Losing both my parents felt like losing my cultural identity

Interview with S*

Transcribed & edited by Amy Dorrington

Content warning

This interview discusses death. If you're in crisis, call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or find more contact information on our Resources page.

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Can you tell me about your earliest memory of death?

My Dad’s brother, my uncle, died of lung cancer when I was ten. Dad was a very tough bloke. A classic, old school, African parent who barely ever smiled or laughed. Everything was about books and education - there was no time for fun. I remember Dad had gone to visit my uncle in hospital for the last time and came home in tears. I was just staring at him as he sat there crying, thinking, what is happening? I had never even seen him smile, let alone cry.

At that point, Dad had already been diagnosed with bladder cancer. I look back now and wonder if he was crying because his brother had passed away or crying because he was worried about his own mortality. Probably both.

A few years later, my Dad died.

I felt numb. It was a weird experience knowing I’d never see him again because we didn’t have a close and loving relationship. If he was able to see the bloke I’ve become as I’ve got older, I like to think he’d have softened his approach. I would have liked to know how our relationship would have developed.

Within a year of Dad passing away, my grandmother came over from Ghana and stayed with us for six months. I was a wild child. She was shocked at my disobedience, but in my mind, I was now the boss or the ‘man’ of the house and I could go to bed whenever I wanted. I was a brat. I’m not proud that I was like that, but grief hits you in different ways. 

It’s too simplistic to say ‘your old man passes away and you become an asshole’. Maybe my behaviour was anger or a big ‘fuck you’ after all the years I was told I couldn’t express myself and be who I wanted to be. It can happen with children of African backgrounds that grow up in the Western world. The parents try to raise their kids in the way they were raised and it just doesn’t fit in a Western country.

Both my parents grew up in Ghana and then moved to East London where I was born. It’s a melting pot of cultures, thoughts, beliefs and religions and because all their East London friends were also from Ghana, they wouldn’t have even known that their way of parenting wasn’t right for kids growing up in London. I felt a sense of freedom after Dad died because my Mum didn’t take over that authoritarian role.

Your Mum died at the beginning of 2020. What do you remember about the time surrounding her death?

She was sick for two years. When I initially found out, I flew back to London and she looked fine. She hadn’t lost any weight, she hadn’t lost any hair from the chemo. We went shopping together. The thing is, cancer comes back and it comes back aggressively. In the back of my English pessimist mind, I knew it would come back with a vengeance.

I was planning on going back to London to see her last January, but then one of my sisters admitted to me that she didn’t think Mum would last that long. I burst into tears and didn’t know what to do. I had a conversation with a mate and he said: ‘Go now. or you’ll regret it if she passes away.’

I arrived on Christmas day and took a cab straight to the hospital. I walked into her room and she looked so different. It’s often not cancer that actually kills you - Mum caught a virus in the hospital that her immune system couldn’t fight and it just spread. But even in the final five or six hours, she was still able to have conversations while my sisters and I were by her side.

Watching your parent or any loved one take their last breath is really hard. I was worried I wouldn’t cope when she did pass away - I thought I’d crumble - but I was glad to be with her in her final moments.

During those two years that your Mum was sick, were there any moments where you considered moving back home to the UK? 

It’s awful thinking like that. I wanted to quit my job and move back home but Mum said, ‘don’t you dare even think about doing that'.’ She knew I had so much to lose by going back. I hadn’t got my Permanent Residency yet, I had a partner in Australia and it would have been shit. I was so unhappy in the UK. I felt selfish, but it’s what Mum wanted, which made it feel okay.

What do you remember about the time just after her death?

She died just after midnight on New Years Day, 2020. We went back to the house and there was loads of family there. Mum had made the choice to not tell many of her family members so I was fielding questions from lots of people who had no idea she was sick. She just didn’t want a fuss. It was a blur.

Mum didn’t even tell her parents who are both still alive because they were too old to come to the UK. They wanted to do something to honour her in Ghana but then the pandemic hit and gatherings were banned. My Dad’s mum is also still alive. Being that old and burying your child would be very difficult.

I felt relief because she wasn’t in pain anymore. There were thoughts of sadness because of my age and thinking about how my children aren’t going to know either of their paternal grandparents. I feel like I’m struggling to piece things together about Ghana and my culture. But I have the power to change that, I just need to go back to Ghana. I haven’t visited in 20 years.

Were there any unexpected challenges or feelings you weren’t prepared for?

Fathers Day only triggered me after Mum died, because it’s like a parents day to me and my Mum took on both roles. There’s now a feeling of having no identity. 

The most difficult thing was actually my family because most of them didn’t know Mum had been sick. It was so hard. Dealing with busy-body family members who kind of meant well but were also like, ‘this is my way of showing I knew her better.’ I was so over it and angry by the end of it all, it felt like this big peacocking activity. I felt like saying, THIS IS THE REASON Mum didn’t tell you she was sick - because of the politics. Mum didn’t want a part in it. Like, is this what’s really important?

My partner watches terrible rom coms and I was watching this particular one with her recently and thinking, this is an hour and a half I’m never going to get back. The bit that got me was the main character’s Mum was in remission then got cancer again and passed away. I think it was not only seeing a mother but a black mother. It reminded me so much of Mum and I started to cry. It’s funny the things that trigger you. That said, the end of the film was really shit!

What was it like returning to ‘normal’ life after your Mum’s death?

My friends, partner and work were really supportive.

I was really looking forward to getting back to work, being in the same timezone as my colleagues, seeing my mates and returning to some form of normality. I thought everything was going well, but in hindsight, I was making silly mistakes at work. Nothing big - I’m not a surgeon - nobody will die if I make a mistake. But my ability to see things objectively was definitely impeded.

I actually lost my job due to COVID as I was a subcontractor, but my boss managed to get me a job back after there was a departure in my team. I got my job back on one condition: I was to take two weeks off. Usually, when I take time off, I will still check emails every single day - I’m a loser, I know. But my boss said I wasn’t to do that under any circumstances, so I just watched Ozark for two weeks. That really helped.

Do you think the pandemic intensified your grief?

When COVID hit and we weren’t allowed in the office, I panicked, because all I had was work. I’m aware of how ridiculous that sounds - I mean, I still had a job. But it felt unfair because I had no control over my life and I felt like work was all I had. I was miserable and some days I didn’t want to get out of bed. I was really snappy with people. It wasn’t until May or June when I was actually okay. Since then, I think the pandemic has made me more aware of my own mortality and what I want to do while I’m here.

Have you explored therapy to help unpack your experience?

Yes, but not until I was much older. Culturally - having a Ghanian upbringing in East London and especially being a male - we didn’t talk to psychologists because we thought it was bullshit. There’s a part of me now that still thinks, does this really help? But it does. I know it does and now I completely encourage it. I’ve started seeing a psychologist again which has helped me work through things.

What were some of your favourite qualities about your Mum?

She was great. Full of energy, but also reserved and thoughtful. She was a woman of religion so I was brought up Catholic (and definitely still have some residual Catholic guilt because of that!). Mum would always be the first on the dance floor at a party and she’d always make the effort to get to know my friends. She didn’t talk all the time so when she did talk, it was always really insightful or funny or caring. Everyone loved her. 

As I got older, it was great watching Mum develop into this beautiful woman and hearing her opinions and the ways she viewed the world. I hadn’t got to experience that side of her when Dad was around. 

Mum and I had a really good relationship, especially once I moved to Australia. She could see how unhappy I was living in the UK. I had no direction. She could see that my time in Australia got me focussed on my goals and what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be.

Despite the tragedy, has your experience taught you anything valuable?

Because I now feel this loss of cultural identity, I have a newfound desire to reconnect to my culture and visit Ghana and the UK more often. I know that connecting to my roots and discovering that sense of identity will make me a happier person. ✿

*Name has been withheld for privacy.

Interview has been edited for clarity.

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