Andrew Garfield's Masterclass in talking about grief

“I love talking about her by the way, so if I cry, it’s only a beautiful thing.  Grief if all the unexpressed love.  So, I hope the grief stays with me because it’s all the unexpressed love that I didn’t get to tell her…And I told her every day” – Andrew Garfield

Andrew Garfield is giving a MASTERCLASS in how to talk about grief.  Every time I catch a clip of him speaking about his experience of losing his mum it fills me with such admiration and gratitude that someone is finally describing the experience with such accuracy and eloquence.

Watch him chat to Elmo about it here, honestly, it’s perfection! - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVlXbiP4x2E

What he is getting so right, and what we rarely seem to get right when talking about grief, is his full acceptance of the tears, sadness and the pain that comes with loss.  He doesn’t apologise for it or try to dismiss it.  He embraces the pain; he explains why it’s important and necessary – and that every bit of sadness and grief experienced represents the love you felt for the person you’ve lost.

Praise to you Andrew!  THANK YOU for giving such a loud and wonderful voice to the experience of loss.  Especially as a man, role modelling how ok it is to express your feelings and talk about your feelings of pain.  Spiderman can feel sad too!

I know the experience of grief all too well.

(Warning – I’m about to go deep on my experience of loss and grief, plus I could only bear to proofread it once so there may be typos!)

My mum died nearly 10 years ago, and my dad died a couple of years after her.  I had two very different relationships with my parents and experienced two very different types of grief for the loss of each of them.

I was very close to my mum, and when she died quite suddenly, I felt the world fall around me.  I was living in Singapore at the time and had to fly back to the UK when my mum was admitted to hospital suddenly.  She was in a coma when I got home, and she died the following morning.  I never got to say goodbye.  On my flight home I sent her a message telling her how much I loved her, but it was still unread on her phone.

I felt the pain it in my bones!  And I don’t mean that metaphorically – I literally could feel the grief in my joints.  I noticed a sprouting of new grey hairs and I felt like I aged 10 years in a couple of days.  I remember seeing her coffin arrive at the cemetery on the day she was buried and feeling like I might pass out.  That I couldn’t possibly cope with such powerful emotions and feelings of pain.  I have never felt so overwhelmed as I did in that moment.

There were moments of real joy following her death, remembering the wonderful times we had together and sharing anecdotes with other people who truly loved her.  Learning new stories and things about her from family and friends.  Then there were the dark quiet times when the noise, activity and condolences fell aside, and you are just left alone with the stark reality – the permanence and all-consuming pain that comes with the loss of the person you loved the most in this world.  I am a problem solver; I like to try and fix my problems. I found it impossible to be faced with the worst problem of all, and one I couldn’t fix.

I found that these feelings of grief were accepted and supported for a few months, but then the world starts moving forward, people start getting on with things and your pain starts to make people feel uncomfortable.  So, you start to shut it off or keep it quiet and put a brave face on things.  Despite the fact it’s only just starting to sink in, and you feel worse than ever.  

When my dad died a couple of years later, my experience was quite different.  I didn’t know my dad that well.  He had experienced mental health challenges and addiction and hadn’t been a big part of my life for a long time.  We were not really in contact other than a card at Christmas.  It took about 18 months after his death for us to find out he had died. 

The grief I felt for my mum felt kind of pure.  Simple.  Yes, no relationship is perfect, but I knew I loved my mum so very much and I have no doubt me and my sister were her world.  She was a joyful, popular kind person and her memorial service was attended by over 200 people who she had positively impacted throughout her life.  The grief was powerful, it was painful.  But it was uncomplicated.

The grief I feel for my dad is super complicated.  My poor dad who died all alone with no next of kin in a foreign country.  18 months until his children knew he had passed away.  I feel grief for the relationship we didn’t have, I feel regret for not trying harder when he was alive as a recovered/retired addict myself, I feel fear for the damage addiction can do to family relationships and what my life could have looked like if I’d taken a different path.  I feel grief for the memories I do have with my dad and the characteristics I know he and I shared (I have seen pictures of us looking almost identical).

Grief is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.  It is powerful and all consuming, then it becomes something you live alongside, mostly managing to bimble along in life without too many problems, till a song, a memory, a picture take you right back.  Like scratching a wound – reawakening the pain like it’s fresh.

And we will all experience it.  We will all lose someone we love.  Death is the only guarantee in life.  So, grief is the most universal, non-discriminating experience in the world.  So, the more we can talk about it the way Andrew Garfield talks about it.  The most we stop pretending it lasts a few months, rather than a lifetime.  The more we stop downplaying its impact to reduce the discomfort for those around us.  The more we talk about loss and celebrate the tears and pain – the more we honour those who have gone and honour ourselves by being true and authentic to who we really are.