Writing
After losing my husband very suddenly to a brain tumour in 2020, I started to journal. The power of getting my thoughts out and on to paper has become a significant part of my life and I now write as much as I can. Some examples ...
I always thought I knew what it meant to have ‘a balanced life’. I had a fulfilling job, a loving husband, two wonderful children, time together, time apart, adventures near and far… Yet, since losing my husband very suddenly to a brain tumour three years ago, I have come to learn so much more about balance: what it really is, how hard it can be, how precious it is, and how much it contributes to a healthy and fulfilled life.
Balance for me aligns closely with priorities. I realise now that my priorities were upside down. They were unhealthily weighted towards my job. The job was at the top, I was at the bottom and my husband and children were somewhere in the middle. I had no time to really focus on what I wanted, to make good choices about my life, the kind of life I wanted for me and for my family.
It seems that wisdom can come from loss. We become aware of the fragility of life, the value of each day, that tomorrow isn’t promised. ‘Memento Mori’ provides a stark reminder of our mortality – “remember that you must die” – a reminder to live our best lives. To live a life every day that we would be proud of if it turned out to be our last.
These are the ways in which I am actively working on this by choosing to find balance in my life, in a very different way from before:
- Thrive or survive: Grabbing opportunities when they come. Balancing crushing low-confidence and anxiety with finding the strength to go after life. Feeling the fear but doing it anyway! Feeling the joy from new experiences, and wanting to honour those we have lost by living our best life.
- The firsts: Moving forward into a new chapter of my life and the first time I do something familiar without my husband. The first time I do something totally new. The balance of old traditions versus building new ones. The balance of staying connected to the past whilst looking ahead to the future. The balance of keeping precious memories close, whilst being brave enough to build new ones.
- A healthy work/life balance: Realising that a job doesn’t define who we are, but it is instead just part of what we do. Realising that success at work doesn’t necessarily make us fulfilled. Understanding that a large salary doesn’t equal happiness. Realising that it can be the simple things in life that can bring us joy.
- Cherishing our time: Acknowledging that one of the most important gifts in life is time – time for others, time for ourselves, time to make choices, time to have adventures, time to find the positives, time to be grateful, time to notice.
Of course, there are challenges every day. I’m learning to live with and balance complex emotions. I’m learning how to balance the support I need to give my children whilst also ensuring I support myself.
I’m striving every day to live a life that balances the values my husband lived through – courage and kindness – no matter how hard it feels. As values, these are both individually impactful and when they are combined, they become supercharged! We become the kind of person that says the difficult things, stands up for what they believe in, isn’t a push over, speaks out when there is injustice. We become the kind of person that you want as a friend - someone who is there for you no matter what, who isn’t scared to say the difficult stuff, who has your back, but holds you to account.
How do we balance courage and kindness in how we treat ourselves, in how we treat others, in how we treat the world around us? Does it take a loss to finally learn these lessons? Would it have happened anyway? Who knows – but it’s a journey I’m on, whether I like it or not.
Ultimately, I draw strength from remembering the balance of love and grief: the deeper we love, the deeper we grieve. The deeper we grieve, the more determined we become to honour our loved ones by living our best lives.
Strength from Strangers
(published by the Global Compassion Coalition)
There are moments in life that you realise you have a strength you never imagined. Strength you never thought possible. These moments don't happen often, but when they do, you feel proud beyond words. These are also the moments that you need to 'bank', that you need to remember - how did it feel? / how did I feel? - and to draw on that memory the next time you need to find an inner strength. If I did it then, I can do it now ...
For me, there was a specific example of this that I will never forget. I will always look back on it with pride, remembering the kindness, compassion and support of strangers.
First, some context. In 2019, my husband, Rob, was Captain of the Royal Fleet Auxiliary ship - RFA Mounts Bay - when Hurricane Dorian struck the Caribbean. He and his ships' company worked tirelessly to rescue communities, provide fresh water and basic provisions, rebuild infrastructure and offer compassion to many, many people in their lowest moment.
On his return to the UK, he was asked to put a small team together to represent RFA Mounts Bay at the Royal British Legion's Festival of Remembrance in November 2019 at the Royal Albert Hall. They were the Torch Bearers at the very start of the event with Rob having the honour of reading the Citation to open the performance. I was in the audience with my daughter, my son watching at home, and we were beaming with pride.
It was only just over a year later that Rob lost his life to a brain tumour - 22 December 2020.
In November 2022, I was asked to return to the Royal Albert Hall to take part in the Festival of Remembrance, this time as part of the Bereaved Families group, representing Rob and the many sailors, soldiers and airmen who have lost their lives in service or in combat. About halfway through the performance (in front of an audience of 5,000, the Royal Family, the Prime Minister and millions of viewers on the BBC), the Bereaved Families have to walk through the centre of the Royal Albert Hall, along a corridor of light that has been created. An orchestra and choir accompany the walk (Elgar's Nimrod in our case - Rob's favourite piece of music) and there is a standing ovation. A totally overwhelming experience.
So, I am the kind of person that cries very easily. Especially in those moments where people come together or show love for one another - the John Lewis Christmas advert usually has me in pieces, the feel-good news items crumple me, the two minutes silence on Remembrance Sunday has always broken me. Human kindness and compassion is such a beautiful thing - I find it emotionally overwhelming.
Yet, there I am, less than two years after Rob has died, thinking I can somehow cope with walking alongside 19 other bereaved families (all with totally heart-breaking stories) in a moment of national importance. A very visible moment too.
But, I did it. And I did it in no small part due to the kindness and compassion of strangers: staff from the Royal British Legion, the BBC, the Royal Albert Hall, the hundreds of service men and women who nodded, applauded, acknowledged what we were doing. But most of all, because of a group of 19 strangers. Strangers that had all faced a devastating loss and were there because it was important - impossibly painful and difficult - but so very important to remember those that have lost their lives. These 19 people are part a 'club' that so many of us find ourselves in, but that no one wants to join. The 'club' for those that have lost a loved one.
We got through it because we were all together: a group of strangers that only met for the first time the day before, but all giving the most amazing support to each other. The kind of support that comes from those that have experienced loss. The understanding. The willingness to ask about and talk about those that have died. To share stories. To talk openly. Laugh together. Cry together. Celebrate together. The kindness, compassion and care that I felt was so powerful - it carried us all through in a way we couldn’t ever have imagined.
So, my advice?
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Do the things that scare you
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Lean on the people around you
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Be there for others
We need more compassion in the world - there was oodles of it at the Royal Albert Hall on that night in November 2022.
Let’s keep it going.
We’d be unstoppable if we did.
Phillipa Anders
December 2022
A Constant Companion
(commissioned by the Creative Health Review)
Bereavement is a journey that we all go on at some point in our lives. A deeply challenging, difficult, unwelcome and often lonely journey. Yet, amongst the sadness and pain, there is also the potential for creativity, which in turn supports growth, connection and healing.
Through the power of creativity, we can remember and celebrate the life of the person we have lost whilst also finding a new way forward in our own lives. Creativity can be with us whenever we need it, at any stage on our journey. Creative expression can help us process our emotions and find meaning and purpose during grief.
We can do that alone or as part of a group, either way the benefits are huge. It might be listening to music alone or singing as part of a group. Maybe its reading to inspire your own writing, or journaling in the middle of the night. Perhaps for you, its gardening.
If you are experiencing bereavement, know that you are not alone. Reach out to others for support and allow yourself the space and time to grieve. And if you feel inspired to be creative – whether it's to put your thoughts onto paper, plant out a new raised bed, or sing a song – embrace that spark of creativity and let it guide you towards healing and renewal.
Remember that bereavement is a journey, but through the power of creativity, we can find companionship, beauty and growth even in the darkest of times. Keep creating, keep moving forward, and know that you are strong enough to make it through.
Carry creativity with you as a constant companion. It serves as a connector to other people, as a release for the complex feelings you are experiencing and as a tool to help remember those you have lost.
Phillipa Anders
May 2023
Forward, Onward, Upward
(written for Flourish Magazine)
In November 2020 my husband, Rob, experienced pins and needles in his hand and lower arm. In December 2020 he was diagnosed with a Glioblastoma (an aggressive brain tumour, which usually comes with a prognosis of 12-18 months). 10 days later, on the day he was due to have emergency surgery, he died. Rob was a fit and healthy 49-year-old.
The loss of a life partner turns you and your life totally upside down. Your identity has gone overnight. Your friends are likely to change. Your future plans and dreams may have totally disappeared. Your goals will have to be reconsidered, reimagined.
You’re at the start a new chapter, whether you like it or not. A chapter of personal redesign. Of re-planning, re-shaping, re-calibrating, re-orientating. You have to find your inner strength, an uninvited strength that you never imagined you’d have to let in. You’re in the most painful place you can imagine. Yet somehow you have to find the courage, the brain space, to work out what to do next.
When I reflect on the last two and a half years, I realise that movement – in its many shapes and forms – has been a recurring theme. It’s how I am doing this. It’s from movement (or being moved) that I find strength:
COMPASSION moves me:
I am the kind of person that cries very easily. The John Lewis Christmas advert usually has me in pieces, the feel-good news items crumple me, the two minutes silence on Remembrance Sunday has always broken me. Human compassion is such a beautiful thing - I find it emotionally overwhelming. It makes me ‘feel’ – after feeling so numb for so long.
POSITIVITY keeps me moving:
Take the anger, the emotions you feel and use them. Don’t waste energy questioning why. Don’t get sidetracked. Sit with your grief, of course, allow the complexity of feelings to run their course (I’m not sure they ever go away), but in time, you will also find the space to use your energy for good.
‘Good’ can mean many different things for different people. It might be that you can support someone going through something similar. Maybe you will volunteer your time with a cause close to your heart, or spend time getting as fit and healthy as possible. Take time for you through mindfulness. Put the phone down when your children speak to you.
WALKING provides the time and space to make sense of it all:
Walking is helping me rebuild myself: the new me, the me that has been changed beyond belief, a new version of myself, whether I like it or not. I use this time to get my thoughts straight, to work through a problem, build up my strength to do something out of my comfort zone, to have an empty head, a full head, to enjoy and notice silence, to listen to music, to sing to myself like no one is listening, to talk out loud to friends, myself, my dogs, no one, nature.
In sunshine, rain, snow and wind. Through towns, cities and forests. Along coastlines, rivers and farm tracks. To see the bigger picture and the tiny details: daisies, ripples in water from rain. Where the sky meets the land. To notice the shape of an individual cloud or to see the whole sky. To work through a specific issue or to step back to see the whole picture. To gain perspective.
Rob’s death has somehow made me stronger; it’s given me a new perspective, enabled me to find a healthier balance to my life, to reprioritise things. It’s opened up my heart (although bruised and battered), it’s opened up my mind to new experiences, to living. It’s made me determined to honour him by growing, not fading away. To thrive, not merely survive.
Once I’d realised that I was allowed to be happy again, I could start to live. To move and be moved.
Phillipa Anders
September 2023