“You don’t have to carry grief alone”

“I was fifteen when my brother died. The loss felt like a heavy process, something I had to go through alone. During the quiet of the COVID period, I realised: I want to do something with this. Not to tell my story, but to explore what grieving is and, above all, whether we can do it more together.”

“The result is an almost wordless, physical performance. I wrote a lot of text, but gradually cut more and more. The blue tarpaulins we use can beautifully illustrate what I want to convey. They provide metaphors: feeling overwhelmed, becoming one with the ocean, dams breaking… Everyone recognises something personal in them. This work comes from my gut and has taught me a lot. Even when you perform a solo, you are never alone. The floor supports you, the technician is there for you, there’s a connection with the audience… That is the essence of the performance: even in grief, you don’t have to stand alone.”

“For me, death itself isn’t the heaviest part. I have felt more grief over the loneliness of the process. My work is an invitation to grieve more together. To continue seeing each other in our sorrow. Grief doesn’t have to be completed within a certain time. You don’t ‘do’ grief, you experience it. The more it’s allowed, the lighter it becomes.”

“After each performance, people can leave something on a grief landscape made of blue tarpaulins. A mother told me that her teenage daughter was finally able to cry after the performance and, that night, slept through the night for the first time in a long while. Moments like that touch me deeply. I hope the performance conveys this too: it’s okay to cry. Sharing heals.”

“I find it special that my performance is given a place during Compassionate Week. Sometimes, something small can mean something big. We all have our grief processes to go through. My wish is that grief may flow more into our daily lives. That it is given time and space, without being covered up.”

“My brother had struggled with drug problems for years. On 9 December 2022, he died from a brain haemorrhage caused by cocaine use, but the grieving actually started much earlier. Thomas struggled with suicidal thoughts. Did that make him use so much drugs, or did the drug use make him suicidal? As a family, you feel powerless. Fortunately, we were able to talk a lot about why he didn’t want to be here anymore. That gives me peace.”

“When he died, I was in my third year of Applied Social Studies. During the two weeks he was in a coma, I didn’t attend classes. The study support team informed my professors and helped postpone a compulsory test. Apart from that, I took all my exams, somewhat against their advice. Studying was my way of keeping myself together.”

“My fellow students wanted to help, but I wanted to do as much as possible myself and get ‘back to normal’ as quickly as I could. After the exams, the backlash hit. I felt how hard I had been running. The VUB psychologist referred me to BRUCC. After two sessions, I could move forward again.”

“During my search for an internship, I came across a call to help organise a week on grief: the first Compassionate Week. That felt right. The VUB gave me a platform to work through my grief. For some, comfort comes from coming together; for me, it’s in organising. Yet I gain a lot of support from the Moment of Comfort. That’s when I feel: it’s thanks to Thomas that I am here today.”

“In the meantime, I have switched to Psychology and hope to make a difference in the future, using both my experience and knowledge. As a Compassionate University, the VUB wants to do a lot, although there are limits to what’s possible. A week’s postponement of exams is considerate, but in that time, you can’t grieve and study. There are so many excellent support initiatives that are still too little known. Perhaps the VUB could play a bigger role in this. And perhaps there are students who, like me, draw strength from organising something meaningful: you are welcome.”

“At the end of 2017, when my father was diagnosed with cancer, they gave him no more than five years to live. It turned out to be almost eight—years in which he saw all his grandchildren being born. Still, his passing came unexpectedly. Four days before he was due to return home after months in hospital, things went wrong.

The next day, I was supposed to leave for Lisbon for work. My colleagues immediately stepped in and took care of everything. The People & Organisation department also helped by handling all the paperwork. That allowed me to focus entirely on the funeral during my bereavement leave – four days at the VUB. We held an intimate farewell ceremony at home, exactly as my father wanted. He had asked me to lead it myself, giving me—posthumously—a gentle push to overcome my stage fright. He prepared us all so well. After a near-death experience, he had lost all fear of dying. ‘Everything is known, everything is familiar,’ he would say. It gave him the strength to keep going for as long as he could. For me, love beyond death feels like something incredibly powerful.”

“I like to keep my work and private life separate. Apart from a few close colleagues, no one knew my father was ill. I didn’t want attention around it, and that was respected. My manager gave me the freedom to do what mattered most to me. That’s very typical of the VUB. The human side is given space here. When I returned after a week, there was a card from all my colleagues on my desk. Other departments had sent cards too, even a handwritten letter. It was support I thought I didn’t need, but it felt deeply warm—without ever becoming awkward.”

“Grief touches us all. That’s why I think it’s wonderful that Compassionate Week gives it special attention. During the Moment of Comfort, I’ll be thinking especially of my father. He devoted his life—quietly and humbly—to people who were struggling. Treating people with dignity was his greatest strength. He will always be an example to me. The VUB handles loss with warmth and professionalism. As the communications department, we contribute a small part to that, through obituaries, memorials, and condolence registers. I used to do that from a sense of professionalism. From now on, it will also come from shared experience.”