Finally finding joy in Cornwall again
Seven years after losing her husband and daughter in a speedboat accident, Victoria Milligan is coming to terms with her grief
My family and I are currently on our annual summer holiday in Polzeath, north Cornwall. It is an area I know and love and have been coming to for over 18 years. Like many others, we are drawn to this part of the world for its breathtaking views, stunning beaches, surfing, clifftop walks… but unlike other families, coming here for us is a double-edged sword: it is the place where we were involved in a tragic speedboat accident seven years ago.
My husband Nicko and eight-yearold daughter, Emily, were killed, I lost the lower half of my left leg and my four-year-old son Kit nearly lost his. My whole world completely changed in one afternoon. I went from being a happily married mother of four to a widow, sole parent and amputee, having to deal with my own grief and trauma and that of my three surviving children, Amber, now 19, Olivia, 17, and Kit, 12.
I never thought I would find joy in this place again. For years it felt like a form of self-harm returning, walking the stunning cliff walk from Polzeath to Daymer Bay, looking towards Padstow and seeing the stretch of estuary where my husband and daughter lost their lives. We have kept coming back here for many reasons; Nicko and Emily are buried at the church on St Enodoc golf course, so we feel very connected to them here, and this has been the site of so many happy memories and having lost so much, I didn’t want us all to lose Cornwall too.
For the first time this year I have not felt a sense of dread returning, but instead one of calmness and acceptance, acceptance that they are not coming back and that Amber, Olivia, Kit and I are moving forward with our lives, living our new normal.
People used to say to me in the initial aftermath that “time is the only healer”, which terrified me, as I knew I was right at the beginning and thought: “how much harder is it going to get?” I have learnt now that it is not time that is the healer but what you do with that time.
I spent many years avoiding the pain as I thought I would collapse from it and knew that I simply couldn’t, I had too much to do. Kit was in hospital
I went from a happily married mother of four to a widow and amputee
for nine months having over 15 operations to save his leg, I had endless physio and prosthetic appointments to learn to walk again and my surviving children needed me to be their mum and counsellor as they wouldn’t talk to anyone else. There was endless grief admin as well as running a house and caring for five pets – I had no choice but to cope.
As time went on I developed numerous coping mechanisms to anaesthetise myself from the pain, mainly by keeping incredibly busy; I organised fundraisers and set myself crazy physical challenges one after another – long-distance charity road bike events, 10k runs on my new blade, learning to ski with a prosthetic ski leg, doing a para triathlon… Push, push, push was my mantra to avoid, avoid, avoid.
On the outside I was perceived as “inspirational”, “brave”, “amazing”. But I didn’t feel any of these things. In fact I felt very little as I was burying all emotions, terrified of what would happen to me if I gave myself permission to feel them. I was just going through the motions of life, not fully living, as by bottling up the pain, sadness and fear I was also blocking joy, happiness and love.
I didn’t want to live the rest of my life like this, I was lucky to be alive and owed it to Nicko and Emily to live a full life. So last year, at my eldest daughter’s advice, I found an amazing therapist to help me work through my three very individual losses and on the disconnect between my external and internal persona.
Our experience was unique and extreme – while others could sympathise, and give us much-needed love and support, no one could understand what we were going through.
The Covid-19 pandemic has meant that we are all collectively experiencing sudden change, which means we can all have some understanding of each other’s emotions – but we are still all experiencing it in a very unique way. For those that have lost loved ones to the disease it must be a very painful time; some will not have had the chance to say goodbye and get the much-needed closure required to begin the grief process. Not being able to say goodbye to those you love most in the world is inexplicably hard; I dream of having one more minute to hug Nicko and Emily goodbye and tell them how much I love them.
My grief was delayed as it was too intense and raw at first, and I had to hold together a family in the aftermath of trauma. I imagine for many who have lost someone in lockdown the pain is too intense to deal with too. Being able to move between everyday life and the pain of grief is a gentler way to grieve than being in isolation with intensified emotions, perhaps with the added demands of running a household, working from home, managing home schooling… We do what we can to survive and my survival technique was to bury my grief, I knew it was there but I couldn’t deal with it yet.
Delayed grief can be more painful to face, but I had no choice. Grief is not a race but entirely individual – there is no right or wrong, no exam to pass or distinction to achieve. It is not a competition; the goal for me is to be able to move forward not riddled with guilt or anxiety, to feel every emotion that life has to offer and to be grateful for every memory I have with those I lost and to take them forward with me in my heart.
I want to model how to grieve well to my children, that we must allow ourselves to feel the pain of missing Nicko and Emily along with the joy of having known them. I want them to know that just because someone is not physically present, it doesn’t mean that the relationship is over – they will always be part of our lives, and we will sing along to songs that remind us of them when they come on the radio, order their favourite meal at a restaurant, watch films they loved, all to feel that closeness again.
They are still, and will always be, very much part of our lives. Grief is not something you “get over” or “move on” from – I will always be grieving. Grief is the honour of love
We must allow ourselves to feel the pain of missing them along with the joy of having known them
On the outside I was ‘brave’, ‘amazing’, but I didn’t feel any of these things
we had for that person and the deeper the love, the deeper the grief.
Having experienced something so life changing I have decided to train as a grief counsellor, as I know how important it is to work through this sadness in the right way. Below is some advice that has helped me through, if you have lost someone or are helping someone who has.
Grief isn’t linear – The pain will often feel like one step forward and two steps back. But don’t think you are not getting anywhere – because you are.
Be kind to yourself – Grief is exhausting and takes up much of our brain’s ability to function, so expect to achieve half of what you normally achieve in a day, and don’t beat yourself up about it.
Reach out for help – “I’m fine” is not going to cut it. Don’t be a martyr; ask for help, whether it is as small as picking up some milk, or walking your dog, which friends will be only too happy to do. If coronavirus has taught us anything, it is how much we need connection with others when going through a challenging situation, and how good it feels to help those in need.
Self-care – Make sure you take some exercise in the day, eat well and don’t drink too much – it may sound simple, but it is absolutely key. Take the time to cook well, and hangovers and grief do not mix, trust me.
Keep it in the day – I felt overwhelmed when I tried to look to a future without Nicko and Emily, so I learnt to control what I could and not look too far ahead. None of us knows what is around the corner so there is no point in worrying about it.
Slow down – Our emotions take a long time to catch up with what has happened. Let’s learn from lockdown and slow the pace of life down a little, simplify where possible, and give ourselves a chance to feel and reflect.