When there is no time for grief
Grief is a deeply personal and complex experience, and this year, I’ve faced it in more ways than I could have imagined. My relationship with my mother was anything but straightforward, yet people often assume that if you’re distant or absent, it must mean you didn’t care. That couldn’t be further from the truth. On top of losing her, I’ve lost friendships and relationships that once felt like family. Each loss has left its mark.
I thought that when she passed, I might finally be able to breathe. The idea of no longer carrying the guilt and shame felt like it might bring some relief. But not even a week after her burial, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of drama and stress, all stemming from the legacy of her choices.
It's as though she’s still here, creating chaos that we’re left to sort out day after day.
Loss teaches us many lessons, some harsher than others. Matt and I still haven’t sorted out our own wills, and just a day after her funeral, I realised how important it is to have those affairs in order. But even with the best of intentions, a will isn’t always simple or straightforward. No matter how well things are planned, complexities seem to creep in.
On top of this, I’ve found myself under attack from all sides. My sister has turned me into her scapegoat, claiming that I “trigger” her, though for what, I don’t know. I’ve spent so much of my life giving, pouring from an empty emotional cup, and now I’m being labeled as selfish and cold. Just a day after my mother’s passing, my sister sent hurtful messages about myself to my brother while he was already struggling to organise the funeral and process his grief.
It’s the same old patterns, repeating like a script passed down through generations. It’s as if we’re all stuck in autopilot, re-enacting behaviors that aren’t even our own, like they’re in our DNA.
I suppress my own feelings for the sake of my brother, worrying about him so much that I often forget to take care of myself. But I’m learning, slowly, that I can’t keep doing this. The cost of constantly pushing down my emotions is too high. I love him deeply, and it pains me to see how trauma has shaped us both, trapping us in survival mode. I thought he’d be okay, but now I realise how wrong I was.
When we talk about grief, we rarely mention how family dynamics can leave no space for it.
Instead of mourning, we’re left dealing with the fallout hurt, disappointment, and the painful reminders of my mother’s shortcomings. There’s no room to grieve because we’re too busy managing the mess she left behind.
Take her will, for example. For years, Mum insisted she didn’t want a certain person to have any claim to her house, and she made efforts to give them other financial assets and belongings. But nothing is ever that simple. Just before her death, this person transferred the registration of her car into their name and tried to search for details regarding her superannuation, despite not being the beneficiary. It’s clear that even in her passing, there are tangled threads to unravel. The day after she died, this same person cleared out her family photos and packed up her clothes, as if trying to erase us from her life entirely. He even called us “seagulls,” accusing us of swooping in for her possessions. All we’ve done is try to honor her original wishes, even as we deal with the chaos she left behind.
Instead of having a moment to pause and grieve, we’ve been forced to defend her wishes, protecting what little remains. It’s exhausting. There’s no time for reflection or processing because we’re constantly managing the fallout.
As we uncover more about her actions, the pain only deepens. My brother, who should have had space to grieve, has been left to clear out her house on his own, with no time for himself. He’s been shouldering the burden of her death, and it’s heart-wrenching to watch.
People might think we’re after her money or her possessions, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Years ago, I told my mother I didn’t want anything from her estate because of the complicated family dynamics. And yet, here I am, branded as a “seagull.”
When my father passed, my brothers and I received nothing. His executor, our uncle, took everything because I wasn’t 18 at the time. None of us got what we were entitled to,
and I carried the weight of my age like a burden. Now, with my mother’s passing, it feels like history repeating itself.
This isn’t the first time, either. When my siblings’ father, my stepfather (they were still legally married ) passed away, my mother wasn’t with him, and she created even more complications for them during their own time of grief. My mother did such a number on my siblings during that difficult time, adding to their pain and confusion as they processed the loss of their father.
This pattern of behaviour has repeated itself over and over, and now, with her passing, it feels like history repeating itself. My mother had a way of causing division, and I now regret not stepping up when she asked me to be her executor. I thought I was showing integrity, proving that I wasn’t after her money. But now I see the bigger picture, and it’s left my siblings in the same difficult position we were in after our father’s death, uncertain and overwhelmed.
After experiencing three deaths, each one accompanied by legal and emotional complications, my advice is simple:
