It’s been over six months, and I’m still figuring it out.
I was listening to Ladipoe’s ‘Feeling’ when I got news of my father’s passing; the irony has since defined my journey with grief, and so far I’ve learnt a few things.
For one thing, you’ll laugh again. It’ll be full and rich, and it’ll hurt because you know they would have laughed with you. But then there’s a warmth it brings, knowing you can laugh as you navigate your worst nightmare. Embrace it.
The days before the funeral will leave you numb, each waking moment a fresh reminder that they’re gone. You’ll grow to hate the word “sorry”, however good-natured. “God’s plan” will be repeated to such an extent that you become distrustful of your faith.
The days after the funeral will bring you a deconstruction of the self, more crushing than the loss you’ve faced. This is where you start to dread the question, “how are you?”. You know an honest answer will subject you to more misguided expressions of comfort, so you learn to lie, and in time some part of you starts to believe the lie.
Life will go on, leaving you behind as you learn to fall asleep again. With your faith still shaken and your hobbies a painful reminder of a life long gone, you are overwhelmed by deep loneliness. You struggle till you find your community, and a lot starts to make sense.
You’ve crafted a new normal, and you’re loving it. You power through with a new lust for life until you realise your folly.
You were never alone, but you left people alone. Your family was there all along, sharing your pain and memories. And in a desperate need to embrace your lie, you became a misguided comforter in their story.
I’m still finding my way out of the lie, so I don’t know how it ends. The pain might never go away, but neither will my memories. I think that’s its own thing.
