The Queen's death triggered my grief and loss of loved ones
When it comes to grief, there is no time limit
Trigger warning: this newsletter mentions death and grief
Do you remember the exact moment you found out that Queen Elizabeth II died? I do. I was on the wine at the Hotelier Awards 2022 in Dubai. I was smoking my vape outside when the BBC notification came through on my phone. The only way I can describe how I felt in that moment was just a wave of sadness. It felt like a gut punch to the stomach and from there on out, I spent the rest of my evening feeling very heavy.
I felt very silly. Everyone around me was having a great time, completely oblivious to what was happening in “the real world”, and it upset me. Why is no one sad right now? Why is no one crying?
The reality is: not everyone cares. I already heard and read a lot of people asking why people would even grieve the Queen’s death, given she colonised half the world.
Yes, when Queen Elizabeth II ascended the throne in 1952, more than a quarter of the world’s population was under British colonial rule. This included more than 700 million people from countries including the Middle East, Africa, Asia, the Caribbean and the Pacific Islands. The scars of colonialism are still seen to this day, and many see the Queen as a symbol of imperial rule and colonialism. I understand why so many would be angry, upset and wish to share their opinions on this. This is all completely valid.
But for me, Queen Elizabeth’s death triggered my grief in so many complicated ways that I am still processing a week later. Earlier this year, I discovered that my 21-year-old neighbour Alex, whom I have known since he was a toddler and whom I used to babysit often, took his life at university.
It wasn’t until I came back from Miami to visit my parents that I was told the news. I was completely and utterly heartbroken. Not only because Alex meant so much to me and news like this is shocking and absolutely devastating, but living next door to his parents meant that I could feel the pain felt inside their home.
I’m really close with Alex’s mother, and it took me a while to even reach out to her. I walked over to her house and we sat for hours, drinking wine, crying together. Alex and I were very close, as close as I am with his mother, and it absolutely broke my heart to know that I couldn’t have done anything to help him in his moment of need. It destroyed me. And it destroyed me that his mother had to even go through something like this. Alex’s sudden death also triggered the grief I felt from when I witnessed a suicide a year prior. I had to undergo more trauma therapy to learn how to manage the grief.
But then two days after I got back from New York this summer, news broke that my auntie Denise, my mum’s sister, died suddenly. This hurt so much because Denise was always the cool aunt, the one who would always give you a big bear hug whenever you saw her. She was warm, comforting, kind, and had a brilliant sense of humour. She was a personality and a force of nature in our very close knit family. It was devastating to hear about her sudden death. I consoled my grieving mother, who now has lost two sisters. I consoled my grieving grandmother and grandfather, who’d just lost their second daughter. I consoled my dear cousin, who just lost her mother. Not to mention her children, who’d just lost their grandmother. Then came the arranging of the funeral, the family politics that came with it, the waiting for the coroner’s report to find out the cause of death.
When it comes to grief, there is no time limit
Then comes the panic, the chaos, the fear of not knowing what will happen next. Who else is next to go, and the fear that it might be someone close to you that you love. You’re faced with nausea, an emptiness that can only be described as a horrible black hole that lasts for weeks, sometimes months, years.
When it comes to grief, there is no time limit. There are no rules to how, where, what, when and why it impacts you. And there are no right or wrong ways to respond to grief, nor are there no wrong or right ways to recover from grief.
So when you are faced with constant reminders of death or loss — in this instance, all over the news — it can trigger your grief in ways you probably don’t understand.
While Her Majesty has lived a very long and privileged life, her death signifies a lot of change — a change to the way we have always known our lives to be. All we’ve ever known is the Queen. She’s on our bank notes, our coins, our legal terminology, our government imagery.
We’re grieving losing the comfort of all we’ve ever known, in the same way we grieved our former lives during the Pandemic
When I speak about grief in relation to Queen Elizabeth II’s death, it’s more about grieving loss and getting anxious about change and getting used to something brand new. We’re grieving losing the comfort of all we’ve ever known, in the same way we grieved our former lives during the Pandemic.
Last week I found myself crying at random times because reading, watching and hearing about the Queen’s death, and the subsequent announcements of her coffin travelling from Scotland to London to lie in state, as well as constant notifications about her grieving family, 24 hours and seven days a week, is very, very tough.
Not to mention having to witness the Queen’s family’s grief in real time. It reminds you of your own grief.
The grieving process is tough. You’ve heard of the five stages of grief, right? Just because there are only five stages doesn’t mean that you go through all stages and then you’re absolutely fine. Sometimes you go from stage one to two to three then back to one all over again.
Grieving is also very complicated. Yes, we go to funerals, say our goodbyes and tell ourselves that life will go on. But it doesn’t happen overnight. It stays with us for however long grief choses to stick around. Even though I’ve been busying myself and trying to heal from my grief, something as big and significant as the Queen’s death brought back all of the emotions I felt when I heard about my loved one’s passing.
When I received the BBC notification, it took me back to when I first heard about Alex and my aunt Denise’s deaths. That heavy feeling on my shoulders. My sudden change in mood. The fact that it felt like a dark cloud had dropped from the sky and completely suffocated me.
This was further exacerbated by the fact that during the announcement I was in Dubai, over 3,000 miles away from the comfort of my home, and family. I had no one to talk to about how I was really feeling, and I felt very alone with my thoughts.
I spoke to my friend Leonie about how I was feeling, and she felt the same. She said that the Queen’s death made her feel homesick, not because it’s the Queen but because it signified such a change in routine back in the UK that it meant that even when we one day return to London from Abu Dhabi, our lives will be completely different.
Last week I found myself sobbing at random moments at work, at home, at the pool, and evening during dinner. I didn’t really understand why. So I scheduled a family Zoom call to speak about the events that had unfolded. It was comforting to know that they felt the same. Not necessarily distraught at the Queen’s literal death, but more the sadness surrounding the significant change that would be upon us, as well as underlying grief coming to the surface again. I felt like my feelings were validated.
When I heard of Queen Elizabeth II’s death, all I wanted in that moment was to be at home, in the UK, with my family
The Abu Dhabi bubble has made it difficult to process the grief properly. I’m distracted by work, the sunshine, the fact that the news of Queen Elizabeth isn’t shown everywhere like it would be at home. I don’t see all the intense coverage that you might see in the UK right now. I cherrypick information I want to see making a conscious effort to stay on top of UK news (mainly because I’m a journalist).
When I heard of Queen Elizabeth II’s death, all I wanted in that moment was to be at home, in the UK, with my family. Not to mention my cousin and my neighbours, whose grief would’ve also been triggered.
Grief and healing are not simple, and the pain of losing someone, or something, can be very painful. You can’t predict how someone else’s death - Royal or not - will trigger something in you. That’s why I tried to ignore a lot of the discourse online. A lot of it can be misunderstood, especially since British people have a tendency to crack jokes at inappropriate times — a very natural coping mechanism to bad news. And I also understand that people are angry about the Queen and her colonial roots, and that many of our families (mine included) are still impacted by this. I’m not denying nor invalidating this.
The wider conversation here is death, and how death announcements can impact people more than they realise, regardless of who they are.
If you have struggled this week with the constant news updates regarding the Queen’s death, or even struggling with grief in general, please know that your feelings are valid and you should ride that wave of grief in your own way. I know that the state funeral on Monday, September 19 is going to be tough on many people, as it might bring back memories of their loved one’s funerals. If you feel like you want to cry, let it out. If you feel like you want to talk about it, choose a friend who will listen.
This upcoming week is going to be tough, but I just want you to know that I understand how you feel. For anyone who is feeling confused about why they’re feeling this way, or alone in the way they feel, just know that I see you. If you ever want to talk through anything, my inbox is always open. Please be soft to yourselves this week.
Love, hope and light, always.
Jessica xo
Loved this. Death of someone can trigger feelings of grief and loss and anxiety beyond just the person but also like you said new changes too and the unknown.