When my younger sister Gemma passed away at 39, leaving her last whisper of breath with her parents, myself and other sister Mel, her husband Dan and two teenage children Alfie and Molly by her side, it felt like an eruption in my soul.
Her body had become severely weakened after six months of rapid returned cancer and chemo. As I sat by her side the Saturday eve before her death, channelling a healing session and transmuting some of the pain and panic, I still couldn’t accept the possibility of her passing.
Something in me believed I could be the ‘big sister’ and somehow rescue her, that the spiritual support and lightness of other realms I often felt weave in and around my life, and that I sensed around her as she weakened physically, would somehow change the course of it all.
She didn’t want the possibility of death discussed and I was happy to comply. That had been the subtle, unspoken agreement between us for a long time – to not discuss the heavier, deeper stuff anymore.
When we lose someone and must prepare suddenly how to celebrate them, our bodies often respond in ways that surprise us. We may push through the shock, engaging in an adrenaline fuelled and/or emotionally suppressed gear of our being.
We may default to old ways of being as a coping mechanism or disassociate.
The sensation that startled me in the days after her passing though was the actual visceral sensation of loss.
My spiritual beliefs and inner knowing told me one less physical being in our tribe had become a new soul-star in the ancestral family constellation. But I would find myself suddenly engulfed in a strange inner ghost town of numb questioning tears.
Since her initial diagnosis in 2020 some subconscious part of me had emotionally and cognitively adjusted to the possibility of her dying but she was a fierce and funny-ass mamma who left a strong mark.
She had built up successful businesses, raised a family, and still created what I called her ‘home-zoo’ of pets! She loved travelling and wanted so much more. There was tremendous force and personal will that was evident even as a young child and the effect on the family system of her passing felt tangible and immediate.
We were mischievously close as children, sharing a bedroom and many outdoor adventures, and yet grew more distant as adults.
I ‘took off’ in my early twenties and chose to face and heal so many things that had burdened our ancestral lines, living an unconventional life through painful necessity then choice, diving into spirituality, anthropology and all kinds of healing modalities.
She chose her own way, working very hard, pushing through, yet leaning more into her emotional health in her later years with her first cancer diagnosis.
Two sisters, two very different life paths, and for me her dying was a lightning bolt through the entire extended family system. It spread a net of devastation and shock.
There was the relief she was no longer in pain, muddled with the horror of her strong body reduced to such a skeletal form and how my parents physically cared for her during her final months. That profound relief and strange anger. She could sting with words and yet I hear in the aftermath how much she loved me.
On the Sunday night when she died, we all cried, grieved, and held each other. And I will never forget that moment for as long as I dance, breathe, and live on this earth for there was profound healing in that togetherness which fortunately continued during the lead up to the funeral.
But there were darker clouds on the familiar horizon, deep cracks in self-care and awareness amongst family members that grew into harsh fissures, old unhealthy patterns in relating that came to the fore in the aftermath of grief.
This is an important element to discuss because death of a loved one can bring up and exacerbate old traumas. Self-compassion practices are crucial when we may be called on to self-sacrifice our own wellbeing for the ‘good of the family group’.
I would like to share these pointers in case they resonate and bring some comfort and practical use if you are amid a bereavement:
- To help you stay as physically connected to your own body as possible try to spend time in nature, engaging all your senses. The feeling of grass, the touch of tree bark, the colours of flowers. Even small snippets can make the difference.
- Pay attention to synchronicities: I received so many beautiful signs my sister was somehow magically still with me in spirit. I also helped my nephew see an incredible bird of prey swoop right down beside him when we were driving through the countryside right after my sister’s death – she loved this type of bird.
- Water. Drink it, bathe in it, feel it. Water supports our emotional bodies to grieve and helps our physical bodies stay hydrated and mentally coherent.
Tell people what you are going through if you can and be as brief as you need to.
It takes great courage to ask for help when, for generations, this has often been seen as weakness. May you reach out and seek – without shame – the support you need.
Thanks for reading.
Cat Rowe
