Take Grief Out of The Closet

I want to write about something that has been bothering me for a while.

Elizabeth Stone had said, 'Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.' What happens when that child ceases to be? What happens to the parent’s heart and soul?

Do we end up a shell of a body without a heart and a soul? For sometime, it does feel like that. There is something to be said for numbness; it protects you from the worst of trauma. But once the numbness passes, and as time progresses, the gaping wounds begin to close but the stitches are jagged, constantly pulling apart, and the wound never fully heals.

I am in a constant state of repair work at present. Maybe I should say healing work. I work on one aspect, and then another crumbles. Fix that, and a third part crumbles. Fix that and the first part begins to show signs of new cracks. It is exhausting. And this is what I want to write about. Managing grief is exhausting, and it cannot be done alone!

I loved the idea of the Lone Ranger or the Man With No Name in those old westerns. Lone heroes and anti-heroes who were not afraid to carve their solitary paths amidst the corruption and violence of small town life, and who could survive alone in the wilderness. It was an immature fascination, because adulthood has taught me that I am more of a social creature than I gave myself credit for. In times of extreme pain, trauma, and grief, I need the comfort of knowing someone out there is thinking of me. They may not be there in person, but to know that they hold me in their thoughts, gives me comfort and strength. The key, in case you have not already figured it out, is to know.

When I was in the initial throes of my grief, I noticed that a couple of people who had been close friends, had disappeared. It was akin to a secondary layer of loss over the initial, primary loss. What happened? Did they not love me anymore? I knew that was not the case. I did not doubt their love for my daughter or me. Then why did they leave me floundering in silence for so long. The answers were not forthcoming in the initial weeks and months.

There are many days (not necessarily related to birthdays or anniversaries) when whatever it is that is protecting me from the worst of my particular grief, vapourises away into nothing, and I am left shield-less and crumbling. In those moments, I can reach out to a wonderfully deep and loving circle of family and friends I am fortunate enough to have.

But the absence of two to three of my otherwise close friends troubled me. I felt confused, and had to deal with feelings of hurt, anger and disappointment. Finally after months of my own healing journey, I arrived at understanding. They did love me. They loved me so much that they could not face my pain. They also did not know how to handle grief and/or suport someone who is grieving.

Now, there is no one way to handle grief, and therefore there is no one way to be a source of support – but some truths relating to it are universal. Just wanted to share a few here. But before we go into that, a few disclaimers.

These suggestions are for friends of the grieving person, not for acquaintances. These suggestions are based on my personal journey. They are not a one size fits all solution. It may not fit your particular situation but do keep it in mind as you figure out your own solutions.

1. You say – I can’t handle their pain.

It is not about you. No matter how uncomfortable and painful it is for you, it is worse for the person who is grieving.

2. You say – I don’t know what to say to them that will help.

There is no one right thing to say, and what is right for one grieving person may be wrong for another. In fact, it could also be wrong for the same person on a different day. So don’t stress about saying the right thing or worry about saying the wrong thing. Use your common sense, or just sit quietly.

3. You say – I don’t know what to do when I am with them.

Just show up. Sit quietly and be of help around the house if you can. One of my dearest friends, would show up every evening on his way back home from work, and would make tea for Suresh, my parents and me. He would drink the tea with us and then head home. He did this for more than a month and he never discussed my grief with me. I will be eternally grateful for those cups of tea.

4. You say – Well… I did visit once.

Be consistent. Grief doesn’t peak at month number three and then abate. No, she is here for life. I am not saying you have to sign up for a lifetime of providing support. No. But depending on the nature of loss, do think in terms of years as opposed to months. Don’t show up for a visit or a call and then disappear for the next four to six months. That is cruel. If you can’t visit regularly, send a message, or make a call – but for heaven’s sake, do it on a regular basis – maybe once every fortnight or three weeks, unless the grieving person specifically asks you not to. In which case, ask them what they would prefer, or let them know that you are just a phone call away, and then send a WhatsApp message or email once in a while. But stay in touch. Make the time and the effort. One day the griever will surface from the initial, soul numbingly terrible stormy seas of grief, and they will need to know who they can reach out to for some kindness.

5. You say – I don’t want to irritate them or badger them.

Don’t badger, but definitely reach out. Most people who are grieving find it hard to ask for help because they think they are burdening you. It is especially harder to ask for help on a repeated or long-term basis. So don’t wait for the grieving person to ask for help. Just offer it sincerely. Then it is up to them to accept it or not. If they seem shy to accept your offer of help because they don’t want to be a burden, reassure them that you really want to be of assistance. Help can be in so many forms – a cooked dinner, baby-sitting, helping clean the house, cookies, offering to drive them around for a few weeks, grocery shopping, a shared cup of tea, a gentle call checking whether they have eaten… and so much more.

6. You say – I don’t want to remind them of their dead loved ones.

Are you kidding me!? You cannot remind someone, when they have not forgotten. They don’t have a single moment where they have forgotten their loved one. So, when you speak to them about an old memory involving their loved one(s), they love it. They welcome the opportunity to keep these memories and in a small way, their loved one alive. I love it when I can talk about Sakshi to my family or friends. No one can remind me of her, because I carry her in my heart and mind every nano-second.

These suggestions have to be used judiciously. Your friend may not be the sort who likes to talk, or is a loner who prefers being left alone, so respond keeping their personality and their state of mind in mind. However, be just a phone call away and let them know that.

Being a support to a grieving person is an emotional ride, so please take care of your emotional health too, and remember it is not all that complicated. It is basically about being kind.

If you have any questions about how to support a family member or friend through their grief journey, or have questions or comments related to grief, please let me know. Let us talk about it.

It is about time we brought grief out of the silent dark closet we have shoved her into.

Here is a poem, “I Get It” that I wrote recently about grief – based on the collective experiences of many parents who have lost a huge chunk of their heart.

When someone says 
I lost my job, I'm grieving. 
I get it. 
When someone says, 
I lost my 85-year-old father, I'm grieving. 
I get it. 
When someone says 
my pet dog or cat died, I'm grieving. 
I get it.

When someone says 
my thesis on which I worked for five years 
was rejected, I'm grieving the loss of time. 
I get it. 
And when someone says, 
I'm grieving the loss of my dreams. 
I get it. 

Then why is it that 
when I say 
I have lost my child, I am grieving, 
I am met with silence.
Why is it that 
I am met with embarrassed 
sideway glances, as though…
As though my grief
is an affliction
that is spreading!
Why is it that
I am met with empty doorsteps 
when you should be at that door 
knocking, entering 
and sitting with me in silence.
Why am I 
left sobbing in the closet.