hey, this is ndfg run by Kirsty.

I lost my dad in 2018 and have been on a rollercoaster of a grief journey since. I never wanted to join support groups or interact with others in the early stages but felt “weird” because my grieving was different to my family.

I soon realised the uniqueness in every grief journey and feel a strong pull to make sure others know they’re not alone in every feeling on this rollercoaster of a ride.

the founding story

I came up with this idea to build a site called No Deadline for Grief or ndfg for short because quite frankly there is NO DEADLINE for grief. You could be grieving for 20+ years and still feel the raw emotions you did in the first year, and that is MORE than okay.

When I lost my dad I was angry at the world and no one could say the right thing to me. I realised a lot of people avoided me in fear of making me cry or because the trauma I had been through made them uncomfortable.

There’s not enough chat around grief and how to deal with it and when you’re hit with a loss, you suddenly realise the lack of support we have through our journey’s.

For some reason we’ve been made to believe that after a certain amount of time or after we’ve been through every feeling in the stages of grief that we should be absolutely fine, over it and ready to move on.

I’ve been ready to move on a total of 182492420 times and that’s because the journey of grief has hills, mountains, it has bumps in the road, it has really high high’s and really low low’s and you don’t know when they’re going to come because it could just be round a sharp bend and BAM you’re crying at the sound of a ringtone.

There is no RIGHT way to grieve. You do it how you need to, even when that is different every other week.

I hope this feels like a safe space to come to, to feel supported, to feel less alone and to feel “NORMAL” (whatever that is!!?)

Thanks for being here,

Kirsty x

the name ‘No Deadline for Grief’ is all about remembering and honouring that there isn’t a time limit on the feelings surrounding your loss

No Deadline for Grief, in honour of

Kev

Kirsty’s story

Please note: my story includes talking about heart attack, cardiac arrest and trauma.

  • I grew up in the most loved household there was. I was always surrounded by strength, support and unconditional love. My mum and dad were happily married, me and my little bro were best buds - it was a magical place to grow up in. We had our normal tiffs, money probs and bad days but as long as we had each other we knew we would be okay.

    My mum and dad have always been openly proud of me and my bro.

    Dad was the creative one and he NEVER stopped learning. He wanted to know everything and he was fascinated by human psychology. I guess that’s where I get it from, as that’s me too.

    I would go to dad’s study to say good night, he’d be doing some writing or studying maths or history or learning about something. We’d get talking about something random and I’d stay there for hours chatting. I’d start saying “dad seriously! I need to go to bed, I’ve got to be up early tomorrow” and still sit there for another hour.

    If I saw a bit of art or heard a funky song, I’d send it to him.

    If I had a great day, I’d tell him about it.

    If I had a bad day, I’d tell him about it.

    He was my number one supporter and my go-to for any kind of advice. I will always be convinced he knew EVERYTHING.

  • Fast forward to March 2018 and my whole world turned upside down.

    I was at work in London. I graduated July 2017 so I was pretty new in the working world.

    I was texting my dad throughout the day, I even rang him on my lunch break.

    This wasn’t unusual mind, I chatted to dad all the time.

    He was at home, he felt unwell… thought he had the flu or something. It got to the end of the day and I walked to the train station.

    I rang dad for a chat while I walked and he was chatting about us getting pizza for dinner…

    Then, all of a sudden, I heard this horrible sound on the other end of the phone.

    I tried to convince myself it was a signal error at first.

    It wasn’t a signal error.

    I quickly called my nan, the one person I know that wasn’t at work and that has a key to go round and see if dad is okay.

    The next few hours were a blur.

    I remember standing on the train feeling NUMB. Like I wanted to do something, try and help? Reverse the clock?

    My nan had rushed round and my brother got home shortly after, they both did what they could by ringing emergency services and giving him CPR.

    He had had a heart attack and gone into cardiac arrest.

    The rest is a blur but they found a pulse so he was taken to the nearest heart hospital.

  • Dad was in hospital for a week.

    We went straight there that evening and didn’t actually go home until a few days later, because we wanted to be available when there was any news.

    He was heavily sedated so we couldn’t speak to him.

    No one knew what damage was done to his brain in that time he was without oxygen.

    We went in to visit, all 20-odd of us (dad has a big family!!), 2 at a time.

    We held his hand and told him it would be okay.

    I wrote notes in my phone as letters to him to tell him how strong he is and that he’ll make it through this.

    Then a week after he was admitted my mum got a call just before we got parked up to visit. The doctor wanted to speak to us.

    This apparently is never a good sign. No news is good news, as they say.

    They had done a CT scan and there was no brain activity.

    He was gone.

    My best friend

    My number one supporter

    My dad

    …was gone.

  • Realising I would never see or speak to my best friend ever again was truly heart breaking.

    I felt numb, I don’t think I could even cry in that moment.

    All I remember was my family surrounding me were in tears but me and my brother were just… numb.

    When we left the hospital, I felt like I’d left a part of me there.

    In a way, I guess I did.

    This was my new reality and if I’m being honest, I didn’t think I would survive it.

  • As I sit here writing this today, I’m still sobbing my heart out.

    A part of me will always be missing.

    And I miss my dad and our chats, every single day.

    But each year that passes, I keep surviving.

    Some years feel worse than others.

    Some months are blurry.

    Some days are numb.

    These don’t go away… but the positive emotions?

    The laughter, the peace, the excitement and the joy…

    They all get bigger along the way.

    None of the sadness, the anger, the guilt and the heartbreak will truly disappear but the feelings around these are what keep me going.

Looking to support someone else in their grief? Find more info here.

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