The one with Grief
At least for me, I think I know when melancholia is settling in. It seeps in slowly and engulfs me. Like the cold air you let in on a frosty morning; I can totally feel it in my bones.
Grief, Loneliness & Anger can be a potent mix, you know.
I talk to my friends and colleagues and I sense all of us are traveling in this miserable phase together. To be honest, some of them have found this to be cathartic. A blessing in disguise. A time to spend with families. A time for healing. Others seem to feel jaded or overwhelmed or plain miserable. Maybe it is just me, but often my characterization of what I perceive is happening, is tinted by my own outlook. And that outlook, people, is super bleak.
This has been the year of compromises and adjustments. It started off splendidly. My wife and I had the time of our lives. We rediscovered why we were each others’ favorites. We washed dishes together, we had long, long epic conversations, we laughed our asses off at the silliest things in life, we painted our nails, we went about seriously with our work, we slept on the roof, we marvelled at mother nature, we ate healthy food, we had long walks on the beach and did netflix and ch…
Then Grandma died, which brings us to…
Grief
Death is not an easy topic. It need not be so tough either. Grandma passed away. Peacefully, they say, which always feels like it is being said more for our benefit than anything else.
The way we process grief in this part of the country is by endless rituals. And the community, perhaps as it is wont, wraps its arms around you. The rituals won’t give you the time to grieve and the community won’t allow you the space. Grief waits for its turn politely as you try to comprehend instructions after instructions. Or when you have to indulge in small talk with almost familiar faces. Or just documentation: A Death Certificate, or closing a bank account.
It takes a while to be back to a reality where Grandma doesn’t exist, but it does happen eventually. When it happens you might be fooled to think there is an end to it. There is no full stop.
There will always be triggers.
Always.
At least for me.
I observed as the rituals meticulously discarded every thing that reminded us of her. The glasses, the clothes, the belongings, the body. Soon the only things left are memories and photographs. As a person who stands outside the ring of faith, this is not lost on me. We systematically remove the obvious triggers.
Even then, I have noticed how this grief taints everything. It is hard not to sound like a total douche when I say that my grief has very little to do with the bond that Grandma and I shared. It felt more, like an excuse to be mad about everything. Like somehow, grief lends a fillip to the negativeness in your life.
An event like this just pulls a lot of memories along with it. It is tough to be reminded of a part of your life that you seldom try and hold on to. There is an eerie sense of déjà vu. Every conversation is a conversation you’ve had before. Every ritual is a ritual you’ve done before. That glance of empathy that you know so well. Reliving the death of one person is like reliving the deaths of several before them.
Yet another catharsis.
