Photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash
I believe that drowning is one of the worst ways to die. In fact, anytime I hear or read an incident that resulted in death in this way, I, for some reason, find myself imagining the kind of pain the poor souls endured in their final moments. Perhaps because my mother was intentional about my learning to swim quite young, I struggle to fathom how lungs can fill up with water.
And yet, my experience with grief feels exactly like that. There are moments (especially at the beginning) where my lungs feel heavy with something other than oxygen. The world around me goes pitch dark despite the sunshine, and I struggle to breathe. I’m drowning in the disbelief that death is so final.
Grief is an emotion that forces its entry into other people’s lives…until it comes barging through your door, and at the worst possible time.
To lose my mother at the tender age of 26, is the biggest blow I have every experienced. I was just beginning my life and was ready to soak in all her wisdom about navigating the world as a woman. I was ready to be introduced to a side of my culture that remains hidden until the woman is ready. Unfortunately for me, most of it will remain hidden for the rest of my life.
Her sudden demise set in motion a trend of continuous disappointments and hard to hear revelations throughout the year—some related to her death and others not—meaning my grief is multi-layered.
I always knew, even though I hid it sometimes, the magnanimous role a mother plays in the life of a child. However, I never once considered the resulting effect that comes from her death. Yes, I was conscious of the fact that she would die some day, but I expected it to be much later.
The death of a family member changes the trajectory of each individual member and the unit as a whole. The void that remains is a painful reminder of dashed hopes and dreams.
It’s unfair and it hurts every day that I was the one to find her, confirm that indeed she was gone, and in a state of shock, make the initial calls to inform family and friends. It was only by God’s grace that I did not faint, go insane or drop dead myself from the darkness that engulfed me in that moment.
In the spirit of being grateful, I guess I’m glad I was the one to find her. I managed to spend a few final minutes alone with her before crowds of people came dashing through our door.
Photo by Ivan Jevtic on Unsplash
With death comes an unravelling of character and display of human behaviour that is unimaginable.
Invasion of the bereaved’s privacy, people attempting to show their superiority and how close they were to the deceased, revelation of secrets the deceased had shared with them, theft, distancing from the bereaved, reappearance and imposition in the lives of the bereaved, coercion into socialising when one is not up for it, legal processes that “must be expedited” and so much more. All these did nothing but push me further into the raging waters of grief.
The worst that cut my soul into a million pieces was being told—straight to my face—by someones who is extremely close “I don’t care about your grief!”
That one sentence completely disoriented me while simultaneously opening my eyes to the fact that I truly am all that I have in this world. In hindsight, that sentence was also the beginning of the revelation of this individual’s true character.
From all I experienced, it was evident that people only saw me as a grieving daughter. They forgot the added layer of trauma that has left a mark on my heart.
In 2023, my brain shut down and sent my body on autopilot. And yet, I tried my best to remain a decent human being.
All this, and more in my life, pushed me further down the fast-moving river of grief.
The memory of that day remained fresh in my mind for over 6 months before I was finally able to begin working my way through it. In an alternate reality, it would have been less had I not had these additional negative human interactions to deal with.
That moment has definitely made a permanent home in my mind but it no longer has a strong control over my life.
While I’m still navigating the waters of grief, at least there are moments I’m floating and moments where I can see the shore.
Thanks for reading. If you’re on this grief journey, what are some coping strategies that have worked for you?