How I coped with being bereaved but having no memories

by Tessa, whose father died in 1969 when she was 16 months old.

As a child I felt I should love my father because he was my dad, but I didn’t know who he was. It wasn't until I was in my teens that I even knew what he looked like. I didn't understand how I could love somebody I didn't know and about whom I had no memories.

I used to wish for some memories; I'd sit as a kid and think and think, but obviously there was no way I was going to trawl up any memories as I was so young when he died.

A few years after my father died, my mum married a lovely man who insisted on adopting me. He had also grown up not knowing his father and having a different surname to his brothers and sisters, and he didn’t want that for me.

We have a wonderful bond and I’m so grateful he adopted me. I’ve never felt the lack of a father or found Father’s Day difficult, as I know many adults bereaved as children do. I always felt he was my dad and never called him my stepdad. So how could I grieve this person who was my father when I had a dad who I loved and who was here for me?

And yet there was this shadowy person that I should be grieving, but I didn’t really understand where he fitted into my story. It left me feeling very confused and a little bit bitter as well, and I went through my teenage years feeling this way. I had real anger issues; I recognise now as an adult that essentially I didn't have the vocabulary or the skills to deal with it, so I acted out a bit.

It wasn’t until I went on an anger management course that I realised my problem wasn’t anger, it was grief - it was such a lightbulb moment when I took that anger label off and put a grief label on.

I was confused about my identity; I didn't know my history, and it felt like there was a huge part of me missing. I think the hardest part was that I found it impossible to talk to my mum about it as I had developed this coping mechanism that I shouldn't ask because other people would get upset.

It wasn’t until I was in my 40s that I started feeling more confident talking to my mum because what happened had been difficult for her, a great trauma. Over the years, I hadn’t asked questions and it all built up layer by layer by layer, like a scar. Speaking to my mum later, we realised that because I didn’t ask, she thought I was OK.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, I was contacted on Facebook by an uncle I was unaware of, who told me he was my father’s younger brother. I found out that he only lived ten miles away and we arranged to meet. He pulled out all these photo albums, and various other bits and pieces, and told me everything he could remember about my father; I just couldn’t stop grinning like a Cheshire Cat. I soon realised he was the ‘family historian’.

One day, he posted a photo on his Facebook page of my father holding me and it was like a lightning bolt as I only ever had one picture of him. What was more amazing were all the comments from people who remembered him - it was just mind blowing. I reached out to some of them and while they didn't all know my father incredibly well they all said he was fun. That’s when I realised that all the little memories people hold about someone are like little gifts.

By chance I also met a close friend of my father who told me so much about him. I found out that he was a person with hopes, dreams and aspirations, who had a very naughty side of his personality, and who was a bit of a rascal.

Now I know what made him tick, what made him laugh and what was his favourite drink down the pub. I know he was an expert tree climber and good with a catapult. When I think about him now, I smile because I know more about him - he's not a shadow anymore, he's now a colour photo for me as opposed to a silhouette.

All this makes me feel more connected with him and that makes me lighter in myself. I don't feel that guilt anymore when people say ‘tell me about your dad’ because now I can tell them lots of things. I can’t believe the positive effect on my life finding out about my father in my 50s has had on me.

I think it’s so important when a parent dies that children have the chance to talk openly about their parent who has died; adults may need to provide the opportunity as, as in my experience, some children won't start the conversation.

Giving children access to memories is really important: you need to keep the discussion going and make it really easy for the child to ask questions and make memories when and how they want to, whether that’s talking, writing notes or doing something creative.

Decades after my father died, I now feel this sense of lightness; I wish I’d had that as a child and through my teens and twenties.

Founded by Tessa, This Was Them creates bespoke books that give bereaved children access to stories of a parent who has died. With every purchase of a package from This Was Them, 20% of net sale proceeds will go directly to Child Bereavement UK, helping to support our work with bereaved children, young people and families.

Find out more at: thiswasthem.co.uk/cbuk.

---

Visit our page: How we can support you for more on our services.

You can also call our Helpline 0800 02 888 40, email [email protected], or use Live Chat on our website.