Year of mourning: “I mourn – and take the time I need”

His death caught me unprepared

Nobody prepares you for this feeling. That feeling of powerlessness, the urge to scream, the urge to bang his head hard against something, to run away. This nausea, this heat and cold going through you at the same time.

I didn’t know it and it caught me off guard from one moment to the next. My dad was dead. From now on, one of the most important people in my life was no longer there.

I can still remember exactly how I had an exam that day and wanted to make a quick bank transfer on the way home.

They tried to reach me five times. I didn’t answer, I wanted to finish it first. Then I lost weight. All I heard was loud crying. I asked what was wrong and suddenly panic set in. My thoughts were going crazy, I was imagining what could be so bad. Then the words: “Where are you? Sit down… Dad died”. Then I collapsed into the bench, screaming and feeling nothing and yet so much at the same time.

I lived hundreds of miles away from my parents. I drove home, vomiting several times on the way. Then I had to watch at home how everything fell apart, how my family fell apart to a certain extent. That was the worst.

He was the most cheerful person I knew

Planning the funeral was like I was in a tunnel. I didn’t feel anything. I couldn’t cry. At times I even had to laugh because it was so absurd. One of the most cheerful people I know suddenly stopped coming into the living room and was happy that I was back. No, we stood by his coffin, crying, sobbing for him to open his eyes and say it was all just a joke. He was so good at cheering everyone up with his jokes.

Then the day of the funeral. Hundreds of people who wanted to say goodbye. It was only then that I realized what was happening and I started crying miserably and begging for it all to please stop.

Is one year of mourning enough? Not always

It’s been over a year now and I’m still trying to figure out why. Why so early? Why is this happening to us? Questions upon questions that buzz in my head almost every day. Everyday life is back and everyone is demanding that you function as before. That you have your moods under control. That it continues.

But is it that easy? No. And it doesn’t have to be. It took me months to accept that things would never be the same again.

Katharina, the carefree girl, no longer exists. Accepting this may not be understandable or acceptable to others – but it is really difficult for myself. I want nothing more than for this all to be just a nightmare, something that can be undone. But it can’t do that.

I can’t control my feelings, but I accept them

No one can banish these bad thoughts and memories from me. I can’t control my feelings. I have good days when the thoughts aren’t so extreme. Then I want to get out, enjoy, just live. I imagine dad what he would do now.

But there are also days when everything inside me fluctuates. Everything threatens to collapse. I want to hide. Sleep, maybe watch a series or do nothing. These “conditions” can last days or weeks.

No, I’m not depressed, I’m grieving. In my own way. I accept the thoughts, accept my feelings and try to find a solution for them.

When I hear people trying to tell me that this isn’t normal, I want to say, Hey, be glad you haven’t had to go through something like that. Otherwise you would know that a year isn’t enough to process it. But today it seems to be a taboo to allow grief.

I’m not depressed. I’m grieving, and I’m taking the time it takes. As long as you can do basic things like eating, sleeping and working, it’s fine. And as bad as all the pain is, I believe it can be a new beginning.

Mourning also means new beginnings

I didn’t know how far my emotional limits went, how much pain I could endure. Since then I have felt much more intensely. I perceive pain and sadness, including that of other people, much more clearly. I know that sometimes comforting words don’t help, and certainly not advice. Sometimes you just need a shoulder to cry on.

I can now assess other people much better and can sense when someone is not doing well. I also perceive my surroundings more intensely. I feel happiness more intensely. I feel how precious life is, see colors more clearly, small moments suddenly take on great meaning. Like a little voice memo, a little handwritten note, a song.

I now know that sadness and happiness are very close together. People always say that, but I learned it the hard way. But it is precisely this pain that makes you become more aware of the little things again, and I think it is a kind of new beginning. A comforting effect despite all the dark days that are getting brighter and brighter.