tw // death, ableism, covid-19
As a world, we are individually and collectively struggling to process our feelings from this year, or describe them; the number of deaths almost unfathomable. Today, on International Day of Disabled People and Grief Awareness Week, I am reflecting on the different reasons I am grieving as a disabled person this year.
There is, of course, my personal grief. Back in May, I wrote an unpublished blog post, with this excerpt:
“There is something so unique about grief in this time. I don’t have any memories from my nan’s last four days of life. I don’t even remember our last conversation. My last memory of her is her being moved down the stairs by paramedics in PPE, not being able to touch her or say anything.
“We haven’t been able to hug our friends, or take time away for ourselves away from the rest of our family. We are surrounded by her things and the memories 24/7. I am having to answer question after question each night from my brother, who doesn’t understand that we can’t have all the neighbours at the funeral, that his uncle can’t come over from Canada.
“We are not alone. We are not a unique case. Tens of thousands of families across the UK, and hundreds of thousands across the world, are experiencing the same thing. For us, our grief does not directly come from COVID-19. But it is inherently linked.”
Yet there is more than that. As a collective, the disabled community is grieving thousands of those that we’ve lost, with disabled people in the UK making up around two-thirds of deaths. They are not only numbers, they are human beings who should not have been expendable just because they had “pre-existing conditions” – a phrase I have grown to despise when it is used to reassure people that it could never be them. It is intrinsically intertwined with the fear that it could be me next.
We are grieving months lost to shielding and self-isolation, watching as people around us complain about not being able to go to bars and restaurants when we feel unable to go to our local shop, or when we have been isolated like that for years regardless. We are grieving the fact that as soon as non-disabled people needed it, online learning and remote working became available overnight.
And aside from Covid-19, there is a unique grief that comes with being disabled. It is one that is so very individual, and often comes with guilt. I am proud of being disabled, there is no doubt about that. So when feelings of grief arise, I often feel ashamed for feeling that way. Though I think, on reflection, it’s natural and almost necessary.
I am allowed to be sad sometimes that I lost my teenage years to misdiagnosis, endless hospital appointments, pain and mental illness. I can grieve for the person I may have once become, whilst being grateful for and loving the person I am now. I can appreciate every step of my journey, whilst wishing that each step I walk in the world would stop causing me pain and fatigue. Those are valid feelings, and can co-exist.
Grief and disability are individual taboos, but they must be looked at in combination, too. They intertwine, for so many reasons. That is something more people should be aware of.