Never Ending Grief

I can hear my phone vibrating… damn it. I forgot to put it on work mode and now I am getting distracted again. There’s a choice I have here: to check my phone or to immediately put it on work mode so that I can finish this project I am working on. I decide to check my phone because you never know and also because it will bug me the entire time if I don’t. To my surprise it’s a message from my cousin: “sisss. How are you? Miss you mennn. Just checkin in xx.”  I smile. Moments like these are my favorite, when you get a message showing that you just crossed someones mind and that you’re important enough for them to reach out. My magic moments. I see her profile picture and I don’t need to go on it to see what picture it is. I have seen it many times: my aunt, my uncle and my cousin at her naming ceremony, many moons ago. There’s a tuck at my heart and tears fill my eyes out of nowhere. Grief.

Grief never really ends, it has a start but no end. Almost like a circle it keeps going and going and going. Sure, grief may lessen in intensity but it is a wound that you can never really forget. It won’t allow you to forget. It’s the not so gentle reminder that you experienced loss. On some days, memories will take you back to a place where you realize what’s missing. On other days, your heart will ache so intensely you would want a cardiologist to open you up and check it out because there has to be a wound that has remained undetected. Some kind of sickness. Something, anything. The worst part for me while grieving, are the moments, the small moments. When you smell something that reminds you of someone you’ve lost. When you think of something they would laugh at, a joke only that person would understand. When you hear someone say something that reminds you of them, so much so that you hear their voice. When one thing leads you into a downward spiral because you have to admit the truth to yourself. The undeniable truth that whatever happens the person won’t come back. That new memories won’t be created. That they won’t get to see the different versions of you, versions that you’re yet to become and that you’ll grow into. They won’t meet your kids. They won’t celebrate milestones with you. There won’t be another conversation, just a monologue, letters you write with no address because they no longer reside on earth, letters you won’t be able to send, letters they’ll never receive. You won’t get to say thank you for the impact they’ve made in your life and won’t be able to give them one last hug. No physical contact, nothing.

We always think we have time, an endless amount of time. An endless amount of experiences and moments and memories we will get to have with people. Then one day, sickness creeps in like a thief in the night. Then one day, an accident happens, a fatal one that you never expected. Ripping the ground from your feet, changing the world as you know it. They say time heals all wounds, but I object. Time does not heal all wounds. Time conceals wounds, time might even create a scar or two. But complete healing after ten years or twenty? What is the time frame here? There’s a subtle pain that lingers, that our brain reminds us of every year, every five months, every six years… However often. And it’s mostly not because we have suppressed it. The world just keeps moving even after we experience devastating loss. It goes as follows: everyone’s attention is on you, people stop by bringing you comfort food, call to check in almost hourly, you receive an endless amount of text messages. Then time goes by and calls lessen, visits reduce, your closest friends will keep checking in but eventually everyone moves on. Except grief, grief stays, makes a home in your heart and pops out its head every once in a while to remind you it’s still there. I once wrote down that grief is not experienced at a point in life, instead it’s embedded into life. Once it comes it never goes away. I tried acting like grief didn’t exist, would look up and blink quickly when I noticed tears wanting to come. I would distract myself, do everything but deal with it. Fact is grief exists, whether we like it or not. But going through the emotions helps. Crying when you feel the need to cry, talking to someone you trust , even when you can’t seem to finish a sentence without getting emotional. Acknowledging hurt, knowing what hurts, where it hurts and most importantly why it hurts. Have you not forgiven yourself for not picking up your phone to call them one last time? Was there something you wished you would have said that you won’t get the chance to anymore? How would that person want you to live life… is it how you’re living life or are you getting sucked into griefs deep and dark corners? Grief, although very painful can still birth beautiful things, if we allow it. It can create connections with others, it can make room for love, it can be illuminating: opening your eyes to how you’re living life. Grief can birth gratitude. Not necessarily living your life like it’s your last day on earth but living your life, like you have something to live for.

Put your hand on your chest. Feel the beat of your heart. There’s a reason why your heart is beating. There’s a reason why you’re still alive. And it’s not to be consumed by grief. It’s to set up a table next to grief, to have a conversation every once in a while to see where you stand, to deal with it and not being delusional act like it doesn’t exist. Because that will keep you in a dark place longer than you want to be. This is not saying you shouldn’t commemorate the person you’ve lost. By all means keep the memory alive, honor them and the life they lived, the impact they made in your life. Use your grief to gravitate towards the light instead of darkness.

Love,

Maame.