When my husband died by suicide four years ago, I felt exactly like this: that, seemingly in an instant, all the scaffolding of my normal life fell apart, and I was ripped away from everyone and everything familiar, and dumped, alone, on an island whose horrors were seemingly perpetrated on me, myself, alone. I found very few maps or guidebooks to help me navigate my island. I dug up snippets of information from memoirs, psychology texts, chat forums and websites, but I couldn’t find a comprehensive guidebook to help me deal with the whole landscape of complicated grief. And it didn’t help that I found that I was unable to read for sustained periods of time, either. 

So that’s what I’m writing, over on my Substack. I’m producing a series of weekly posts, entitled When the Worst Happens, which will offer, in one place, a roadmap to experiences that may arise when somebody close to you dies, and over the ensuing hours, days, weeks, months and years. The posts will be kept fairly short and to-the-point, so that they’re comprehensible to the grieving brain. And I’m also producing accompanying videos, for people who simply find reading too difficult right now, and prefer to listen or to watch somebody talking.

In particular, I’m going to be writing about some of the more complicated aspects of dealing with death and grief; aspects which are rarely talked about, because they’re horrendous and upsetting and bystanders rarely want to think or talk about them. Those more complicated aspects of grief might concern sudden, violent and traumatic bereavements, such as those involving a missing person, or murder, death in state care or prison, addiction, a damaged body that can’t be viewed, multiple bereavements, the death of a child, bereavement by suicide, or the loss of abusive, estranged or mentally ill partners or relatives. When my husband died, I had no idea in advance about what to expect from my dealings with the police, mental health teams, funeral directors, creditors or the coroner’s office, and I had to seek advice from many different, and often expensive, sources of guidance, such as lawyers and accountants. I also had no idea about how to deal with my own emotional turmoil, and I found it hard to locate therapeutic advice that felt relevant to my circumstances.

So my posts for When the Worst Happens will provide the material that I would have found valuable four years ago, for people who are in a similar situation right now: a mix of information, practical advice, and reflections on human experiences of bereavement. I’ll also be writing about aspects of complicated grief that sometimes occur after bereavement, such as the posthumous discovery of secrets about the deceased, or the fraying of relations with the deceased’s family, or physical symptoms of trauma such as ‘widow’s fire’, when a bereaved person experiences heightened libido as a weird post-traumatic response. I hope that, in time, the bank of knowledge that is built up here will become one of the first ports of call for anyone who finds themselves in similar crises.

In writing these posts, I’ll be speaking to, and being informed by, other widows and bereaved people; professionals in grief services, such as coroners, lawyers, welfare advisers and mental health practitioners; and those who deal in trauma and its recovery; and I’ll also be drawing from my own experiences.

I’ll be writing for a number of different types of readers.

I’ll be writing for the bereaved themselves, who find themselves on the worst island in the world, with no idea about how to survive there long-term.

I’ll be writing for people who have been living in the aftermath of bereavement for quite some time, but who may feel unseen, and who may be wondering how to improve things on their island.

I’ll also be writing for people who are not, themselves, bereaved. This is because, even though many of us don’t want to contemplate it, unexpected bereavements may well happen to us in the future, and, if the worst does occur, then the accompanying confusion can be fractionally eased if we’re forewarned about some of the experiences that might be coming up, and if we know that we won’t be entirely alone.

I also want to write for the non-bereaved because many will find themselves in situations in which they’re wanting to support bereaved people, but will find it hard to imagine what they’re going through or how to help.

I’m committed to keeping these posts free to read, because, when we’re in a crisis, the last thing we need is to jump through paywalls – and because bereavement can be very expensive. I’m writing these posts for free because I think there’s a genuine need for publicly accessible information about what to expect when the worst happens, and because I want to help people who are going through these terrible experiences. If I can help people who are currently going through what I’ve been through, and if I can ease their sense of confusion and isolation even fractionally, then I know it’s a worthwhile endeavour.