My name is Remi Martin. I am a Black British woman from South London and work in a Bereavement Team in my local hospice. I started my studies with The Open University in 2019. I am now an OU Alumni but have been continuing engaging in research-based projects with the OU after writing a participatory research proposal on bereavement for my final assessment in 2023. I experienced a significant bereavement in my early school years, after my mum died of a rare form of cancer in 1999. Since then, I have gone through a series of life events that have brought up feelings of the loss of my mother in a range of ways. I have spent years reflecting on my own experiences of being bereaved of such a significant person over the course of my life and have since dedicated the last four years of my life exploring ways in which people can navigate their loss; especially coming from a racially minoritised background. Even within racially minoritised groups, there is so much diversity within our experiences of death, dying and loss.

What is loss? We lose our phones, we lose money, we might lose a friendship, a marriage, a house, a country (during/after war) ... we will all lose something in this life. One of the permanent losses we are faced with is when someone dies. I find that in British society, we shy away from this death and dying topic. When we experience a death in our lives, we often get these common phrases from people... ‘I am sorry for your loss’, ‘Let me know if I can do anything to help’, ‘Your [Insert name here] was such a lovely person, you are so like them’, ‘You should see a counsellor, you seem to be struggling’. We will all have our own responses to this, but for me often this feels like a closed ended sentence and usually there is no follow up. It is not just the emotional strain that death, dying and loss has on us, but also other intersections that impact our experiences like poverty, sexuality, heritage, age. The list goes on.  

The ‘truth’ is the feelings of loss after someone has died are complicated. There are so many nuances and differences according to our relationship to the person who has died, our family upbringing, community, our faith, our traditions, our heritage, other ecological systems such as our society on a wider scale and their views on ‘loss’.

I write this, not to give you ‘tips’ on how to ‘grieve’, but more to share my experience of bereavement and how the feelings of loss feel like for me and others and some of the key thoughts to consider. This blog (that this article has been taken from) has come after an internship I was on in November 2024, titled ‘Breaking the Silences; exploring the experiences of Racially minoritised individuals after death’. As part of my internship with the OU’s Wellbeing Education and Language Studies faculty, focusing on bereavement within racially minoritised groups, I’ve had the privilege of listening to many personal stories of loss, resilience and ‘healing’. The people behind these stories are diverse in their heritage, traditions, upbringing and generally how they deal with loss. Through those stories, I’ve learned a few key things that might help you as you navigate life after losing someone significant.

Finding your source of comfort

After loss, it’s common to feel disconnected from your identity. Maybe they were the one who taught you the traditions, the family recipes, the language, the stories. I have found that there were a few things that helped me feel connected to myself and to my late mother. I found myself copying her dress sense 25+ years later (some of her clothing fits me!). My mum was a singer, so being surrounded by live music feeds my soul! I have heard of people cooking up the favourite meal of their significant person. Feelings of loss can be lonely, but traditions and practices from our heritage can be a bridge to connection, both with your person and with your community. I am yet to visit Jamaica where my mother’s mother is born and raised!

What resources might you be able to tap into if you’re struggling?

If you take away just one thing from this article, I hope it is this: You do not have to do this alone. It can be our default to think, I don’t want to burden anyone, or no one will understand. But experiencing a loss (whether they were close to you or not) can be heavy and carrying it by yourself can make it too much sometimes. Whether you touch base with a friend, a family member, or a professional, talking about your feelings with someone who cares can help quiet the overwhelming noise in our minds. I want to acknowledge that some significant people that die in our lives are not always people we loved; while we may not be longing for them to be back here, there can be a longing for what could or should have been, but also a sense of relief. This juxtaposition of feelings can be confusing to hold at the same time. What could help nurture you during these times if this is what you are experiencing?

This also applies if you’re preparing for a loss. If you feel like you're taking on too much – organising, caretaking, and generally holding everything together – how could things be different for you so that you do not burn out? I do not have the specific answer for you but looking at ways in which you have some resources to sustain you – be it social, physical help, financial support – only you will know what you might need.

If you have already asked for help and it was not what you wanted, I would encourage you to try something else, even if it seems quite risky to be vulnerable. For example, after my daughter turned one year old (after my maternity leave had finished), I struggled to physically go to work the week of my mum’s birthday. My mum’s birthday is the day after my daughter’s, and I couldn’t face going to work and having to mask my true feelings. I did not have the courage to mention it the first time, but after my daughter’s second birthday, I requested those days off as unpaid leave. I NEEDED this time and space to gather my thoughts and feelings and the lack of celebratory expressions I had towards the two most important females in my life.

Sometimes it is not the emotional support, it is the basic needs that may have been changed that you will need support with. I am so grateful for people around me who do things like cooking for me, hanging up my washing or babysitting; this type of help means I have more capacity to focus on me and filling my cup.

Allow yourself to be creative

As a Trainee Play Therapist, this is something I will always advocate for. As adults we are not given the privilege of playing and being creative in comparison to childhood (in my opinion). The loss we feel doesn’t always have words. So, what better way to express yourself than by drawing, painting, music, dance, poetry – whatever calls to you. It can be a powerful way to process emotions when words just don’t suffice or you can’t explain your feelings. Daily life can be a struggle while adjusting to change after a death, especially if we have few resources. Studies show that engaging in creative activities helps regulate emotions and it takes very little effort to be in a creative mindset, mentally. It’s not about the end product; it’s about the process of being still and allowing yourself to feel and release.

Let yourself have ‘sad’ days

I find there can be a pressure to ‘be strong’ and ‘move on’, but here’s my truth: sadness isn’t a bad thing. It only becomes overwhelming when we try to ignore it. From personal experience and the adults and children I work with each day, loss comes in waves – some days, you’ll feel content and other days you may cry yourself to sleep; that’s okay. Giving yourself permission to feel what you feel, without rushing to ‘fix’ it, is part of the life after a death of a significant person. Unprocessed feelings of loss don’t disappear – it just finds another way to show up. So, pace yourself (though, this is not a ‘time’ aspect).

Share your story

One of the most powerful things about feelings of loss is that it can bring us together. When you share your story, you not only help yourself process what you’re going through, but you also remind others that they’re not alone. Whether it’s a conversation with a friend, a support group, sharing stories among family or community members, your personal story has so much power. It’s unique and it’s yours. Within many communities of global majority practices, storytelling is part and parcel of the traditions and heritage. Personally, I have found this hard as a third-generation migrant, as my grandparents identified as British and quickly took on the idea that death and dying was taboo. However, I now embrace my story and share it with anyone; experiences of loss are hard but they are also my life and my existence in this world. Life is natural, death is natural, the bit in between the loss is also natural. I am confident that you will find your way to navigate your loss(es) despite being from a racially minoritised background.

With love,

Remi Martin