Grief: A language with numerous dialects

So my daughter died.

Before that I had lost a few loved ones to death. My beloved father, two favourite uncles, my elder sister and a few friends. But you see, I grieved differently in each situation.

For instance, the morning my dad passed, I was on the phone with my immediate elder sister who was with him at the hospital for about two hours. She had assured me he was going to scale through. I had even thought that my old man had nine lives after all. So when she calls me a few hours later to inform me of his passing I was shocked. Yet, I didn't even shed a tear. I simply left my room and went to inform my mum that her ex-husband had died. I then packed an overnight bag and went to see his body before it was tampered with. All through the 6 hours journey, I kept reminiscing, remembering the not so many moments we shared (not enough for a father/daughter relationship anyway). Still, I didn't weep or cry. I was just numb. I would, however, cry my heart out three months later at his funeral. The trigger was the priest asking the congregation to proceed to the grave. It just hit me, at that instance, that my father was really dead! And I wept uncontrollably. And that was the last time I cried for him.

When my Uncle, Sir Kay, died in faraway Ireland, my mother died for the next two years. She just stopped living. He was not just her brother but her friend. They had lived like conjoined twins since childhood. So when he died, she just gave up. It's been 8 years, yet whenever she remembers him she would weep, the kind of weeping that is weightier than simply crying. As in, her soul would mourn as though he just passed that same day. She has never stopped grieving for him but it has gotten better.

The paths of grief are individual and often times determined by the relationship, the special bonds that ties one person to another. How can any of us measure the unique connection that may exist between a bereaved person and the one for whom they grieve? Length of time of the relationship, type of role (such as parent/child, husband/wife, sibling/sibling or friend/friend), degree of closeness, and strength of attachment (including balance of “love-hate” feelings) all enter into the equation of how long and how intensely the bereaved person will need to grieve for the departed one. The role the deceased played in the life of the bereaved is also a key factor.

There are different stages of grief. There is that initial reaction to loss, the screaming, weeping e.t.c is instinctive. We usually are unable to control this reaction, which I why we are careful when breaking bad news.  Then there is the adaptation to the death of a loved one. Where we integrate and begin to internalize the implications of the loss. Then there's that prolonged, unresolved or traumatic grief. This grief is complicated. It is the cold, hard place where the sense of loss remains persistent and intense and does not transition into integrated grief.

When my daughter, Modebare, died, the first thing I did was to refuse to let her go. I had to save her. I was convinced she wasn't dead. So I prayed, screamed, cried. When it dawned on me that I had failed to undo her death, I cried hopelessly. Then for days I felt like I was drugged. I didn't feel hunger or pain or anything
I just numbed out. I told myself nothing else mattered. Sympathizers tried to shape my response to this lift halting incident.

"Stop crying". "You will have many more children"
"It is God's will". " If she were truly your child, she would have stayed ". " Oh, she saved you future grief ". " Be thankful, what if both children died".

Over time, the spontaneous outbursts reduced. I no longer bawled whenever I had to drop off or pick up her sister from school. I was able to look in her wardrobe without having a panic attack. Yet, there were days I would read a bible verse and I would wonder how it didn't work for me, then the floodgates would open. I queried God. I would wonder aloud why he would grant me a miracle and then take her away. I began to question my sanity. I plunged into the darkest places. I began to act like all was well so as not to call attention to myself. Family and friends were getting tired of consoling me. They wanted me to get over it. They felt I was "dwelling too much" on it. "Move on, Let it go", they said.

I realized I wasn't getting over this loss like they said I would. The pain of the loss stayed fresh. It was as if she just died. There were days I wouldn't even remember her at all then I would panic that I was forgetting her and it will all come back, fresh. I would often wish to die and end it all. I neglected my family. My work suffered. My faith in God was shaken. I diagnosed myself as having post traumatic stress disorder. I was perpetually depressed.

After my self diagnosis, I sought help. I subscribed to various blogs of persons who had lost a loved one. I followed their stories and inculcated their recovery strategies. I scoured the Bible for comfort and hope. I diverted all my energy to getting out of depression. I read, prayed and wrote. I made a mental note that I didn't have to forget my dead daughter but I had to live with her death. I began to mentally adjust to my new situation.

Have I fully recovered? Oh no! But I am healing. I can look at her picture and say 'hello Mode' without feeling awful. Do I still weep for her? Yes I do. Will I ever stop grieving? I hope so.

One thing this experience has taught me is there is no one rule to grief. Grief is language with so many dialects. There is no one rule to grieving.

Authoritatively, I can assure you that it will get better. When it will depends on the dialect of grief you speak.