Grief, love and resilience: Navigating life after loss
In July 2024, I lost my dad. He was only 67, taken by cancer and an aortic aneurysm. This is a story about the painful journey of palliative care, the strength of those who love, and the lessons grief has taught me. Sharing this feels vulnerable, but I hope it reminds anyone walking a similar path that you are not alone.
In January, Dad was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He started chemotherapy in February, and by June 1st, we were told he had just weeks to live. It was a shock we couldn’t process but had to accept. My brother and I took time off work to bring Dad home, setting up a space for comfort and care.
Yet, the final days were far from peaceful. Palliative care eased some physical pain but brought its own heartaches. The medications changed him, making him someone we hardly recognised. He was bedridden, too afraid to eat, and haunted by hallucinations. In those last three days, the syringe driver dulled his pain but left him distant and disoriented. My mum, brother, and I stayed up for 24-hour stretches, holding his hand, speaking softly, and trying to bring some light into the darkest moments.
Would I describe his passing as peaceful? No. It was full of fear and uncertainty. Watching someone you love transition from life to death in this way is a trauma that leaves scars.
Before cancer, my dad had spent five years battling the effects of a stroke. During that time, my mum was our unsung hero. She gave up her own life to care for him full-time, unpaid and unacknowledged. Her sacrifices and quiet strength carried our family through those years.
Caregiving is often invisible, but it is heroic. It’s an act of love that asks everything of you and offers little recognition in return. I want this story to shine a light on the caregivers like my mum, who hold families together in the face of overwhelming challenges.
On 29th November, Parliament passed the assisted dying bill. As I reflect on Dad’s experience, I can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he’d had that choice. The final days wouldn’t have been a drawn-out descent into pain and fear. It’s a deeply personal and complex topic, but one I feel deserves more compassion and understanding.
Grief is a journey that defies logic. Some days, you’re okay; other days, you’re overwhelmed by tears, anger, or an unbearable ache. For me, grief has made relationships harder. Being single, I’ve found it difficult to let anyone in, afraid of more loss or vulnerability.
There’s also the guilt and resentment that comes with sacrifice. I gave up my plans to move abroad to be with my family, and while I wouldn’t change that choice, it hasn’t been easy. You take on roles you never expected — caretaker, emotional anchor — because you want to be there for the people you love.
Dad’s death has reshaped how I view life. He spent his last years battling illness and never had the chance to enjoy a retirement. It’s a stark reminder that life doesn’t wait. The pressure to conform to societal expectations feels meaningless when you’ve seen how fragile life is.
Yes, people judge when you choose to travel, dream big, or live differently. But when you’ve faced loss, you understand that these choices aren’t selfish — they’re survival. They’re about living fully in the time we have.
Through the pain, there’s gratitude. To the nurses, carers, and palliative teams who supported us: thank you. Your kindness made a difference. But families need more support too. Watching a loved one die is traumatising, and the aftermath can feel isolating. Relatives often need counselling and resources to navigate this uncharted territory of grief.
If you’re walking this path, I hope my story reminds you that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel angry, lost, or overwhelmed. It’s okay to want to live fully, to chase joy even when others don’t understand. Grief changes you, but it also teaches you to hold onto what matters most.
Life is short. Love deeply, live boldly, and don’t let fear keep you from finding light in the darkness.
