‘It’s a bereavement on top of bereavement’
Being unable to mourn together is a further loss for people in retirement homes, who need a sympathetic ear, writes Anna Maxted
This year, as well as mourning the very real deaths of friends and relatives, many older people are “grieving for the losses that aren’t death”, notes Millie Gobbinsingh, 68, resident of Pannel Croft retirement village in Birmingham. Gobbinsingh – trained by Cruse Bereavement Care to offer support to those experiencing grief – is no exception. A good friend died this year and the first she knew of it was a close acquaintance calling to ask why she wasn’t at the funeral.
“That really knocked me for six,” she recalls. “I couldn’t believe it. I said, ‘ What are you talking about?’ I was flabbergasted. I’d spoken to that person three weeks ago.” She has also suffered the losses of family friends, one after the other. Those close to Gobbinsingh could hardly bear to give her the news. She felt, “When is this going to stop?”
People everywhere are bearing the pain of being cut off from family and their support network – but Gobbinsingh has been equipped to offer that support, thanks to a partnership between Cruse Bereavement Care and the ExtraCare charitable trust, which runs a number of retirement villages and housing schemes in the UK (including Pannel Croft). The project is funded by the National Lottery Community Fund and ensures older bereaved people living in ExtraCare have the support they need when they need it.
The struggles of the past eight months have been particularly cruel. “Socially, you have to stay distant. Mentally, you’re isolated,” Gobbinsingh says. “It’s all part of a bereavement. Grandchildren have had birthdays without a hug from their grandma or grandpa or aunt. The younger ones are going through that bereavement as well.”
Gobbinsingh, who has lived in the village since 2014, was previously a finance officer for a children’s charity. She loves reading and gardening – and people. “I’ve always been a community person. I’ve always been involved. I always know what’s happening in the grass roots.” She’s friendly and outgoing. “I like to try to make people happy. If I can’t do that, I like giving hugs.”
Each ExtraCare village resident lives independently in their own home, with access to communal amenities such as a bar, restaurant and bistro and computer room, and additional care if needed. But, says Gobbinsingh, when the pandemic hit, those with underlying medical conditions had to stay in their apartments. Others shut themselves away, confused by the rules or fearful of the virus. “As we went into lockdown, I realised that some people were totally isolated. That affected a lot of people more,” she says.
The fabric of daily life, from supermarket trips to salsa classes, was pared back or torn away. While in the village the staff wear clear visors, but outside, the necessary face coverings added to that sense of loneliness and isolation. The lack of casual contact – smiling at someone or shaking their hand – hit hard. “A person can’t see your expression, you can’t see theirs,” says Gobbinsingh. “So there’s a fear – is she smiling at me, are they angry? Are they feeling sad? What is it? You could pass someone and not even know who they are.” In some cases, the isolation may have caused incipient dementia to worsen. While people might be keeping safe, she says, “We are losing community. And we don’t even know we are.”
For all these reasons listening is very important, Gobbinsingh believes. She has volunteered with Cruse for three years. Bereavement supporter volunteers like her complete a training programme – with additional refresher training – which enables them to provide listening support to their bereaved peers. The training focuses on communicating effectively and compassionately with bereaved people, developing confidence talking about difficult and sensitive topics, listening skills, raising awareness of the impact of grief on families and individuals (and the volunteer) and understanding the various factors that can affect the grieving process.
Knowing who might need support is a skill in itself. If she doesn’t see someone who’d normally be “buzzing around the village”, Gobbinsingh will call, just to ask, “Are you keeping all right?” When people are down, regardless of what they tell you, “You hear it in their voice. You pick up that tone, and you know something isn’t right.” Then she’ll visit in person and chat from a safe distance at their front door, “and before we know it, an hour’s gone!” She adds, “People don’t want to go back to those four walls. The longer they talk to you, the better it is. They talk about anything, they laugh – and you think, ‘yes!’ ”
Thanks to her training, Gobbinsingh knows that supporting those grieving isn’t always like a normal conversation, where you might jump in to talk about your experience. “It’s something you automatically do, but during the training we were told, ‘you need to listen’.”
Some older people are hesitant to come forward to access support, and as a peer Gobbinsingh’s position and skills are invaluable, giving informal support as and when needed. She recorded some of this year’s extraordinary deprivations in her diary. One painful aspect of grief in the era of the coronavirus, she notes, is that whereas usually the community would gather to celebrate the deceased person’s life with their family and reminisce, now “we can’t meet and the family aren’t coming in. It’s very, very hard to give sympathy. It’s a bereavement on top of a bereavement.”
And confidentiality issues mean that if an ill resident is taken to hospital, the staff can’t tell the others. “But eventually we’ll find out,” says Gobbinsingh. “The worst part of it is, usually if they’re in hospital someone will visit. Now we
‘People don’t want to go back to those four walls. The longer they talk to you, the better it is’
can’t go to support them. There are so many little things that are not under our control that make life really difficult.”
Now, following a death, it’s arranged for “the hearse to pass through the village, and pause so we can say our goodbyes in our own way.” After the first lockdown ended, residents would go downstairs and sing and pray with a pastor from the village.
“People who weren’t able to go out because of shielding would stay on their balcony and listen, and say a little prayer,” says Gobbinsingh. This small ceremony helped everyone to feel they were still able to be part of the mourning process, although shouting down one’s sympathies to a bereaved family, she notes, is a poor substitute for the warmth and intimacy of face-to-face contact. “You can’t impart anything much.”
Residents are grateful nonetheless, says Gobbinsingh. There’s comfort in knowing that everyone cares. “We are isolated, but we aren’t as isolated as people outside in the community. It’s important to have that in the back of our minds.
“This is a village and everybody in here – black, white, pink or blue – we look after one another.”
Cruse Bereavement Care is one of four charities supported by the Telegraph Christmas Charity Appeal. The others are Refuge, Macmillan Cancer Support and Carers UK. To make a donation, please visit telegraph.co.uk/appeal or call 0151 284 1927