Six Months of Grief
Long post alert…because #grieftown. (updated 27/4/2020)
‘An Australian Blessing’ words and artwork by dear friend to Dan and I, Lyndal O’Gorman.
I still cannot wrap my head around how our lives have changed forever. I don’t understand how a 40 year old father, husband, son, brother, friend, colleague can go to bed after sharing a meal with loved family and suffer a catastrophic heart attack and not wake. How can that happen? Why did that happen? And why to us?
This is my ‘professional’ space on the interwebs where I share my passion for children’s and YA literature. When people meet me, they often tell me that I talk the way I write and I always hope this to be so because I dearly seek to be authentic in all that I do. In being authentic, my blog readers have watched ChickPea and PudStar (as they are known online) grow and have been invited into aspects of our lives. Obviously the snippets on social media are not the total picture of our lives because there is an awful lot more mess and screaming in my actual life, but I have certainly welcomed my online village into our lives – with Dan’s blessing and with measures in place to ensure I don’t overshare the lives of the girls, because their stories are their own to tell.
But sharing snippets of my personal life online has meant that you have all witnessed the grief and trauma in my life and sometimes I do feel like my life has been laid wide open for people to peer at. My adored brother Simon James Dean passed away six years ago, my favourite aunt passed away this year and my beloved Dan died just four weeks later. I imagine them all in heaven having a great old natter – the three of them got along famously and ribbed me mercilessly. My family and I have experienced just too many layers of loss and whilst I am now deeply grateful that my brothers divine children are the best role models possible for my own children, cousins should not need to share the bond of fathers who have died.
I did not ever imagine my life looking like this and I never imagined a time when Dan would not parent with me. However I am daily humbled and reduced to tears by the kindness of so many. Many, many times I have felt it is too much, that I can’t possibly accept any more random acts of kindness or ongoing assistance with food and so much more. I can’t possibly express my gratitude and my counsellor (Dan’s lovely former chronic pain counsellor) says that I don’t need to keep thanking people because people want to help and one thank you is enough. But if I could, I would write my thanks in the sky and send fireworks of praise into the stars for those who stand by me week after week, month after month and year after year. 
I slammed out my eulogy for Dan while scoffing chocolate macadamia’s and below is my abridged eulogy for Dan with names removed and to and for my paragraph for the girls removed, because that was them and is their story.
One of the things that helped me immensely when my brother died, was reading the blogs of people like Eden Riley, Rachel Nobel and Lisa King – who have also experienced deep grief. It’s a unique and lonely journey, but I found immense solace in reading their stories and, in some cases, the eulogies they wrote for their loved ones. In that same spirit, below is my abridged eulogy for Dan with names removed and my paragraph for the girls removed, because that was them and is their story. I reproduce it here in the hope that it may soothe the soul of someone else, because stories are the best way I know of to connect with others. My story is not over yet but my story is changed from the one I wrote in my head when I met and married Dan.
Thank you lovely online and offline village. For everything.
Daniel John Daley…
My beautiful husband of nearly 20 years is gone and I have no idea how to navigate the world without him. I met Dan when I was 18. I was wearing one of my many sets of fairy wings, purple Doc Martins and I had sparkly stars stuck all the way up my cheekbones. My first degree was a B.Ed of Early Childhood teaching so I could totally get away with wearing glitter and wings. I know that Dan thought I was really odd, because I heard it from several of his friends later, but I was struck by his immensely kind face and his Cherry Red Doc Martins.
Dan and I lived our twenties loud and live. I continued to wear wings, glitter on my face and stick Chupa Chups into my buns and braids for concerts and festivals, and he collected band shirts and hoodies at an alarming rate. I’m one of the most straight laced, conservative partyers you’ll ever meet and Dan would often proudly say, ‘yep. She’s just actually like that…all the time’. The only time he didn’t let me wear wings was to our wedding and I never really forgave him for this. We laughed, so much, we fought and argued about politics (I swayed him to my side), pulled each other through uni degrees and spent time with my family and family friends and his beautiful family. I know I am a strong personality, Dan tempered that and made me calmer and kinder. Dan did not always understand why I do the things I do, but he was always there, quietly cheering me on from the sidelines…and calmly telling me that I’d once again got all the facts on something wrong. He and my mum spent years pulling me up on the finer details of my stories, medical details and passing on of messages and now that job rests solely with my mum. Dan would want you to continue this role with gusto. And my beautiful dad. Dan’s adored father (less father in law thanks very much), cycling partner, pain hypnotist, mentor, uni assignment reader.
PudStar and ChickPea, are our finest achievement and they are feisty and complex and funny and intelligent and feisty and strong willed and feisty. Dan and I were a team…and in the trenches of the early years of parenting we’d high five when we slammed out a really impressive dinner, bath, bed routine. Our girls will grow into strong, independent young women…and they are going to be okay. We all are.
Dan suffered crippling chronic pain for the past six years of his life and his very limited energy each day was for work and for us girls. Dan fought pain with his usual quiet determination, but there have indeed been some dark times and my one consolation is that his wretched, pinned together spine is now pain free and he and my brother are able to run wild in heaven. My beautiful youngest brother has now lost two brothers whom he loved deeply and was loved by intensely. Dan taught him that reading was cool and so, so much more…not all of it necessary or wise.
Dan’s pain robbed him of his carefree nature and his ability to laugh all night long and make others laugh for days. Pain was etched on his face and some days every movement was agony. And yet still there was kindness, always kindness, always concern for others and a very wicked, sometimes just totally wrong, humour under the layers of pain. Dan was the epitome of kindness and the immense love which has been expressed for Dan has been affirming and uplifting, a true testament to his spirit and character. He was a good, kind man.
I will end with the words he often said to the girls at bedtime, ‘Good night. Sleep Tight. Don’t Give up without a fight.’
Dan’s Spotify list will remain. But of course it must! He wasn’t just known as Disco because his initials were DJ. It’s here.
A million pretend hugs to Trish for the words she wrote about Dan below. 
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Thank you again for your beautiful, courageous, heartfelt thoughts and words, Megan. You are truly a inspiration for us all.
Megan, I don’t know you but have read this blog for quite some time for inspiration and information as both a teacher and a mother. I won’t pretend to know what you are going through. I don’t. Everyone’s grief is different. But know this, I have read this post and was moved, and I couldn’t not let you know that. xx
I can’t tell you how much your comment means. Thank you!
Much love my dear, dear friend.
And to you my love.
Beautiful words Megan. I read them this morning while everyone else was asleep and shed some more tears for the Daley girls. I cry an awful lot over a family I’ve never met but I love following you and your beautiful girls, and I use your blog all the time at work.
Thank you for sharing your story with us. It makes me rage at the world because it is so unfair, but I also send you strength as you adjust to this new unfamiliar life.
And on a note that you probably don’t really care to know – but Dan’s passing made me open my eyes to my own life. I appreciate my huband more even when he tells me I have too many books! We sat down and looked at our life insurances and mapped out some of the hard stuff. It wasn’t fun but your story shows you never know what is around the corner xx
I am SO pleased to hear that Dan’s death has spurred quite a few people into action re ‘mapping out the hard stuff’! And I’m so grateful that you have such empathy for the girls and I and that you have taken the time to comment. x
Thank you for sharing this Megan. You are very brave. I discovered your blog by accident one day and I often use it for inspiration for my students in the school Library. You are a fabulous writer and your enthusiasm is contagious. Take care.
Thank you so much. x
Has it really been six months already. It feels both like yesterday and also like years ago when our office received the call about Dan. You don’t know me but I worked for the same Branch as Dan. And it was just coincidental that I also happened to subscribe to your blog. Funny how these things happen…and it broke my heart again when I made the connection. Grief town is so unfair. But if you can take anything from it, is that you are an inspiration to so many people. And touch people’s lives when they need it most. Even though it may not feel like it, know that you are brave and courageous and those beautiful girls are very lucky to have you. You got this! xo
I’m SO pleased that the coincidence of you working with Dan and also knowing my blog happened – see? It’s just another example of the sticky web that connects us all on the interwebs!
Megan, I shed more tears tonight reading your abridged eulogy and post. Can’t quite believe 6 months has passed. Im so glad to read that your story has inspired so many others. Its the extended online village at work! We are all connected…
You never cease to amaze Megan….always being of help to others. Your tragedies, grief and healing process, so beautifully articulated, assists in the personal growth of others. I love the fact that you are completely comfortable being yourself and you do it so well!:-). I envy that because it takes confidence so even at the worst times, you help educate the rest of us about how to deal with life and all that it can throw at you. Your colour and light is always shining even though you are living in grief town. The village is there.
Megan it is Michele from Annerley library. I have read your blog for the last couple of years and that was a very powerful piece you shared. I remember hearing your devastating news with disbelief and not knowing how to share my support when I saw you in September for your workshop at our library. Dan sounds as special as you are and the why is always a mystery. Thank-you for sharing these resources as I may need them in the near future. Love inevitably means loss at some stage. Thank you Megan.
Thank you SO much Michele. You support me by having me at Annerley and being so utterly lovely everytime I come! I hope things are okay in your world and if they are not, do email me again childrensbooksdaily@gmail.com x
I read this with tears in my eyes. What a beautiful family and village you have.
My healthy 37 year old husband (high school sweetheart) was diagnosed with brain cancer this year and I fear I will become a solo parent for my 2 spunky young girls in the near future. Thank you for sharing – life can be so beautiful but so heartbreaking. Your girls are so lucky to have you x
I’m SOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry. It’s such a tough road. Hold them all close…especially that husband!
I, too, am just another stranger on the interwebs; someone who has followed you since well before your Grief Town journey began. Your writing is perfection and every time I read something you have written about Grief Town, I feel as though you are sitting right next to me, and we’re just having a natter over a cup of tea. Keep writing. Keep doing whatever it is that you need to do, to be able to put one foot in front of the other. We’re all with you, cheering on the Daley Girls from the sidelines of life, cheering for you just like your Dan is, from heaven. Xo
All of us here at Walker Books Publicity and Marketing Department adore you, Megan, so what you and the girls have been through makes us really sad. We send you the biggest ever hugs from our offices in Sydney and know that we are here for you always as friends, not just colleagues. Anna & team xoxo
Megan I too am a teacher in Qld and a widow of four years now. I have three children. I will definitely be checking out the home improvement book you mention ! My husband died of a massive heart attack like yours, he was 48, I was 40 our kids were 3, 10 and 13. My oldest has just graduated from high school. It’s hard but we can do this, we will do this and we have to do this. As you know saying his name, including him in your daily family life helps the children know that they still have a father who loves them and they should feel completely natural about always loving their Dad. Greatest best wishes to you.xx
I’m coming late to this Megan – it’s almost like you have to experience the dark before you can see it – but I feel so grateful to you and your beautiful, wise words about grief, and your beloved Dan. Thank you for all that you do xo
Thank YOU Anna, for your words on grief…they soothed my soul immensely.
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