What I've Learnt about Grief and Death

In the past six years, I've lost three family members.

Six years ago, I lost my grandfather, my dadu. A month prior to his passing, I had been his primary caretaker. I had a few months to spare while I was waiting for my university placement and I spent it in my hometown - with my grandparents. Over the next few months, I spent close to every moment taking care of him in some way or another. I drove him to and fro from his dialysis appointments, three times a week. I put on his socks and shoes for him. I buttoned his shirts for him. I helped him get in and out of cars and chairs.

I never spent much time with my grandfather growing up, he was a stoic man; I imagine having to deal with a chronic illness would do that to you. I don't remember a time when he didn't have diabetes, but he never really seemed sick. Then I spent those months taking care of him and realised just how sick he was. I finally got my placement and left. I'd barely been in uni for a few weeks when I received the news. He passed quickly and peacefully.

A year ago, I lost my phabimaa. A grandmother to me. We only met when I returned to my hometown but I loved her. She'd taken care of four generations of my family. Needless to say, she was old and frail. I was at work when I received the news. I started crying in the office. They told me to go home. Then, a week ago I lost my uncle, my mama. He was killed in a road accident, he was only 47 years old. He leaves behind 3 children, all under the age of 21. He was a father figure and treated me like his own child.

Society does very little to prepare us for death, be it the death of loved ones or ours. Still, when I lost my dadu and phabimaa, I'd seen it coming. Their old and frail bodies were signs of what was coming and no matter how strong the spirit is, in the end, death is inevitable. My mama on the other hand, should have lived longer. He had dreams, plans and aspirations - all cut short. My biology books had taught me that death comes when the cells can no longer repair themselves fast enough. The rate of cells deterioration edges over the rate of cells repair. My mama's death is a stark reminder that that's not the only way death claims you.

The human experience is a complex one. The longer you manage to stay alive, the more you are exposed to the complexities that comes with being alive. Grief is one of those complex, intricate experiences that comes with being alive. You think you understand it until you realize that what you understood was merely a drop in the entire ocean. I've been to a few funerals, of extended family members or family friends. I've cried with the family members, empathized with their pain, felt their grief but now I know that the sadness and grief I felt for them was only surface level. You don't know what true grief means until you've experienced it firsthand.

Every time someone shares a Facebook post on the passing of their loved family/friend, just like many others, I too, have flocked the comments section to pass on my condolences. I now know that I never really felt their pain. When I looked at the comments section when my mama passed, I couldn't help but wonder how many of these people have actually felt grief? I hoped for their sake that they had not. I know that I will never again be able to write a condolence message thoughtlessly.

I've also learnt that live goes on. The wheels of this world are constantly turning and if you refuse to turn with it, you run the risk of being left behind or worse - being shredded under it. Even in grief, we're conditioned to ensure that we cause the least amount of inconvenience. We've trained ourselves and others to ensure nobody has to pick up too much slack in our absence while we deal with news that wrecks our lives. I know I did. Grief is performative, so is empathy and we can't run from it. When my sister screamed her lungs out in dealing with the news, it crossed my mind that we might disturb the neighbours. A stakeholder who knew I was on emergency leave first sent me a long condolence message and then pestered me about work.

Losing someone you love is never easy, but it becomes more difficult because of the way society works. We talk about death in hushed tones and somber faces, making sure to jump to the next topic as quick as possible. We treat grief like an unwelcome guest. To be quickly greeted and dealt with. After all, why shouldn't we? Both bring so much pain and discomfort.

People say that grief becomes easier to deal with as time passes. Perhaps that's true. Time passing gives us maturity. The maturity that life gives allows us to examine past wounds from different angles and perspective. Over time, we visit that wound many times, and each time we take away something new. I have no doubt that my perspective on grief today might not be the same a few years down the road. For now, I'm content with knowing that grief and death are part of the human condition, there's just no running from it. To live is to suffer and suffer we must.