Grief

 A close friend of mine recently lost his mother. He is 66 and his mother was almost 90. 

How does one begin to understand grief? 

Am sure that 10 out of 10 people who called him had said something along these lines, “it is sad, but at the same time isn’t she the lucky one to have passed away so peacefully and quickly? She died the way she wanted to” etc., etc.

Left with no other options I am sure he also consoled himself by echoing the same sentiments. What are the options in front of him?

Could he have her forever?

Could he live forever?

How long is long enough?

How soon is sudden?

Is there a good death?

How does one evaluate the inevitable?

If one has to die someday, how does one evaluate the death?

If someone died without having experienced life or lived to the full potential, do we grieve that death more?

How do we know that death at an old age is a relief?

One relentless march of time is accentuated by a drop in the volume of conversations. We end up speaking less and less with people who are close to us. We strike up interesting conversations with strangers who bring in fresh ideas and fresh perspectives and predictably that stranger also becomes a “stranger” after a while. Is it any surprise that the ones closest to us also end up being a stranger over a period of time?

Does proximity lead to a state of taking it for granted? Can only death make the realization complete?

How do we know that a 90+ had lived one’s life to its full potential and had no ambitions, desires, aspirations, or goals left? How many times have we spoken to them in our life to understand what they need?

We are consumed by our daily lives and convince ourselves that we have provided them all that they need – from our point of view!

We can’t be blamed – we have our lives and the lives of our children.

Have not philosophers and thinkers driven the point home that life moves on and does not linger in the past?

But, is there a present or a future without a past?

Do we know for certain that the 90+ had no regrets when her life ended?

Did she get the apology she deserved?

Did she get the acknowledgment she earned?

Did she get a listener when she wanted to talk?

How often she had to talk when she wanted solitude?

How many compromises did she make, long after they should have been unnecessary?

Did she get to do all that she wanted?

Did she still need someone’s permission to proceed to do certain things?

Did anyone ever ask her what her ambitions were?

Or were people easily convinced when she answered “I need nothing”?

Let us move to the grieving side.

Can a son or a daughter ever accept a parent’s death?

Reconcile, yes.

Learn to live without their presence, yes.

Understand the inevitability, yes.

It is a game one does not win.

Like Richard Bach said, “Is your mission on earth complete? If you are still alive, the answer is no”.

A bit fatalistic. But sadly, true.

One can run through a wide vocabulary and find many verbs to define the state of mind.

Accept – surely NO.

Years after the death, memories will still haunt them.

Isn’t that what memories are meant for?

You won’t be able to discard the physical belongings.

The chair will remain forever empty and unoccupied.

You will not be able to throw the chair away.

Not yet.

Not so soon.

You will not know what to tell your dad.

Whatever you say will be hollow.

You will still say it.

He knows it is hollow too. He will still listen.

The two of you will play this charade for a while.

And then the conversations that suddenly sprang to life, because someone died, will also die, gradually, one sentence less at a time, till it meanders to a painful halt.

Not because you have nothing to say, but because whatever you say is not going to compensate for the loss.

Not for him. Not for you.

Each tragedy is unique. There is no standard operating manual on how to deal with it. Each one finds a way to deal with it, come out of it, and braces oneself for the next, and the next, and the next, till one day you are the next tragedy.

Let the son grieve; on his own terms.

He will call you if he finds you worthy.

Wait for that call. Do not force it on him.

What can you offer?

Other than empty words and readymade phrases.

You can never offer him what he needs.

His mother.