Grief as in rage
I have never seen grief in a person, like I have in my friend. The rage, the sadness, the tears, the feeling of helplessness, the memories that assuage us. But most especially... the rage. Wanting to burn everywhere down, never fully understanding why it had to be you. Why it had to be her. Why you had to lose her to death and lose her every night she visits you in your dreams.
Yesterday, I attended an open mic night and was awestruck by the piece a beautiful lady rendered. In it, she talks about the loss a child feels when they lose their mother. How the whole village rallies round to take care of them and fill in the gap so the child doesn't suffer. But when a mother loses her child, who comes around to help her bear the loss?
When you lose your loved ones time and again to the cold hands of death, how many times can you bear the pain until you decide to return yourself back to sender, too? For how long do you see them everywhere, and mourn their loss each night no one is there to soothe you because you had another nightmare? How long can we take these losses until life loses meaning, and all we crave is to join our loved ones wherever they are?
Somedays, I count the stitches on my favourite top, naming them after a lost loved one. I caress them when the tears start, sobbing softly. A desperate cry for help: "I can’t cope anymore. I really can’t cope anymore." Maybe they’d hear; maybe they won’t. 1 count 20 stictches—20 deaths. 20 loved ones. 20 times I lost pieces of me that I would never get again. 20 times I had to delete my loved ones' numbers for life. Some days, I can’t cope. Some days it’s too much.
Grief as in rage. As in anger. As in, I hate myself and the world for not being able to do anything about their death. As in, I hate the world for still moving on after my loss like nothing happened. As in, I want every single person to feel the level of pain that I feel right now. Most of all, grief as in kindness to yourself. As in, holding space for you. As in knowing that it might not get better, but you will get stronger.
I know that I will never ever be able to comprehend the magnitude of the losses in her life. I know that I will never ever know the "right" thing to say to her when she talks about the loss of her mother. I know that I will never experience that measure of pain because experiences and our brain’s perception of differences differ. But I will hold space for her. I will sit in the water with her. I will hold her hands and continually remind her of who she is.
Love,
Rachael.
