This post is a sort of follow-up on the post written last year about the loss of my mother nine months ago. You can read more about it here.
Some things – like being a parent & losing a parent – can only really be fully understood when you have experienced it for yourself. I think most who have lived through parenting and / or have lost a parent* will agree that it is tougher than they could ever have imagined. I guess it has to do with the fact that the parent-child relationship is so unique, intimate & makes even the most rational among us act really weird.
(*I want to also say that my heart aches especially for those who lose a spouse. A child. I don’t know how one can recover from such profound loss & heartbreak.)
I first wrote this post towards the end of 2019, but I just couldn’t post it. I saved it in drafts. Pulled it out again. Then saved it again for some more weeks. I was just so very raw when I wrote it. I began to think that I was crazy for still feeling so profoundly sad after so many months. How can I still be crying in my sleep after more than 6 months of losing her? Why do I find myself sobbing at the weirdest things?
Then a successful CEO – a grown, independent man – told me: “Burying my father was the hardest thing I ever had to do.” Did I hear right? An adult man, with a large, successful business & grown kids, was saying what I was feeling?
And when we watched the Netflix Docuseries “Inside Bill’s Brain”, I heard Bill Gates say that the worst day of his life was the day his mother died.
I started to realise that it was ok. I was (not) ok & that it is normal. That I am in grief. But isn’t grief supposed to blow over in a few weeks? Or a few months at least?
Then I also read (rather listened to on Audible), the amazing book by Sheryl Sandberg called Option B. It was in Option B that I first heard about Acute Grief.
‘acute’ –
present or experienced to a severe or intense degree.
‘grief’ –
intense sorrow, especially caused by someone’s death. The unwelcome situation of severe & intense sorrow.
What I was experiencing was Acute Grief.
When your person, your mother, your (soul)mate, your cheerleader, spouse, your child or best friend dies, grief punches you in the stomach. It makes you feel like you can’t breathe. Like you don’t want to breathe. It makes you feel like there is nothing out there worth carrying on for.
When you feel like life is actually draining from your body. That is Acute Grief.
It will trip you up when you think you’re OK. And you never know what will trigger your sadness & your tears. Her favorite flower. A smell. Her handwriting. The fact that you will never ever see, hear, feel or smell her again?
The touches. The silliness. The laughs that only you two shared.
The firsts. First Christmas. First Birthday. How will you survive it?
The voice. That voice. You will never again hear that voice again. Acute grief is the state of being so sad & in despair that your entire being aches. Deep, deep inside. Almost like the intense heart sore that you feel when your first boyfriend breaks up with you. But a million times worse. A broken heart. A shattered heart. A physical unwellness that is caused by intense sadness.
When you feel you want to vomit. Or sleep. Or scream. Or sob. But can’t do any of it. The sadness is just. too. intense.
How long will this pain remain? How long can I survive it?
You have no capacity for nonsense.
“They sit & gossip & all I want to scream is ‘My dad just died! Can you just stop!?‘” my friend said shortly after the death of her dad. Acute grief drowns out all the noise. It makes you see clearly what is real, what is important, what is essential. No time for gossip, for unnessesary drama, admin. Kind gestures & friendly faces, words of sympathy, somebody who simply acknowledges the intensity of your loss become your lifelines. Those who acknowledge that your world is & won’t ever be the same again.
Acute grief is when you can’t imagine a world that can ever feel better or look normal again. And in a sense, you don’t want any of this pain to go away. You don’t want normal, because how on earth can things be normal again? Will I forget her when the pain eases? Will I not ‘have’ her anymore when I carry on?
But then, one day, when you think it can & will never get better, you find relief. Acute grief makes way for ‘normal’ grief. The kind that is still there, but less numbing. And you find ways to keep the memories, the special bond alive without feeling like you are being stabbed in the stomach.
The song by Maroon 5, “Memories”, captures it so well…
“Here’s to the ones that we got
Cheers to the wish you were here, but you’re not
‘Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
Of everything we’ve been through
Toast to the ones here today
Toast to the ones that we lost on the way
‘Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
And the memories bring back, memories bring back you
There’s a time that I remember, when I did not know no pain
When I believed in forever, and everything would stay the same
Now my heart feel like December when somebody say your name
‘Cause I can’t reach out to call you, but I know I will one day, yeah
Everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody hurts someday, aye aye
But everything gon’ be alright
Go and raise a glass and say, aye… “
Yolandi β₯
Image: Jasmine Star