Eldership: Loss, Love & Gift
The journey to becoming a family elder
It was a very special gathering. The first time our extended family came together since the death of my older brother Mark in 2020. Our family gathering consisted of Marks two grown up children, Jasmine and Kieran and Jasmines partner Alex, my wife Agata and our two children Lily and Albert, my younger brother Jon his wife Mel and their two grown up children Max and Ben, plus Max’s two children Orla and Ramona; thirteen in total.
We rented a big house in Devon and as the family arrived from different places, I found myself deeply moved, experiencing us physically present as a family group for the first time since the funeral. Lack and Desire are companions says the master psychoanalyst Lacan. Our desire to be together was accompanied by the stark lack of who wasn't present. When I organised this meet-up I wondered if all would want to come, for this gathering couldn’t take place without facing our losses. As I journeyed towards our gathering the awareness of absent family members grew stronger within me. My son Fynn died in a knife crime in 2010, and the shock and grief of losing Fynn, is with me each day. His death also affected his cousins who he played and holidayed with as a child. Fynn’s death was followed by the loss of my Mum the following year, then my Dad in 2017, and then Mark. Within a decade my family was decimated. My other older brother Stephen had died when I was 5 years old. As I looked at the faces of family members, I saw my brothers, my parents and also remembered my grandparents who had passed many years before. Genes, social conditioning and family habits are passed through generations, and our ancestors continue to live within us.
Sometime in the past year the realisation arose within me, with a slow wave of shock, that I was now the family elder. To become the family elder means having lost gandparents, parents and elder siblings, all those who came before you. To be an elder when it feels premature, is a strange thing to encounter. You are orphaned late in life, no Mum or Dad to call when you need to hear the voice of those who brought you into the world. No parents to be proud of your achievements, or to share your troubles. Only you, no-one with more life experience, or with the deepest knowledge of you and your journey to turn to.
To rise to the position of the family elder, means two things. Firstly, that there have been deaths and loss, therefore the journey to eldership inevitably involves mourning and grieving. Secondly, that by default you find yourself in a new family role. Your family position changes, from being horizontal, one of the many siblings and cousins, to being vertical, at the top. This is not a hierarchy in terms of power, but it is a hierarchy in terms of age and experience. When you have always been the middle sibling, a son and grandson, to become the elder can be disorienting and I experience a feeling of displacement. As those ahead of me have passed, it raises the existential question of my own mortality, and also of my life stage. Am I really an elder….. the word refers to age as well as position. I live with my wife and 10 and 11 year old children, I am very physically active and work as much as ever…. this idea of eldership doesn’t sit well at one level. Yet eldership also infers experience and wisdom, and I guess I have plenty of life experience, having navigated a delightful and diverse career path, and also navigated many of life’s traumas; some would say I have much wisdom to share too.
In this family gathering I am no-longer Simon the middle child, Simon the troublesome one, or Simon the traveller and adventurer, or Simon the ambitious over-achiever, or Simon the single parent of Fynn. I am now Simon the husband, family man and Simon the Elder. As my brother’s wife jested when we had a small decision to make; ‘Simon you decide…you are now the patriarch’.
This elder role is one that I was not trained for, and one that arrived unexpectedly and prematurely. However, I did have a good role model through my mother, who was a very strong character and was clearly the family matriarch. Previous family events happened in my parents home, usually organised around Christmas gatherings. Feasts would be cooked, cousins played and family dynamics with predictable patterns, some lovely some painful, played out.
In retrospect, my stepping into the eldership role took place in small steps, as family members passed away. At Fynn’s funeral/memorial service I gave the Eulogy which meant stepping into a new role. Following this my Father asked if I would give a eulogy for Enid my mother; he was truly appreciative, surprised and grateful for what I shared. Then shortly before he died, Dad asked me to lead his funeral ceremony and to give the eulogy. He didn’t want a stranger to lead the service. This was a huge moment for me, as my Father and I had a difficult relationship in my childhood and early adulthood. As he grew older my Father mellowed a lot, and managed to tell me how proud he was of me, and this was his final gift, his way of showing his deep respect and valuing me. Then I was asked by my brother to give the eulogy at Marks funeral.
I was becoming the family spokesperson and this meant stepping into the elder role. Those eulogies one following another was almost too much to bear, as all the time I was deeply grieving and coming to terms with the sudden and violent death of my beautiful son Fynn. Yet it was also a gift to help me grieve, to face my sadness and to give to others. To give one last gift of love to those who had departed this world, and to help family and friends saying goodbye. To be an elder is to hold the emotions of others and express them. My gift with words and my deep understanding of people were appreciated at this time.
I recall shedding tears and hesitating during my eulogy for Mark, unable to talk for a few minutes. My young son Albert who was a toddler then, left his seat and came and cuddled me, and I finished the eulogy with him in my arms. Moments of tenderness and love admist the sadness.
Last year the realisation that I was now the family elder sank in. I also realised that with my mother’s absence, there would be no family meetings unless I stepped into her role.
This gift of eldership is one born of pain, loss and love, and its responsibilities can be arduous. Yet the role of elder is also special, an opportunity to offer something to others, and to rediscover and harness the love of the family.
The desire to be together had overcome the sadness of facing the lack; the missing faces, voices and laughter of our loved ones departed. The joys of seeing Marks son and daughter laughing together was very special, and joking with their cousins about childhood holiday memories beautiful. Communally cooking and eating together was special. The way my children and their cousins played was also really lovely, there is something uncanny about the way that cousins have these special bonds.
To be an elder is a gift and a responsibility. It has made me think about the diminishing role of elders in wider society, and particularly in the workplace, where eldership and life experience is often derided in the manic race for the new.
A couple of dear colleagues and peers in the psychoanalytic field have started to talk openly about our generation who need to step up and take up the elders role in our institutions and professional bodies, as they see the elders they looked up to and who mentored them get older, and pass away.
The role of family elder for me has sadly come too early; my parents passed away when they had more life to live and my two older brothers passed away far, far too young. Yet it is what it is, so I take the role as a gift and I have faith that with the love family members, present and past, I can fulfil the role with grace and hope.
‘Genes, social conditioning and family habits are passed through generations, and our ancestors continue to live within us.’ A lovely thought. Thank you, Simon