WHAT IS GRIEF, IF NOT LOVE PERSEVERING?

AVANI KUMAR // STAFF

Some loss in this world is unfathomable.

We learn love from the moment we’re born, an unfathomable amount of love is showered on us from our parents, and carries on throughout our lives. But the one thing about love that we can never be taught until it’s too late is how to love someone who is gone. Loss is a phenomenon we all grapple with during our lives, yet we never openly talk about it. Experiencing a traumatic loss results in serious change in brain function, especially in younger brains that are yet to finish developing, but it’s rarely ever displayed in our day to day lives. There is no “how-to” on losing your parents, but the comfort of knowing that someone else could also understand this unimaginable pain is one that can’t be replicated.

One evening I was a 16 year old girl, leaving rehearsal and getting picked up by my cousin until my mom came home. Six hours later, I was thrown into becoming an entirely different person.

I grabbed the phone with an innocence that I would never get back, as I listened to the ICU doctor tell me that we could lose my father at any moment, and we need to say bye. And when I hung up, the reality of the situation loomed over me. Nothing entered my sphere, nothing besides the ticking of the clock and an image of my father saying “I Love You” the last time we spoke. And as we got to the hospital, if it was possible for my heart to stop, it would have as I stared at my father, the person I love most in this world, comatose in a bed, with equipment trying to keep him alive. As I held his hand, stroked his hair, and spoke to him while my mother stood next to me, it was as clear as day that I would never be the person I was only 24 hours ago.

And when all was said and done, and we got that last phone call, a piece of me died with him.

But no matter how much apologizing and deflection I did over the next week, the day of the funeral was a traumatic reality check of the situation I was trying so hard to avoid. When we got there, I stood in front of the casket, and I put my hands on his chest. I touched his hands, his hair, and then I put my hands down, and I registered the fact that there was no rise and fall of his chest, no heartbeat. And that exact moment felt like the end of my life. But even in the heartbreak that I felt, I had the bittersweet chance to recap the beautiful relationship we shared through my eulogy. Being a 16 year old girl, performing my father’s last rites is something that will never leave me.

In the months following, I truly felt like I was glued into one spot of my life, while the world continued on. I woke up and attended school, but nothing entered my brain. I ate food but I didn’t taste anything. I laughed but there was no real joy behind it. A part of my life ended that day, but the world had to keep going, and I was simply expected to revert back to normal. I woke up with this dark cloud of grief everyday, but for the sake of other people, I had to silently carry it with me.

To this day, I cannot fully wrap my head around the idea that my father is gone, and nothing can bring him back. Grieving is a forever process, it doesn’t shrink or go away, but we learn to grow around it, piece by piece. And that doesn’t define us. There is no set notion that makes us happy or sad, or any other of the many emotions that come with this type of experience. I get sad when I see daughters with their fathers, because I’ll never get that back. But in that same moment, I feel thankful for the fact that I’ve shared so much love that the loss of it feels substantial. Trauma plays out in so many different ways for so many people, even today, a phone call late at night sends me into a spiral. Every single day of my life, I feel as though my brain is reliving each moment, from the night before we got the call, until the days after the funeral. And as painful as it is, my brain’s cognition is still trying to process the emotional toll. I’m so lucky to have my mother, who I love and who loves me back in a way that the loss never feels completely unbearable. Grief is the most unusual, yet natural thing in the world, and it took me a while, but he deserves to rest peacefully, surrounded by the happy memories we shared with one another. Nearly a year later, I sit here and write this with the utmost confidence that my father is proud of me, and that he’s laughing it up with his family.

I don’t share my story for pity grabs or attention seeking, but to remind the people around us that everyone has a story. I will never be able to thank the people around me enough for the kindness they exhibited, because it’s priceless, and it’s the reason I can write this today. You are never, ever alone.