Reminder: You’re not the one who died

by Liz Deacle | Grieving, Personal, Time for a change

It’s time to come back. Return to the land of the living.

I went to Canada to forget. To escape. But the opposite happened. I found something. Something I thought was gone forever. 

I was standing at the top of a ski run on the side of a mountain. Nothing but two fibreglass skis and a pair of second-hand boots between me and death. My family waited patiently at the bottom. 

I can’t do it. I can’t do it. If I do it, I’ll die.

Sonny, my twenty-three year old, was waving his arms. Beckoning.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Do it. Do it now. Think of Mel Robins. 1,2,3, 4, 5 go.

I edged myself over the drop and slid to the side of the piste. Crawling. Trailing my left ski pole in the crystals of bally snow as a way of false security.

My knees were bent, my hands clammy. 

I fixed my sight on the three bodies at the bottom of the hill and muttered the same sentences over and over again. 

If I catch a ski, I will fall and break my neck. I will be paralysed; I will be dead. The helicopter will whirl over and take me off the mountain. I will be flown back to NZ in a body bag.

Morbid as fuck, I know, and undoubtedly the reason why I was prescribed antidepressants a month earlier.

But it’s the truth. That’s what I thought. It’s the truth. Sorry, Mel.

Only I didn’t. I didn’t die. Instead, halfway down the hill, with my eyes fixed on the carved-out slope that swept beneath ancient pine trees, something happened. Something completely unexpected happened.

I whooped. I actually whooped.

I thought only American baseball players whooped. But no. Here I was, a fifty-three-year-old woman recently orphaned and blowing her blog savings on a trip to Canada in an attempt to forget how shit life is when you have no parents, whooping.

The snow showered my ankles in glitter, and I gained confidence and speed. The wind dried my overlicked lips. My cheeks felt cold and taut, and suddenly, it dawned on me. 

You are alive, Liz.

Alive.

And it felt good.

I went to Canada to forget. To escape. But the opposite happened. I found something. Something I thought was gone forever. 

I found what it feels like to be alive again. To live. To be happy.

Rewind to earlier last year

A few months after Mum passed, I was at a coffee shop with Tess. Feigning human-ness. She was holding my hand, looking at me earnestly. The way daughters look at their mothers when they’re about to say something really bad. Something that’s going to hurt.

I’m pregnant.

I’m a druggie.

I hate your podcast.

I avoided her lovely eyes. Prayed that she’d talk about something else. Anything other than the words I could see forming in her beautiful head.

Don’t ask me to smile. Or for advice. Don’t ask me to act like a grown-up. Just tell me about the TikTok ban or how much you loved Cynthia Erivo’s performance in Wicked.

She swallowed and stroked my hand.

“I feel as if it wasn’t just Marmar that died in April, Mum, it was you too. I can’t find you anymore. I feel like I’ve lost you.”

Fuck. Straight to the heart, that one. Sharp as glass.

She was right.

That’s the worst part of it. She was right.

When my mum died, I went with her. Just for some of the way. I held her hand and walked her to where she needed to go. Then I left her up in the clouds and dawdled my way home.

For months, I have lived with the fog. Engulfed in that shitty murky unseeable thick, gluey haze that suffocates those with broken hearts.

When I needed to, I could fake it away, but only for a few hours. Five at max. After that, I would sink into the familiar, clotted, sodden gloop. Float around in the most pleasurable, comfortable feeling of sadness, like a bone of ham in a cauldron of murky pea soup. Bobbing.

I felt constantly tired. Tired of the ache. The tears, Tired of feeling sad. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of circling the calendar. Tired of wanting her back. Tired of crawling under the sink, hoping I’d locked the bathroom door.

My mum was dead, and I felt not far behind.

So I went to Canada. I paid for a family trip to Canada with the money I made from my blog, to avoid facing a foggy, fake Christmas. And while I was there, I pushed myself down a really big hill covered in snow.

And I remembered. That when you ski, you face forward. 

You face forward. Forward. It’s the only way to live.

Had I come down the hill looking backwards, I would have crashed. But I didn’t. I faced forward, and with each second that passed, I was more alive. Whooping like a major league coach into the present moment.

Not everyone needs to ski. But I want you to remember this. When we are constantly pulled to the past, looking back, how can we possibly live? We can’t. It’s as simple as that. We can’t.

And I want to live. I want to move forward. I want to laugh. I want to live. 

I am back from Canada. Returned not only to New Zealand but to the land of the living. I feel happy and hopeful. I hope this mindset lasts, I really do.

It will. I am determined. It has to.

This is not a “times up, ready to move on” message. This is a time is short. Live your beautiful life while you can.

It is 2025, and I am sending my heartfelt love to you.

To those who have yet to experience such loss, you have my sympathy. I wish I could wrap you in bubble wrap and pop those little inflated domes one by one so you won’t hurt so badly when your time comes.

To those who have lost a loved one, my heart is with you. I know, believe me, I fucking know what you are going through and how much it hurts.

But I also know this. There is strength in front of you. When you are ready to let it, it will pull you. It will lead you. It will guide you. You are strong. Stronger than you imagine. And you are alive. 

Breathe. Soften. Repeat and face forward.

Quote that I will read every day to keep me strong:

” You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present “ – Jan Gildwell

I’m with you, many darling friend, 

Yours, facing forward,

Liz x

Are you in the depths of sadness?

I hear you, and I feel you. My heart is with you.
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