Grief: The Unspoken Truth

One who has genuinely not experienced grief over a dear loved one would assume it to be momentarily, a sad or perhaps a sorrowful feeling that fades with time. "It gets better with time" they say but in reality, does it ever get better even after years have gone by? 

Grief often elude one of pity if left unchecked, the hole it leaves deepens, festers and widen. Life goes on but never quite the same. You search for empathy and you're met with brutality. Years to come, in your happy celebratory moments, the moment where nothing else ought to matter, your joyous days, you remember, you wipe your tears either for joy or out of guilt as the case may be, either ways, it doesn't exempt.

It comes in moments when you gather to celebrate.Take the Yuletide for instance, your family always gather without missing a year, every extended member of the family comes home, to unite and create memories. You have grown used to having everyone around, grandma with her signature dance or maybe special recipes, favourite aunt with the indulgence and the coolest uncle with the gifts. It seems you have gotten over their demise until you realise you are in the room, sobbing, moody and easily irritable. 

That moment you are in church on mother's day or even father's day and people are showering their parents with love and gift, an awww moment, the you realise everywhere is blurry, not as a result of poor eyesight. Just when you're trying to mask it all with a smile, you feel it, warm and free down your cheeks, oh! Not again, not you mourning your loss, what could have been but was cut short, you miss them and even more they flood your cheeks, you bend down, pretending to look for what's not lost, you pick your handkerchief, dap-dap, grab your Bible and locate the wester door.

In an attempt to distract your emotions, you find yourself wandering from one status to another, with all celebrating their parent. A few other apps have people writing series of warm wishes to their loved one with heartwarming pictures. You remember and sigh.

The day ends with your eyes sore and red, your nose blocked and your emotion messed up.

You remember him everyday, for the first few months, you cry yourself to sleep, unsure of what to make out of his demises. The children are there, confused as to why daddy isn't back yet, they occasionally ask about his whereabouts and when he will likely be back, again you sob, every night with the silent scream choking you, the mouth might be covered but the tear gland is not, your heart aches and you full bitter about the broken promises, the betrayal and the task ahead.

'You're a man, men don't cry, bear the loss, that's what makes you a man" they keep saying.

Their definition of a real man is the ability to move pass hurdles as quickly as possible, to endure pain and shy away from public sympathy. "What type of a man crys publicly" they would ask.

But then, they don't understand, they cannot understand the pain you harbour.

Your jewel, confidant, goofy partner, your comforter in time of chaos, the only one who genuinely believes in your nonexistent capacity, your forever best friend, your favourite disciplinarian is there, still and breathless, sinking to mother earth, you are there confused, desperate to be heard, sober, broken, exhausted, guilty, numb but you are still there regardless.

As expected, your guests are entertained, food, drinks, souvenir are shared.

Your friends surround you, not under their watch will you slip into depression- then comes the banter, the sultry jabs, the recommendations- all in a bid to make you forget.

Again, they don't understand, how can they, you ask yourself.

They don't know the backstory neither can they understand your miserable feeling of loss, of helplessness, of hearing the news of their demise from third parties worst case online.

You saw Thier picture flooding online, your try to makes sense of it but you just cannot get past it.

For every sympathiser that comes, a different drama and story abounds. They poke your feelings, ask personal questions -not because they care enough, they simply want a story to tell, directly from the source, now the bereaved.

Some are hurt by the news and genuinely share emotional stories of the deceased-not to trigger you intentionally of course, for others, they cook up story, any thing to keep the conversation going while monitoring your emotions- how loud your tone was when sobbing, why your tears dried up almost immediately, how their demise meant almost nothing to you the bereaved, how you were so chatty with friends days after the demise- they notice and will definitely broadcast, sooner or later.

In all of this, the truth remains: grief is not a visitor that comes only when needed. It is a silent companion that is sometimes quiet and other times loud. It teaches you what love truly meant and what absence feels like.

Healing, contrary to what people think, is not in forgetting. It is in learning to breathe again without feeling guilty for each breath. It is understanding that your tears do not make you weak, neither does your laughter betray the memory of the one you lost. it is a distant journey, slow, unpredictable and filled with ridges, with days that feel like progress and nights that feel like you are right back at the beginning.

Maybe the world should learn to be kind.

To the ones who stand beside the bereaved, pause before you speak. If you must speak, always resist the urge to offer clichés when silence would have been enough. Do not question wounds you cannot see nor assume strength because the tears have stopped flowing.

Do not speculate hear says surrounding people's demise.

The greatest gift to anyone mourning is your muted presence filled with support, patience, and encouragement free from negative assumptions. Always ask how you can help, not because you expect a neat answer, but because you genuinely care.

Listen, even when there are no words. Respect their pace and pattern; grief has no known schedule.

To you, struggling with grief: you are allowed to feel your emotions as they come- deeply, loudly, quietly- however your heart chooses. You are allowed to seek support, to rest, to cry in the rest room and laugh in the middle of your tears in cinema. You owe no one a performance of strength, take each day as it comes.

Be reminded that healing is not the absence of grief but rather the courage to carry both love and loss in the same heart and still move on as peculiar to you.

Stay Loved,

Naz.