Befriending Grief

Losing a loved one and accepting the grief that follows can be a long, painful, and lonely journey. But it doesn’t have to be.

Death: The Inevitable Friend

“Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.” — Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Countless times we are told that the moment we are born, we begin to die. Dying is as natural and organic as breathing. Yet, humans continue to fear it. Perhaps because we thrive on knowledge, and death is the only human experience we can never know for sure. Even when we experience it ourselves, we cannot share this knowledge with anyone.

However, growing up, I could never relate to the fear of dying. If it is inevitable, then why bother breaking your head over it? So, Death became that lost friend whom you are waiting to unite with. And while waiting, you live — you indulge in the mundaneness that makes us humans. Along the way, you meet people who teach you how to love, tolerate, or hate. They are your companions for a short while as your paths diverge eventually. Death prefers fixed appointments, and perhaps it’s just not your time yet.

Nevertheless, parting is hardly amiable. People end up cursing the powers that tore them asunder and longing for a moment more with their loved ones. Love can make us do strange things. Sometimes I feel that the moment we start loving someone, we begin fooling ourselves. We believe that this person would defy the inevitable and be by our side for eternity.

Of course, it was easy to speculate and look at people’s experiences from a logical lens when I was not the one grieving. Then, it was time for my father’s appointment with Death.

Father and I: How We Were

“Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away.” — Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Loving someone who is your family is quite different from loving a stranger. It’s almost habitual — you don’t need gazillion reasons to fall in love, you love because they are family. It also means that even after twenty-eight years, you still struggle to comprehend your relationship.

Some of my fondest memories of my father include him fooling me into believing that I was born out of him. The surgical scars on his belly convinced me of this miracle. Then, the one where this whimsical man carried me in a jute bag on his way to meet my aunt. Of course, this is not my memory, but one that has become an integral part of the family lore. Yet, the most distinct memory is him asking me repeatedly ‘Jaee konachi?’ (Whom does Jaee belong to?) and like a parrot I would repeat, ‘Baba chi.’ (Dad’s).

As I entered my late teens, tough love replaced the tenderness in our relationship. The poor man had no idea how to deal with a teenage daughter who was thirty-seven years younger than him. So, he fell back on holding onto the strings of the kite as tightly as possible, just so he could protect her for some more time. Meanwhile, I yearned for his approval — to be his good girl.

Of course, my rebellious years sent our status quo for a complete toss. He was the product of his time — rooted in patriarchal belief systems and the need for societal approval. But I realised that the only approval that mattered to me was my own. We argued over our beliefs and choices and considered the other one stubborn. He felt I was ashamed of him; I realised that though I love my father, I might not like him as a person.

Eventually, life happened to both of us. He silently endured one affliction after another as he believed that being ‘the man of the house’, he had to protect us. Despite the suffering, my father also grew up in his own way. Perhaps he realised that rather than forcing us into boxes, he could support our flights. And if that meant we fell sometimes, he could always offer us his shoulders.

Likewise, I learned that though fighting for yourself is necessary, choosing the right battles is even more crucial. I could not expect him to change completely, just like I could not give up my beliefs to please him. So, we reached the status quo again. Unfortunately, by this time I could not bring down the walls that I had built around my heart.

Losing My Father

“We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.” — Fredrik Backman, A Man Called Ove

I always thought that I had a bright and positive attitude towards death. There was just a small misunderstanding — this positivity was only about my death.

As my father grew older and his body began giving up, I became increasingly aware of his mortality. You don’t see your father come back to you after car accidents, cancer, heart attack, and COVID, and still believe that he will be around forever. You realise that one day he will go, and not come back again.

A man who loved travelling every other month suddenly gets restricted to his bed for months. There are days when you tell him to accept the neverending pain as reality. And then you feel sick of yourself for putting him through hell just so he could be with you for some more time. In return, he keeps pushing himself, afraid of what would happen to his family without him. He doesn’t stop worrying for them even when in and out of hospitals — week after week, month after month.

In life, there are some calls that you eagerly await like a job offer or some incredible news about your loved ones. Then, there are those calls that knock your breath out and make you feel like the world around is crumbling. In the past few years, I had been preparing myself mentally and still dreading such calls. It finally happened on 3rd September 2022 when my brother asked me to take the first flight home. Death was knocking on our doors.

I saw my father lose consciousness and become a shell of who he was with every borrowed breath. The man lying in that bed was not the one who had nurtured some incredible dreams. Here was a man tired of fighting, tired of hurting, and tired of breathing. Though his widened eyes showed recognition of our childhood game of ‘Jaee konachi?’, I could see life dissipating from them.

On 9th September 2022, after fighting for his family and loving them for sixty-five years, my father’s heart finally gave up.

In Mourning, Forever

“What is grief, if not love persevering?” — Jac Schaeffer, WandaVision

You can try convincing your heart a billion times that your loved ones are now at peace; it will still long for them. They say everyone goes through the five stages of grief, the last one being acceptance. But how do you accept that you would never hear your father call you by the name that he had given you? How do you accept that you can’t even remember the last conversation that you had? Or the fact that you refused to do the last thing he had asked for?

Despite this momentous loss that your family is facing, the world continues at its own pace. Your heart might struggle, but your body continues forward in autopilot mode. Meanwhile, people around you struggle to help you through your grief. They ask, “Let me know if you need anything …”. You wonder, in the middle of mourning, where you could get the clarity of thought to explain your needs.

In the end, their discomfort makes them choose silence and perhaps wait for you to recover. That’s when you wish to urge people to talk to you, share jokes with you, and be the friend that they have always been. You wish the world would allow you this semblance of normalcy.

Life goes on, but so does the mourning. Though you hardly thought about him when he was around, now every little thing reminds you of him. Nothing prepares you for the onslaught of memories and guilt that threaten your sanity. As time passes, you realise that while you grow old, your father will remain frozen in time. And just like that, your shattered heart breaks again.

The grief drives you insane, but it also does something else. It silences all those questions that you had about your relationship. Nothing can assert the presence of love like the grief you experience at the loss of a loved one. It washes away all doubts, anger, and turmoil and leaves you with the warmth that continues even when the person is gone.

This love is not only in your memories of them but also in the ones who were left behind. A part of your father glimmers in your siblings’ teary eyes, and echoes in your mother’s quivering voice. They remind you how proud your father was of you and loved you. They also tell you how he longed to be close to you. You may regret all those barricades that you had put in all those years ago, but that is just a futile exercise in hindsight.

Instead, you turn to your loved ones and hold them closer. You realise that it is kindness towards oneself that would help you keep your sanity. There are no set rules for mourning. You cry, laugh, and continue with life holding onto the mantra that your father would never wish for you to wilt away. So, no matter what is expected of you, listen to your heart and walk ahead. As someone said of grief, there will be time to reflect on rights and wrongs, but for now, just hold on to what helps you get through this storm.

The vacuum will never disappear, the mourning will never end, and the heart will never forget. Know that rebuilding life takes courage and you are doing your best. Let yourself fall apart and let yourself be loved. Grief is not a relay race with a finish line; it is a state of being that will continue until it is finally your time to meet Death.