A year since my sister’s suicide, here’s what I’ve learnt about grief – and life

The opportunities of life are more visible than they ever have been, and I take my sister with me through all of them

It’s one year to the day since my sister passed away by suicide, aged 32, after a long and complex battle with a severe mental health disorder. A year on from this sudden, shattering event, I consider it a good time to reflect on the turbulence – and triumph – involved in adjusting to life after unexpected loss.

The journey after a loved one passes away in tragic and dramatic circumstances is characterised by contrasts. After the initial shock, attention turns quickly to planning the funeral and doing that person you knew and loved as much justice as you can.

This phase is counterintuitively the easiest to process. Everything revolves congruently around the drama of your recent bereavement and it’s an opportunity to come together and reflect on the beauty of the person who will now be painfully missed. It is an opportunity to act, to pour complex, orbiting emotions into something meaningful. Reservoirs of strength you weren’t previously aware of begin to emerge as the trivial problems of daily life ebb away, along with all their distractible insignificance.

Many people get in touch during this time, imploring you to tell them if you need anything, to varying degrees of genuine intention. Some will unoriginally tell you they couldn’t imagine it: the least helpful, most alienating remark of all.

The best responses came from those who asked – even when clunky and awkward – how I was doing, and about my family. They left the door open to a deeper level, and otherwise interacted with me as normal as I moved through the early days and weeks of my process. I played football with my friends an hour after my sister’s funeral – something I absolutely needed.

More than 100 people attended my sister’s funeral. We held a tribute that outlined the true meaning and beauty of that person in a way that can only be done after they’ve gone. Then everybody went home.

In the following weeks, a new phase began. I stayed active and used my new perspective to my advantage. Friendships I relied on during this period crystallised indelibly. More superficial relationships became comparatively easy to identify and prune. I became totally, brutally honest with myself about who I was, what I wanted out of life and the significance of my time. All the ways I could distract or misguide myself from my true values, potential, ambitions and desires in life melted away. All ultimately meaningless habits were stripped of their disruptive allure.

This empowering perspective stays embedded even as it dissolves back into the encompassing organisation of daily life. As time moves on, you remain emboldened, realising the real value of the world around you. Yet sensitivity remains, the remnants of the loss and trauma seeping through unpredictably on indiscriminate days. Life has moved on and so must you. This can be hard to accept on some days.

The hardest phase comes around three months after the funeral. Life goes on as normal now, yet it has changed forever. The better you know the person who has died, the more of them you carry with you in day-to-day life. Things they would have said, found funny or irritating, all the nuances you alone knew.

I knew my sister very well. Kind, gentle, intelligent and insightful, creative and complex, her battle with mental illness was painful and protracted – yet she was not defined by her struggle, nor have its consequences defined our relationship. She was the most formative person of my childhood, a true guardian and cultural guiding light. This has not changed. My sister is with me in every kindred characteristic, in every struggle and success of my own since she passed away.

And yet, even within one year, I often go days without thinking about my sister at all. Sudden memory of the gravity of my loss can be momentarily jarring, but never overwhelming. My sister had a complicated but inherently meaningful experience of life, and I was fortunate enough to learn what I could from her while she was here. Understanding this is a powerful motivator that has led me to the most fulfilling year of my life.

Some might struggle with this notion, feeling guilt for their ability to be happy even after someone close has taken their life. But it’s important to accept early on that it’s a fact of life that some stay on longer while others have gone. Life can be hard enough as it is without making yourself feel worse about what cannot be changed, and preventing yourself from moving forward.

Allowing yourself to take what you can – even from the most abject experiences life can throw at you – is crucial to moving forward as a stronger individual and avoiding the indulgence of despair. Taking a quote from Noam Chomsky’s book Optimism Over Despair: “We have two choices. We can be pessimistic, give up and help ensure that the worst will happen. Or we can be optimistic, grasp the opportunities that surely exist and maybe help make the world a better place.”

I chose the latter. I have moved on and integrated my sister’s death into my life without becoming overcome by sadness or resentment. The opportunities of life are more visible than they ever have been, and I take my sister with me through all of them. She is a fundamental part of my growth and gratitude. The things I do and the people I meet are more beautiful than ever before and I spend my spare time seeing the world with people I love. I am far less complacent.

Bringing the experience together, I would offer the same piece of advice both to those who have gone through suicide bereavement and to those who know someone who has: don’t underestimate the strength gained through grief.

Your capacity to grow after such an intense experience is immense. It is the central force that will counteract the difficulties faced under traumatic circumstances. Confront every emotion that comes your way, give it time, allow it the response it deserves. Do not deny or suppress. I choose not to shy away from the reality of my sister’s death, nor treat it as a shameful secret I or my family must hide. This happens too often surrounding suicide. Avoiding this is the only way stigma can genuinely be reduced.

To keep up to speed with all the latest opinions and comment, sign up to our free weekly Voices Dispatches newsletter by clicking here

It goes both ways, too. It’s too often a result of the prospective discomfort of others that individuals choose not to talk, keeping their grief inside to fester and morph into unhealthier expressions.

In the last year, I have met many people who have lost someone to suicide, or know somebody who has. The phenomenon is, tragically, not uncommon. Suicide is the main cause of death in people under 35 and, for every one person who is lost, countless lives are changed. Learning to openly acknowledge the difficulties of other people from the outside is crucial to a more progressive attitude.

Try not to patronise people who have gone through this kind of loss and tell them you couldn’t imagine their reality. Instead, acknowledge the strength in their adversity and make yourself available in any small way you are able to – it will go a long way.

The sensitivity required around someone who has experienced suicide bereavement should be finely balanced with recognition of the fortitude an individual can summon to move through it and come out stronger on the other side. It can be hard to get right, but the effort is always appreciated and reciprocally recognised. I hope this reaches anyone for whom it has been relevant enough to read through.

If you are experiencing feelings of distress and isolation, or are struggling to cope, Samaritans offers support; you can speak to someone for free over the phone, in confidence, on 116 123 (UK and ROI), email jo@samaritans.org, or visit the Samaritans website to find details of your nearest branch.

If you are based in the USA and you or someone you know needs mental health assistance right now, call National Suicide Prevention Helpline on 1-800-273-TALK (8255). The Helpline is a free, confidential crisis hotline that is available to everyone 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

If you are in another country, you can go to www.befrienders.org to find a helpline near you.