Just like AA groups, rehab centers, there’s a certain feeling of community that shared grief builds within people, and like most lessons I’m recently undergoing because of the death of my dad, Grief Connection is a thing.
After my baby boy died, I’ve found that though I’m bursting at the seams, I can’t explicitly talk about my feelings to just anyone. I do have people around me who over the perfunctory, truly care to know how I’m doing (it’s hard to tell who means what anyway, because after a while, the questions blur into each other), but I can’t give the answers they seek (and they can’t handle it). This is because these phases have to be experienced to be understood.
I recently heard in a TV series(SILO, can’t remember the episode) that “Grief can either draw you in or pull you out”. In my case, it drew me all the way in; In so deep, some people had to go. It wouldn’t have made sense to keep them around anyway (not like I had much of a say), they wouldn’t get how I feel. I know that this isn’t ‘entirely’ their fault; I’m not so forthcoming with details of life after my dad’s death with them.
One time, I think in the 6th month after death, I ran into someone I know from ages ago. His sister had died in 2022. Once I saw him, my eyes teared up, and I gave him a big hug. In the past, I had felt really sad when I got the news, but now, the understanding of what his family must be dealing with, built an affinity between us.
We talked.
I talked.
We compared notes.
I couldn’t be shut up.
It felt so good to offload how I was truly feeling with someone other than my family, who knew, I mean really knew what it means to have someone you love die prematurely.
I even cried, and he didn’t act as if I was just caught stealing; he didn’t have the uncomfortable “I don’t know how to handle this” look people give me if I even mention my dad around them.
I felt so light; we didn’t want it to end.
I have a few people around me with whom I share this. We’re all grieving, finding it hard to talk to other people about the journey, shoving it way under in a bid not to make anyone uncomfortable, coping how we can. When I run into any of them, our hugs are longer, smiles wider, and laughter louder, because we agree that no explanations are enough as to why it still hurts months or years after.
I share this more with my family. My mum, especially.
We were there when it happened.
We share that, and I’m glad that once in a while, we both know it’s okay to take off the “I’m good” mask, and cry like no one’s watching.