Grief, It Lingers
And Why That’s Okay
Not long ago, my friend Rajji and I joined in the beginning of a funeral procession for our old friend’s mother. The news came quite suddenly. And so we quickly headed out that one evening.
It was a while since I had seen anyone. And despite the circumstances, I was glad to meet a lot of old acquaintances who I had not been in contact with for years. Our friend seemed to think the same as well, as he was jovial and welcoming to each old face who showed up to give support and pay respects.
His house was full of family and friends, so he was busy darting here and there from uncle to aunt to friend group to make sure everyone’s respect was duly recognized, all the while ensuring the procession was in order. His father seemed to be doing the same.
But as I have noticed, eyes tend not to betray that which lies underneath.
And in their eyes was pain.
Not long after it was all over, we had gone on back to our separate lives and separate affairs. Or so I thought.
Through some turn of events, beneath the drumming of a sudden, violent rain, Rajji and I had taken shelter in a nearby mosque. And in its serene enclosure, we spoke of grief.
I couldn’t imagine our friend’s silent months-long endeavor in being personally responsible for caring for his sick mother while balancing an intense study load — and for it to end like this. Back in the day, he would worry to no end and make such a fuss over his own friends, so I couldn’t imagine the hidden struggle when it came to his closest family.
Thinking back to the distraught look in his eyes, I began to think. Was he okay? Would he be okay? How would he move on from this? (I then texted my groupchat to ask my friends to pray for my mother’s health and wellbeing, although she’s perfectly fine)
But Rajji decided to drop some bombs then and there.
“You know, I don’t believe in moving on,” he said matter-of-factly. Rajji likened people who casually talked about ‘moving on’ to the types of people who changed romantic partners every few months. “It’s an insincere concept.”
Rajji, who had gone through some similar battles as our grieving friend, seemed to be well-acquainted with this thought stream. People go away, memories fade, worlds stop colliding — but history is untouchable. And if you truly loved those people who were involved in your history, they don’t really leave you. Their imprint lasts.
And thinking you can somehow erase them entirely and that it’s okay to do so is an irresponsible act of disrespect towards the love you did have, according to Rajji.
Now, that might seem extreme, but what Rajji said reminded me of the concept of Tonkin’s model of grief: grief stays the same size, but life will grow around it.
So I began to think of the losses of people throughout my life, including those that really mattered and those that didn’t quite. Given the hoppy nature of my upbringing, these losses amount to quite a few. And with that, I think I understood what Rajji meant.
He didn’t mean that it was proper to feel forever pained 24/7 after a loss, but that the grief was a sign that the loss truly mattered. That the bond was important. That the love was sincere.
It’s only natural not to want to confront grief, to want to move along ASAP, or to somewhat avoid things that might trigger that heavy chest and loss of breath, but it’s crucial to recognize that grief will remain. Grief. Will. Remain. And life will just grow around it. And sometimes some episodes will plunge you into that grief again. And sometimes it won’t occur to you at all. But it won’t leave you; it will remain. And that’s just how life works.
The poet Ocean Vuong once said,
Grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love. This is the last act of loving someone. And you realize that it will never end. You get to do this to translate this last act of love for the rest of your life.
And I think that’s exactly what Rajji meant. Or in Billy-Ray Belcourt’s words, “To love someone is firstly to confess: I’m prepared to be devastated by you.”
So yes, grief lingers.
And it can be hard.
And that’s okay.
It’s an imprint of a history that mattered. And what matters leads to growth.
Happy growing :)
