Two weeks ago on Wednesday, August 23, my dad died at the age of 68.
Nothing but love for your loss mate.
One of my main coping mechanisms is humor.
I've got ADHD in a big way (8 and 9 on the scales) and have always struggled with emotional regulation because of it. That being said... my sense of humour is what gets me through everything tough.
I lost my brother four years ago and it has been ROUGH to say the least. But my sense of humour (black, dark, sarcastic) has always been there to keep me going. It's often misunderstood and people don't know what to say, but often it was my way of expressing my emotions safely "What a fucking idiot, but he was my idiot, so I'll insult him if I fancy it!" (About my late-brother)
Tonight will be the first night with just me and mom at our house. This is the first night of our new “normal”. I don’t think we’ll have anyone over tomorrow besides the cleaning lady (who last came the day after he died—felt kinda bad for her to visit that day knowing what happened), so tomorrow will be the first day it’s really just us. The first day we won't have any real distractions from his absence.
Grief takes time, a lot of time. It's four years since my brother passed and I am JUST feeling myself again. It takes time.
And that's okay. Be sad, Be happy, Be whatever you want to be (and let others be the same). You may not get everything, but sometimes just being around makes people not feel alone when they're at their bottom of their grief (My wife didn't know what to say about my brother, but she would stand there next to me through thick and thin of my ups and downs).
I hope last night went okay for you. The 'first' of everything is the hardest and I say that the first year without someone is the rod that tries to break you.
All we can do is take it one hour at a time.
And as such, take it however you need it. There are plenty of folks out there who will get it if you say you need time.
I remember walking into my big consultancy job the weekend after my bro died. My Director dragged me for a coffee, sent me home and told me "I lost my brother years ago, I know how you feel" and it suddenly twigged that this isn't something painfully unique, it's something that we use to relate to others and understand them better (or at least the motions of for you if you're autistic budski).
Good luck. Grief sucks, but it's the price we pay for loving people so much.
Thank you for posting this! I also have ADHD and move on abnormally quickly when people die. I always thought there was something wrong with me and that it was just me, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one.
Oh and I also do the “I love you” when my wife is going out to do errands, just in case. Interesting.
Losing a parent is tough, thank you for sharing your experience. I'm also your age, neurodivergent, and a writer. I haven't been diagnosed though and I only figured out that I might be on the spectrum and also might have ADHD about a year and a half ago. I also believe I have some traits of alexithymia since I can't always identify my own emotions. I suspect my response to losing my mother might have been similar to yours if there hadn't been a lot of other feelings wrapped up in it.
I am so glad you were able to write down and share what you went through and I am sure it will help others too. You've put it in good words and I don't have much in terms of helpful advice except perhaps what helped me was recognizing where I might struggle due to my neurodivergence and mentally prepping myself for it. Changes in routine were tough for me, big days like holidays or birthdays or anniversaries would be hard. But I believe the best way I coped with it was realizing that my mother would be happy if I lived my best life and she wouldn't want me to lose myself in grief. Life is so fleeting, you live about four thousand weeks, and why not make it a pleasant experience?
I don't share a lot about myself online so your cathartic sharing inspired me to write down my own experience, which ended up being very long. Being neurodivergent and experiencing strong emotions is an odd feeling of being a participant and a spectator at the same time. I don't write about my life much because I use stories as a medium to live a different one. I'm still sharing it despite questioning whether I should but putting it under a collapsible section because I don't want to take away from your post.
A whole lot of traumadumping
I lost my mother about a year ago. She died due to sudden medical issues and it's taken me this long to be sort of okay with it. Reading your post, I realized that I was experiencing was grief mixed with anger. I sometimes cry when I get angry and while I knew one of the responses I had to it was anger, I've been attributing crying to just grief. I live in a different city than my family and I've spent a lot of time away from them since I was a teenager since I had also gone to a boarding school. The longest time in the recent years I spent with my parents was during COVID when I flew back to work from home. The last time I had seen my mother had been less than a month before when I'd gone home for a vacation.
I had been closer to my mother than my father, who had been closer to my elder sister. My sister and I had a falling out a few years ago and I went no contact with her despite living in the same city. When I got the call from my father, I had been on my way to the office to figure out how to shift some responsibilities to another person because I was burning out at work and my boss said he couldn't give me a week off. My father, for context, rarely gives me a call and if he did, it would be for some paperwork or something similar. When he told me that my mother had been admitted to a hospital and my sister would be calling about arranging the flights, I knew my mother was dying. My parents never told me when things were wrong so I wouldn't worry about it. There had been two house fires, my mother had been in surgery once, and I didn't find out about any of it until I was back visiting them. I had been dreading my parents' deaths since I was younger because they were older than any of my friends' parents. I didn't handle the news well but I managed to hold myself together at the office when I told my boss about it and he was good enough to tell me to take all the time I needed and instead made arrangements to shift all my responsibilities to others.
My sister called me and shared details of the flight we'd be taking the next morning. When I saw her at the airport, we only talked about what we could grab to eat at the airport. The last time I met her had been six years ago. This was what speaking terms with her would be. In some ways, I was glad my sister was there so she could do the socializing with my father's side of the family, who she had been closer to than I had and were the ones who would be at the hospital every day.
My father had not been on good terms with my mother's side of the family, so they had been a minimal presence. During my previous visit, my mother had opened up to me more about her past and one of her nieces had reached out and came to visit my parents while I was there. I had last seen her when I was a child, now she was this woman with her own family and children who were older than when I had last seen her. That visit had been cordial and I got her number. I still didn't know what had happened between my father and my mother's side of the family. My mother never liked my father's side of the family and my father expressed that he didn't like how she didn't discourage me from being not-so-social with his family. I gathered bits and pieces from my mother about her experiences after marriage while she was staying with my father's family before they moved away due to my father's job. She told me little but what she told me was downright abusive - keeping restricted food so she would go hungry, turning off the water when she would take a bath so she had to make sure she had enough beforehand, and I can't even imagine what my grandparents would actually be saying. This was decades ago in a rural town and I'm sure my father would rationalize it because things just were that way but I refuse to accept that anyone doesn't recognize cruelty when they see it. My father was the second eldest son with four younger brothers and they all got married a few years apart. My grandmother upheld the bullshit treatment probably dictated by my grandfather and my eldest aunt was cruel too. I knew her more since my grandmother died when I was a teenager, my grandfather dying a couple of years ago before that. This aunt had died three years ago and knowing her behaviour, I was not sad at all. Her husband, my father's elder brother, had always kept mostly to himself. The most vivid memory I have of this aunt is her body shaming me when I was a child. My interactions with her as an adult were not so much better. Most of the other aunts were fine except for the youngest one who was similar to the eldest aunt. Perhaps there's some survival mechanism that women in oppressive had to develop - lash out at others to avoid being hurt. I can understand that, but it doesn't excuse the behaviour.
So, of course, I was so glad that my parents raised me away from this toxic place. My father was a good father, and he didn't have sexist beliefs, he never made me feel like he wanted a son. I genuinely had a good childhood despite being undiagnosed. I only had difficulties when I went to a boarding school and moved out but time with my parents, who I considered my family, had been good. My sister lived away from us ever since I could remember since she was more than ten years older than me so we had never been close until I moved in with her and then had a falling out, which I realized was because she shared similar attitudes to my father's family, having spent much more time with them.
My parents moved back a few years ago when I went to college, but they still lived away from them so I still felt like I was visiting my family more than my father's family, who I wanted to limit contact with. They were not as bad now as things changed in the decades since my parents' marriage and there was a new generation. My cousin brothers were raised in a more progressive society and hey, actually would say that equality should exist. But this was still a family entrenched in religious and cultural values that I do and always will disagree with.
That was what had been on my mind since the last visit - I was upset for all the bullshit my mother had to endure. Since I had also discovered I was neurodivergent and it is said to be generational, I had also been trying to figure out if either or both of my parents were. But it's difficult to isolate natural traits with traits that might have been developed as coping mechanisms. Was cooking a special interest for my mother because she genuinely liked it or because she wanted me to have the food security she didn't have when living with my father's family? Was gardening a special interest for my father or was it because it was an acceptable hobby to have that would give him time away from his family? Did they not talk about feelings because they also didn't understand them but had never had access to the knowledge I did to overcome it? I didn't have any answers but I was glad my mother was opening up more to me, maybe because she thought I was finally grown up enough she could share it with me.
But then I got the call and she was in the hospital, unconscious, most of the time. I was glad I was there for a few moments when she realized I was there by her side. I was heartbroken when one of the last things she told me was telling me where to find the toothpaste I liked in the house. They didn't know exactly what had happened, but it was some infection. She was in so much pain and they kept her sedated. It was a few days of being surrounded by my father's family, who would all mostly talk to my sister.
We lived close to the hospital, so we would go and then come back. My sister's husband came over with their son. The time I spent away from the hospital was watching something to distract myself. Escapism had always been my coping mechanism. I process emotions and situations through media. I also knew my brain would associate whatever I saw or any music I listened to with this forever, so I was watching stupid comedy videos on YouTube and a single song on repeat that I didn't mind not having to ever listen to again. There were times I could see her getting better - because they thought there was still a chance she could make it - and I would think of making plans to stay a while longer to take care of her. But I was very aware that she was going to die and I was aware of the grief I would have to go through and I knew how isolated I would feel, which would make everything worse.
After rushing to the hospital when they thought there was a chance she might not make it the next couple of hours, I realized nobody had probably called my mother's family. As they stabilized my mother in the ICU, I went into the stairwell and called my mother's niece, somehow managing to get the words out and she told me she would come over right away. My mother didn't die that day but I was so angry at my father and his family. One of my aunts had spoken to the niece because they lived close to each other and my mother had put them in touch. But none of them thought to call anyone at all from my mother's family to tell her she might be dying? I'm still angry about it.
I was watching a playthrough of Disco Elysium the other day and there was a discussion about delivering a death notification. How what you tell someone that someone close to them has died will forever affect their emotions surrounding that death so it's important to deliver the news well. And there's truth to that because a lot of the anger surrounding it is also because of how I found my mother was dead.
I had my own room at the house but it opened into the living room, so I didn't have privacy most of the time. My father's family came over often and occasionally early morning so I got used to seeing someone around when I woke up. That youngest aunt I did not like woke me up to ask me where something of mother's was. I didn't know what she was asking me for so I sleepily showed her the few shelves. I did not know what the thing she was asking me was. I went into the bathroom with my phone and googled what it was. I realized that there were too many people over. There were twenty instead of the usual four or five. What that aunt had asked me for - and seemed annoyed that I didn't know where it was - had been something to do with a religious ritual around someone's death.
My father and my sister would take care of the arrangements and be surrounded by his family. That morning, they did sit around me when I cried but they didn't know what to say. I shouted at that youngest aunt for something because she was telling me to stop crying and being insensitive. And after she had been the one to wake me up to ask me where something was? Did she not think that nobody would have told me if my mother had died sometime early morning and I was still sleeping that I did not know my mother was dead?
But I am also angry at my father and at my sister. I understand they might have been in shock too but one of them should have told me. The next few days were hard because the funeral was a whole religious ritual that would involved a whole lot of things. My mother hadn't even been that religious but it's tied up in the society she was raised in and a culture she couldn't escape. I didn't want anything to do with that but they pressured me into seeing her. My sister thought I should because it would help me come to terms with it but I was already consciously processing it and I knew I didn't want to see her as a part of this religious funeral when I wasn't grieving just my mother's death but the religion and cultural norms that gave her a much worse life that she deserved.
I was sad my mother died, I was grieving her loss, but there was also so much anger and I'm sure a lot of it also comes from a lifetime of repressing my feelings because our family didn't talk about anything. I cried every single day for months. I took a month off from work, using up all the leaves I had saved up. When I came back, I knew I was leaving and I served my notice period of two months, most of which I spent working from home. It was a terrible workplace but I had made friends with my own team and I was glad to have them to talk to.
I decided to take some time for myself after that and I thankfully had the financial safety to do it. But this would still be months of mismanaged grief, trying to understand my own grieving response with little resources to handle it. I wrote about my experiences in my journal, but it was more complicated than grief and I didn't know what to do with it. Even this, which is the most coherent thing I've written with some semblance of a narrative structure doesn't seem to be a complete understanding of it. Perhaps it's grief, mixed with trauma, mixed with anger at an unjust world. I think it's fair to say even someone who was neurotypical would be a mess in this situation and being neurodivergent at least gives me the ability to have a greater awareness of my responses after a lifetime of having to understand why I'm different and figure out what's normal and okay and what's considered to be normal and not okay.
I'm doing much better now and I've taken the year to align my priorities so I can live a more meaningful life. I've read philosophy books, I've made art, I share more with people I'm close to (not my family, I don't know if I'll get there) but it's made my other relationships better. I'm not doing the best because it's hard to find full-time employment after taking such a long break from work but I'm hopeful I'll find something soon. I understand my needs better and what I need to thrive and I don't want to compromise on getting it.
I am glad you got to spend so much quality time with him. I am sad for your loss. Too soon.
You've given me hope that my kid won't be too sad when I die. He is definitely somewhere on your spectrum. But he also has a nightly routine. Which he will likely miss.
We have a routine, where I try to think of a new story about my life, each night. You've made me realize that it might help him if I leave a few stories for him after I pass.
Which is a long winded way of saying, that I am fairly sure your Dad would be glad if he knew that you are coping well. And really, when it comes to grieving a parent, it's only your parents and siblings opinions that matter.
Thanks for sharing all this. It was a really fascinating read and one that gave me some reflections as someone who's not officially diagnosed ND but sure as hell doesn't feel totally NT at times. And also as someone who had just as much of a sudden death of a parent this year. And she was only 49 years old.
Anyways, I don't really feel like dumping too many thoughts on the matter because it's complicated (due to my relationship with my mother and other things, her passing away while living in another country and getting buried there most definitely) and even now almost 4 months later it hardly feels true.
But I do want to comment on one thing that stood out to me and it was your comment on how your dad looked at the funeral. It really reminded me of how it was for me, similar, but different. It's funny, out of all the things that I think will stick with me from that time of her death is seeing her that one last time.
Unfortunately it was a bit of strange arrangement since it was an open casket but behind a glass door... (foreign country rules are strange, I definitely thought) but it really was so surreal. I mean, my mom died in her sleep. A queen's death, as many of my relatives had called it. But it genuinely looked so surreal to me at the time. She even had her nails painted. In her usual red color that she got all the time. It was just insane that she was dead, in a flash.
So, I guess my point is that to me seeing her so well off was something that added to the surreal circumstance rather than making me feel glad.. But in its essence it really captured the "queen's death" as it had been called by many around me.
Anyway I hope you can support your loved ones and yourself throughout this time. If there's anything I've learned is that grief can be a bitch. It just comes and goes and comes and goes. Even now I am here writing this with tears in my eyes. Thank you for sharing your story and your insights though.
Nothing but love for your loss mate.
I've got ADHD in a big way (8 and 9 on the scales) and have always struggled with emotional regulation because of it. That being said... my sense of humour is what gets me through everything tough.
I lost my brother four years ago and it has been ROUGH to say the least. But my sense of humour (black, dark, sarcastic) has always been there to keep me going. It's often misunderstood and people don't know what to say, but often it was my way of expressing my emotions safely "What a fucking idiot, but he was my idiot, so I'll insult him if I fancy it!" (About my late-brother)
Grief takes time, a lot of time. It's four years since my brother passed and I am JUST feeling myself again. It takes time.
And that's okay. Be sad, Be happy, Be whatever you want to be (and let others be the same). You may not get everything, but sometimes just being around makes people not feel alone when they're at their bottom of their grief (My wife didn't know what to say about my brother, but she would stand there next to me through thick and thin of my ups and downs).
I hope last night went okay for you. The 'first' of everything is the hardest and I say that the first year without someone is the rod that tries to break you.
And as such, take it however you need it. There are plenty of folks out there who will get it if you say you need time.
I remember walking into my big consultancy job the weekend after my bro died. My Director dragged me for a coffee, sent me home and told me "I lost my brother years ago, I know how you feel" and it suddenly twigged that this isn't something painfully unique, it's something that we use to relate to others and understand them better (or at least the motions of for you if you're autistic budski).
Good luck. Grief sucks, but it's the price we pay for loving people so much.
Thank you for posting this! I also have ADHD and move on abnormally quickly when people die. I always thought there was something wrong with me and that it was just me, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one.
Oh and I also do the “I love you” when my wife is going out to do errands, just in case. Interesting.
Losing a parent is tough, thank you for sharing your experience. I'm also your age, neurodivergent, and a writer. I haven't been diagnosed though and I only figured out that I might be on the spectrum and also might have ADHD about a year and a half ago. I also believe I have some traits of alexithymia since I can't always identify my own emotions. I suspect my response to losing my mother might have been similar to yours if there hadn't been a lot of other feelings wrapped up in it.
I am so glad you were able to write down and share what you went through and I am sure it will help others too. You've put it in good words and I don't have much in terms of helpful advice except perhaps what helped me was recognizing where I might struggle due to my neurodivergence and mentally prepping myself for it. Changes in routine were tough for me, big days like holidays or birthdays or anniversaries would be hard. But I believe the best way I coped with it was realizing that my mother would be happy if I lived my best life and she wouldn't want me to lose myself in grief. Life is so fleeting, you live about four thousand weeks, and why not make it a pleasant experience?
I don't share a lot about myself online so your cathartic sharing inspired me to write down my own experience, which ended up being very long. Being neurodivergent and experiencing strong emotions is an odd feeling of being a participant and a spectator at the same time. I don't write about my life much because I use stories as a medium to live a different one. I'm still sharing it despite questioning whether I should but putting it under a collapsible section because I don't want to take away from your post.
A whole lot of traumadumping
I lost my mother about a year ago. She died due to sudden medical issues and it's taken me this long to be sort of okay with it. Reading your post, I realized that I was experiencing was grief mixed with anger. I sometimes cry when I get angry and while I knew one of the responses I had to it was anger, I've been attributing crying to just grief. I live in a different city than my family and I've spent a lot of time away from them since I was a teenager since I had also gone to a boarding school. The longest time in the recent years I spent with my parents was during COVID when I flew back to work from home. The last time I had seen my mother had been less than a month before when I'd gone home for a vacation.I had been closer to my mother than my father, who had been closer to my elder sister. My sister and I had a falling out a few years ago and I went no contact with her despite living in the same city. When I got the call from my father, I had been on my way to the office to figure out how to shift some responsibilities to another person because I was burning out at work and my boss said he couldn't give me a week off. My father, for context, rarely gives me a call and if he did, it would be for some paperwork or something similar. When he told me that my mother had been admitted to a hospital and my sister would be calling about arranging the flights, I knew my mother was dying. My parents never told me when things were wrong so I wouldn't worry about it. There had been two house fires, my mother had been in surgery once, and I didn't find out about any of it until I was back visiting them. I had been dreading my parents' deaths since I was younger because they were older than any of my friends' parents. I didn't handle the news well but I managed to hold myself together at the office when I told my boss about it and he was good enough to tell me to take all the time I needed and instead made arrangements to shift all my responsibilities to others.
My sister called me and shared details of the flight we'd be taking the next morning. When I saw her at the airport, we only talked about what we could grab to eat at the airport. The last time I met her had been six years ago. This was what speaking terms with her would be. In some ways, I was glad my sister was there so she could do the socializing with my father's side of the family, who she had been closer to than I had and were the ones who would be at the hospital every day.
My father had not been on good terms with my mother's side of the family, so they had been a minimal presence. During my previous visit, my mother had opened up to me more about her past and one of her nieces had reached out and came to visit my parents while I was there. I had last seen her when I was a child, now she was this woman with her own family and children who were older than when I had last seen her. That visit had been cordial and I got her number. I still didn't know what had happened between my father and my mother's side of the family. My mother never liked my father's side of the family and my father expressed that he didn't like how she didn't discourage me from being not-so-social with his family. I gathered bits and pieces from my mother about her experiences after marriage while she was staying with my father's family before they moved away due to my father's job. She told me little but what she told me was downright abusive - keeping restricted food so she would go hungry, turning off the water when she would take a bath so she had to make sure she had enough beforehand, and I can't even imagine what my grandparents would actually be saying. This was decades ago in a rural town and I'm sure my father would rationalize it because things just were that way but I refuse to accept that anyone doesn't recognize cruelty when they see it. My father was the second eldest son with four younger brothers and they all got married a few years apart. My grandmother upheld the bullshit treatment probably dictated by my grandfather and my eldest aunt was cruel too. I knew her more since my grandmother died when I was a teenager, my grandfather dying a couple of years ago before that. This aunt had died three years ago and knowing her behaviour, I was not sad at all. Her husband, my father's elder brother, had always kept mostly to himself. The most vivid memory I have of this aunt is her body shaming me when I was a child. My interactions with her as an adult were not so much better. Most of the other aunts were fine except for the youngest one who was similar to the eldest aunt. Perhaps there's some survival mechanism that women in oppressive had to develop - lash out at others to avoid being hurt. I can understand that, but it doesn't excuse the behaviour.
So, of course, I was so glad that my parents raised me away from this toxic place. My father was a good father, and he didn't have sexist beliefs, he never made me feel like he wanted a son. I genuinely had a good childhood despite being undiagnosed. I only had difficulties when I went to a boarding school and moved out but time with my parents, who I considered my family, had been good. My sister lived away from us ever since I could remember since she was more than ten years older than me so we had never been close until I moved in with her and then had a falling out, which I realized was because she shared similar attitudes to my father's family, having spent much more time with them.
My parents moved back a few years ago when I went to college, but they still lived away from them so I still felt like I was visiting my family more than my father's family, who I wanted to limit contact with. They were not as bad now as things changed in the decades since my parents' marriage and there was a new generation. My cousin brothers were raised in a more progressive society and hey, actually would say that equality should exist. But this was still a family entrenched in religious and cultural values that I do and always will disagree with.
That was what had been on my mind since the last visit - I was upset for all the bullshit my mother had to endure. Since I had also discovered I was neurodivergent and it is said to be generational, I had also been trying to figure out if either or both of my parents were. But it's difficult to isolate natural traits with traits that might have been developed as coping mechanisms. Was cooking a special interest for my mother because she genuinely liked it or because she wanted me to have the food security she didn't have when living with my father's family? Was gardening a special interest for my father or was it because it was an acceptable hobby to have that would give him time away from his family? Did they not talk about feelings because they also didn't understand them but had never had access to the knowledge I did to overcome it? I didn't have any answers but I was glad my mother was opening up more to me, maybe because she thought I was finally grown up enough she could share it with me.
But then I got the call and she was in the hospital, unconscious, most of the time. I was glad I was there for a few moments when she realized I was there by her side. I was heartbroken when one of the last things she told me was telling me where to find the toothpaste I liked in the house. They didn't know exactly what had happened, but it was some infection. She was in so much pain and they kept her sedated. It was a few days of being surrounded by my father's family, who would all mostly talk to my sister.
We lived close to the hospital, so we would go and then come back. My sister's husband came over with their son. The time I spent away from the hospital was watching something to distract myself. Escapism had always been my coping mechanism. I process emotions and situations through media. I also knew my brain would associate whatever I saw or any music I listened to with this forever, so I was watching stupid comedy videos on YouTube and a single song on repeat that I didn't mind not having to ever listen to again. There were times I could see her getting better - because they thought there was still a chance she could make it - and I would think of making plans to stay a while longer to take care of her. But I was very aware that she was going to die and I was aware of the grief I would have to go through and I knew how isolated I would feel, which would make everything worse.
After rushing to the hospital when they thought there was a chance she might not make it the next couple of hours, I realized nobody had probably called my mother's family. As they stabilized my mother in the ICU, I went into the stairwell and called my mother's niece, somehow managing to get the words out and she told me she would come over right away. My mother didn't die that day but I was so angry at my father and his family. One of my aunts had spoken to the niece because they lived close to each other and my mother had put them in touch. But none of them thought to call anyone at all from my mother's family to tell her she might be dying? I'm still angry about it.
I was watching a playthrough of Disco Elysium the other day and there was a discussion about delivering a death notification. How what you tell someone that someone close to them has died will forever affect their emotions surrounding that death so it's important to deliver the news well. And there's truth to that because a lot of the anger surrounding it is also because of how I found my mother was dead.
I had my own room at the house but it opened into the living room, so I didn't have privacy most of the time. My father's family came over often and occasionally early morning so I got used to seeing someone around when I woke up. That youngest aunt I did not like woke me up to ask me where something of mother's was. I didn't know what she was asking me for so I sleepily showed her the few shelves. I did not know what the thing she was asking me was. I went into the bathroom with my phone and googled what it was. I realized that there were too many people over. There were twenty instead of the usual four or five. What that aunt had asked me for - and seemed annoyed that I didn't know where it was - had been something to do with a religious ritual around someone's death.
My father and my sister would take care of the arrangements and be surrounded by his family. That morning, they did sit around me when I cried but they didn't know what to say. I shouted at that youngest aunt for something because she was telling me to stop crying and being insensitive. And after she had been the one to wake me up to ask me where something was? Did she not think that nobody would have told me if my mother had died sometime early morning and I was still sleeping that I did not know my mother was dead?
But I am also angry at my father and at my sister. I understand they might have been in shock too but one of them should have told me. The next few days were hard because the funeral was a whole religious ritual that would involved a whole lot of things. My mother hadn't even been that religious but it's tied up in the society she was raised in and a culture she couldn't escape. I didn't want anything to do with that but they pressured me into seeing her. My sister thought I should because it would help me come to terms with it but I was already consciously processing it and I knew I didn't want to see her as a part of this religious funeral when I wasn't grieving just my mother's death but the religion and cultural norms that gave her a much worse life that she deserved.
I was sad my mother died, I was grieving her loss, but there was also so much anger and I'm sure a lot of it also comes from a lifetime of repressing my feelings because our family didn't talk about anything. I cried every single day for months. I took a month off from work, using up all the leaves I had saved up. When I came back, I knew I was leaving and I served my notice period of two months, most of which I spent working from home. It was a terrible workplace but I had made friends with my own team and I was glad to have them to talk to.
I decided to take some time for myself after that and I thankfully had the financial safety to do it. But this would still be months of mismanaged grief, trying to understand my own grieving response with little resources to handle it. I wrote about my experiences in my journal, but it was more complicated than grief and I didn't know what to do with it. Even this, which is the most coherent thing I've written with some semblance of a narrative structure doesn't seem to be a complete understanding of it. Perhaps it's grief, mixed with trauma, mixed with anger at an unjust world. I think it's fair to say even someone who was neurotypical would be a mess in this situation and being neurodivergent at least gives me the ability to have a greater awareness of my responses after a lifetime of having to understand why I'm different and figure out what's normal and okay and what's considered to be normal and not okay.
I'm doing much better now and I've taken the year to align my priorities so I can live a more meaningful life. I've read philosophy books, I've made art, I share more with people I'm close to (not my family, I don't know if I'll get there) but it's made my other relationships better. I'm not doing the best because it's hard to find full-time employment after taking such a long break from work but I'm hopeful I'll find something soon. I understand my needs better and what I need to thrive and I don't want to compromise on getting it.
Thank you for writing this.
It sounds like you had a really amazing Dad.
I am glad you got to spend so much quality time with him. I am sad for your loss. Too soon.
You've given me hope that my kid won't be too sad when I die. He is definitely somewhere on your spectrum. But he also has a nightly routine. Which he will likely miss.
We have a routine, where I try to think of a new story about my life, each night. You've made me realize that it might help him if I leave a few stories for him after I pass.
Which is a long winded way of saying, that I am fairly sure your Dad would be glad if he knew that you are coping well. And really, when it comes to grieving a parent, it's only your parents and siblings opinions that matter.
Thanks for sharing all this. It was a really fascinating read and one that gave me some reflections as someone who's not officially diagnosed ND but sure as hell doesn't feel totally NT at times. And also as someone who had just as much of a sudden death of a parent this year. And she was only 49 years old.
Anyways, I don't really feel like dumping too many thoughts on the matter because it's complicated (due to my relationship with my mother and other things, her passing away while living in another country and getting buried there most definitely) and even now almost 4 months later it hardly feels true.
But I do want to comment on one thing that stood out to me and it was your comment on how your dad looked at the funeral. It really reminded me of how it was for me, similar, but different. It's funny, out of all the things that I think will stick with me from that time of her death is seeing her that one last time.
Unfortunately it was a bit of strange arrangement since it was an open casket but behind a glass door... (foreign country rules are strange, I definitely thought) but it really was so surreal. I mean, my mom died in her sleep. A queen's death, as many of my relatives had called it. But it genuinely looked so surreal to me at the time. She even had her nails painted. In her usual red color that she got all the time. It was just insane that she was dead, in a flash.
So, I guess my point is that to me seeing her so well off was something that added to the surreal circumstance rather than making me feel glad.. But in its essence it really captured the "queen's death" as it had been called by many around me.
Anyway I hope you can support your loved ones and yourself throughout this time. If there's anything I've learned is that grief can be a bitch. It just comes and goes and comes and goes. Even now I am here writing this with tears in my eyes. Thank you for sharing your story and your insights though.