That time I was robbed.

I’d experienced loss before.

My grandad. But I don’t think I really felt it. He was elderly. It was sudden but nonetheless the fact that he had lived life served as a pacifier.

Crossing over into my 20s, walking into that space where life starts to have some sort of meaning and I started to find my voice and identify some of my scruples and generally have that hope of “the future” …. it was an awful time to be robbed.

To be robbed of someone who should have/would have played a fundamental role in that future.

Beyond the shock and the sadness that’s what it really feels like – it feels like I’ve been robbed of what should have been mine.

In those teen stages you are kind of expected to be in a rebellious place and in that mindset where you think you know best. And as you begin to transition into adulthood you realise how little you know – so without even being aware that motherly voice, that sat nav essentially becomes priceless. So not being able to have that “phase” in my relationship with my mother feels like robbery.

I also feel like she was robbed. Not only of the days ahead of her but strength, dignity, comfort. Cancer was the thief. It’s absurd for me to tell you someone is in your house robbing you and you sit down watching them without doing anything. But that’s what it felt like. Like this thing had come to rob my mum of the joyful, energetic and vibrant person she was and we just had to sit and watch. So frustration and guilt end up being what you’re left with.

Growing up in Nigeria death was one of two things; it was something you deserved (kind of like karma) or like something you were wrongly given (by someone wicked).

Outside of those two ideas, it wasn’t really discussed. Not for me anyway.

And then I came into the British culture where if anything is uncomfortable or awkward you dare not speak about it…

The final ingredient in this mix of cultures was the Christian culture (well my Pentecostal-Nigerian-British Christianity😂). Death happened but not often because again, if you lived right you didn’t deserve it. And then if you really love God you might even be excited to die.

So there was really no middle ground for me when it came to the topic of death. No grey area. For me the grey area is the human aspect of things. The bit in the middle that is like a big grey storm that we refuse to address. Death affects us on a human level. Yes, dependent on your belief or background you may have a hope that goes beyond the “finality” of death but nonetheless it still has an effect.

You grieve. You’re shocked. You’re reminded that tomorrow isn’t promised. You’re inspired. You’re angry. You’re grateful. You act out. You self medicate. You draw closer to God. You pull away from God. You’re kinder to people. You pull away from people. You’re jealous. You’re full of life. You’re angry. I’m angry. You feel robbed. You feel thankful. I feel robbed.

I feel robbed.

I believe in the power of conversation; open and honest conversation. I believe a lot of growth and enlightenment can come from sharing your story and hearing others’ stories.

So here I am. Not with solutions on how to grieve or how to be ok. Honestly 3+ years on I’m still going through it. Still grieving and still feeling robbed at various times and I know many momentous life events will bring those feelings up. And that’s ok. Just shedding some light on my grieving process. I know I’m not the only one and sometimes you just need to know you’re not alone.

Sending you lots of love,

Marbie Davies

Written by

20 something.| Hopeless romantic.| Lover of transparency. Penning my thoughts while I blossom.

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