Loss came in a couple different shapes these past months. One was familiar, the other was, well, strange.
The first one arrived in the early days of January at twelve thirty. Like many of its predecessors, heartbreak was charming yet quiet. It came in unannounced, only with a sudden radio silence. All the while when it might’ve been for the better.
While I was still trying to compartmentalise in the right storage in my head, another one arrived on the 7th February, a couple hours before midnight. It knocked a few times many days prior, but I did not open the door immediately and let it in.
Although, this Loss is very well-known, and I definitely have heard of from stories and people around me, but when it is right there in front of my house, it felt like a stranger I’ve never heard and only speaks Sadness.
Initially, I wanted to focus on anything else that uphold Joy, as some might say, celebrate the life instead of mourning. I wanted to, I swear. But I don’t think I can if I haven’t yet get acquainted with this stranger named, Grief.
I took a step back. As I mentioned, it came knocking to my door several days prior when my mother gathered my brother and I in my room after dinner. She said, please be prepared. At that time, my father had only able to speak very few words and digest soft food.
I stayed silent. Not knowing what to do. I knew that I was this close of breaking like a vase on the top shelf after a mild earthquake. But I kept thinking, now isn’t the time. I also wanted to run to a friend but I didn’t know why I couldn’t so I pushed with ‘It’ll be okay’.
When it is the time, the Guts who told me, you can never prepare in welcoming death, or any kind of loss, cheered in all selfishness and said, I was right. Loss always bound with grief. I still remember exactly the last seconds to it. What was the weather like outside. Who was in the room. What I was doing. What my mother was doing. Where my brother sat.
Until today, I still couldn’t paint how or what was the feeling like. Some people called it like a void, but it was bigger than that. It felt like insurmountable waves that drags you further in and you couldn’t swim. All I could think of was: I don’t want this to happen to anyone else.
After the first day of his passing, I kept thinking the next day would be better. The next week would. The next month would. While in essence the spirit is very much noble, but it’s starting to feel like a fantasy.
The definition of better is also vague. What is better? No more crying? No more awkwardness in referring to him in past tense? No more ordering table for four when going to a restaurant?
Because as of now, it comes and goes.
Last night, exactly a month later, all of the in the sudden, the Great Sadness hit me right out when I was getting ready for bed. I did not even remember what was caused it. All I knew, I cried like it was the first time I ever cried in my life. I forgot how to breathe and what is air? Tears were outpouring from my eyes like the heaviest Monsoon rain in the Summer. Then, the next day, my eyes were swollen, so big, it looked like my eyes were moving across the country — carrying three suitcases and a cabin baggage.
But five days prior to that day, I was so perky. Drank three glasses of coffee, did not mind talking to more than four people in a day, made an artwork, went out of the house to buy flowers and waffles for myself, walked over 10,000 steps.
Today, writing this, I cried again.
When people tried to comfort me by sharing their experience or in a tangent of advice, I shut them off. There might’ve been a certain degree of egocentrism in the mix. This emotion that I was feeling was so strong, it felt like as if my Sadness wanted to proclaim, it’s mine and it’s mine only. No one else experience this like I do — maybe that’s true to an extent, people grieve in their on way even when they don’t realise they’re grieving. The more I think it is almost impossible to equate everyone’s grieving into one big bowl of whatever it is.
People would also ask how I am and I never know how to answer. I mean, I never knew the answer to that question before, but I’m even more certain now that I have even lesser clues. The closest answer I can give is: I’m dealing with this. By dealing, I meant acknowledging, learning, understanding, processing and whatever it entails. Most likely I am going to fall over, or you know, just sit there and do nothing but watch it do whatever it does. It doesn’t mean I’m not sad anymore nor at the same time, well, not happy either.
I am guessing I should stop measuring or expecting the end of grief using a period of time. It would only make me feel like a fool. As if it would just stop like an automatic faucet as long as you pulled away your hand from the sensor.
I know I am going to cry again at some point. There’ll be many more episodes where I need to nurse my eyes with cold napkins and wait for it to look normal again. There’ll be others where I would just breathe easy.
This stranger filled the room with its significance, which made the rest of worries stood small. I thought of the boy who broke my heart, the stacks of challenges at work; all of the hurt, the concerns, arched like a wilted flowers — almost nothing compared to this.
Now, Grief is sitting down in the living room. With little words, but unmistakable presence, it is settling down. And I am, too, sitting in front of it and ready with a cup of tea.
I know one day in the future, we’ll get along well and it will turn to be a less of a stranger day by day. Right then, I will begin to pick up the shattered pieces of the vase and make a Kintsugi out of it. After, I will pour myself water and fill me with flowers. I promise. I’ll be there. I’m almost there. I’m trying.
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