma can be our psychological and physical response to an experience that was deeply distressing, frightening or overwhelming. When the two over lap, a person may be trying to process both the absence of someone they love and the disturbing circumstances surrounding their death. This can happen when a death is sudden, violent or unexpected. It can also happen when somebody discovers a loved one who has died. When you witness an accident. When you watch someone suffer. When you experience frightening medical emergencies or intensive care situations. When you never get to say goodbye or are left with unanswered questions.
We all respond differently and something I have learned is that death doesn’t have to be sudden or unexpected to be experienced as traumatic. You can know someone is dying, prepare yourself as much as possible, and still be deeply affected by witnessing their final moments, and not everyone who experiences these circumstances will develop trauma symptoms.
The Memories That Don’t Seem To Fade.
I’ve experienced what it feels like to have moments surrounding death replay in my mind. Not always the beautiful memories. Sometimes I wish I could stop revisiting. I remember watching my Dad die. I remember that morning I found Mum. I remember hearing the life support switch being turned off for Cohen.
Sometimes, when we talk about losing somebody, people naturally want to hear about the person. What they were like? What do you miss the most? What memories do you treasure? And those conversations are important. But what if, alongside those treasured memories, there were images and experiences that you struggle to get out of your head? What if you’re trying to remember somebody’s life, but your mind keeps returning to their death? That is a different kind of pain to navigate.
When the memory lives in your body.
There is one particular image of Mum that has never really left me. The day her body was taken from her home. Mum’s illness had left her body fixed in a foetal position. By the time she died, she had become incredibly frail. But nothing quite prepared me for how tiny she looked that day. Lying on the stretcher, inside a body bag, she looked almost like a child. My Mum, the woman who had raised me, protected me, loved me and spent so much of her life looking after everybody else. She looked so small, and that image has stayed with me.
Even now, remembering it causes a physical reaction. My chest tightens, my breathing becomes shallow and my throat goes dry. I have to constantly use breathing exercises to help the feeling pass. And this is something I’ve begun to understand differently through my studies of grief and trauma, because I’m not simply thinking about how much I miss Mum. My body is responding to a memory of something I experienced. The event is over, Mum is no longer suffering, I know I am not standing in that moment anymore. But remembering it can still bring those sensations rushing back.
I believe this is the part of bereavement we don’t talk about enough. We talk about the broken hearts, but what about the racing heart? The tight chest? The sleepless nights? The feelings of being on edge all the time? What about the memories that just don’t make us cry but make our bodies react?
Sometimes we’re not only grieving the person we’ve lost. We’re also trying to process what we experienced while losing them. And understanding that distinction has been an important part of my own journey.
One of the reasons I wanted to write this blog is because I recognise so many of the reactions associated with traumatic bereavement. Not just through studying them. But because I’ve lived them. Flashbacks and intrusive memories. There have been times when moments from the past have returned without me wanting them to. Sometimes a memory that keeps playing over and over. Other times, it feels far more immediate, almost as though you’re experiencing part of the event again.
Going back over situations, conversations and events. Wondering whether something could have been different. Questioning decisions, even when you know you did everything you could with the circumstances you were facing. The mind can keep searching for answers to questions that may never have them. This is all part of a chain reaction. Panic attacks and anxiety, difficulty sleeping, feeling constantly on edge, emotional numbness, difficulty trusting. These reactions can occur for different reasons and don’t automatically mean someone has PTSD. But they deserve to be recognised rather than dismissed.
Grieving the person, struggling with the experience.
I think one of the most important distinctions in this. Grief may leave you longing for the person who has died. Trauma may leave you struggling with what happened around their death. And sometimes you experience both at once. You can miss somebody desperately while also finding it difficult to think about their final days. You can be grateful that you were there when they died while still feeling deeply affected by what you witnessed. You can know that somebody is no longer suffering while still carrying painful memories of their suffering. And you can feel love, relief, sadness, anger, guilt, and fear, sometimes all in the same day. These feelings don’t cancel each other out. For me, this has been especially important to understand. Because I loved my parents deeply. I am incredibly proud of the care I gave them. And I wouldn’t change the love that led me to be there for them. But that doesn’t mean that every experience surrounding their deaths was easy to live through. Being grateful that you were there doesn’t mean you cannot also be affected by what you witnessed. I think more people need to hear that.
Finding my own way through healing.
Over recent months, I’ve been exploring a more holistic approach to my own wellbeing. I’m particularly interested in the connection between mind and body, and how our daily habits, environment and emotional health can influence the way we feel. For me journaling has become an important part of understanding myself. It gives me somewhere to put thoughts that would otherwise keep circling in my mind. Sometimes I write about grief. Sometimes I write about the future and sometimes I write about events that have happened that day. Sometimes I discover thoughts and feelings I hadn’t even realised I was carrying until I see them written on paper. It really brings out what’s in your head and helps you process a situation better.
Exercise and walking have also become more important than they were to me. Moving my body. Breathing fresh air. Allowing myself time away from the constant noise of everyday life. I’ve also been practising yoga, meditation and breathing exercises. And I want to be clear about something. These practices haven’t magically erased my grief or every difficult memory, but they have given me ways to look after myself, reconnect with the present and sometimes settle the physical feelings that come with distressing memories. I am learning that healing doesn’t always mean doing more, sometimes it’s about recognising what you do need. Giving yourself permission to rest. Allowing those feelings to rise and fall. And understanding that you don’t have to navigate every difficult experience alone.
We can’t bring back the people we have lost. But with understanding and the right support, we can work towards a future where the painful memories become easier to carry, and where the lives of those we love are remembered for so much more than their final moments.
Until next time x
( If you are experiencing persistent distressing memories, flashbacks, panic attacks, or difficulties coping after a bereavement, you may benefit from speaking with a qualified trauma-informed professional. Bereavement support is also available through Cruse Bereavement Support in the UK. There are effective forms of psychological support that do not involve medication.)
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