"Chin up!"
"Get on with things!"
"It's been so long already!"
"Why are you dwelling still? You have so much to live for?"
I know they mean well. I know they don't wish to see a friend down and depressed. but if it were so easy, I would not be like this. Why would I, someone who was always so strong, so brave in the face of the most adverse of circumstances, choose to be depressed, choose to be stuck in a groove and choose to be unable to work, unable to focus, unable to find something positive in life? Why would I, someone who has seen loved ones struggle with life and lose their lives, want to waste away my days, weeks, and be caught in cycles of poor sleep and exist in an almost perpetual state of dazedness...?
If it even challenges and troubles monks who have practised for over three decades, how am I, a simple lay person whose practice is weak and patience is fragile, supposed to deal with the traumas of loss and pain?
"I'm a rookie in mourning..." I described myself. How much mourning is enough? How much is overindulging? How much is lingering? How long is it all going to take? Why do I break down and cry at the slightest trigger or association with death, family, mother, cancer etc? Is it my right to mourn for as long as I wish to, and am I entitled to have my rights as a mourner respected?
Meeting the support group for the mo(u)rning walk again helped clear my head a bit. I outed my frustrations at attempts to approach my friends and vented how at times I seem to gain not support
but instead dismissive cliches that show that no one really understands and no one really listened.
It is normal, the group leader said, and we are all guilty of cliches in the face of death. Because it is so gripping, so emptying, so lonely and painful an experience that there are simply no words of solace strong or soft or soothing enough to take away pain. People may not mean to hurt you or rub salt in your wounds. Friends would never intentionally want to kick you while you are already down. At times I wish to shout back: "When it's your turn to deal with the loss of your last remaining parent, then perhaps you would say this easily..."
But sometimes pushing you to move on, measuring you against the behaviour and happiness of "normal" people, comparing you to how other people seem to deal with loss and mourning so easily is not fair. Loss is ever so personal, ever so emotional and spiritual, and we each have own own pace and we each need our own space to grief and to process our pain and loss.
I got many hugs, and soothing words. Again, the members of the group look at me with such sympathy and compassion because I am the youngest member they have yet encountered. "Hang on there..." one told me, and described how this whole process is like mountain biking. You have to go through mud and get dirty and perhaps even lost before you can find your way. But you control the speed and direction of your process, your very personal process. One day, you will get the hang of things. One day, the pain will be less, the tears will flow less often, the sorrow will subside and happiness and contentment will resurface.
It is a process of adjusting to your own body, your new circumstances of life. And sometimes in the process you will realise that those in your life whom you thought were dependable and supportive fade away as you find deeper and more meaning in the new life and new self you are.
It takes time. It really takes time...
"Get on with things!"
"It's been so long already!"
"Why are you dwelling still? You have so much to live for?"
I know they mean well. I know they don't wish to see a friend down and depressed. but if it were so easy, I would not be like this. Why would I, someone who was always so strong, so brave in the face of the most adverse of circumstances, choose to be depressed, choose to be stuck in a groove and choose to be unable to work, unable to focus, unable to find something positive in life? Why would I, someone who has seen loved ones struggle with life and lose their lives, want to waste away my days, weeks, and be caught in cycles of poor sleep and exist in an almost perpetual state of dazedness...?
If it even challenges and troubles monks who have practised for over three decades, how am I, a simple lay person whose practice is weak and patience is fragile, supposed to deal with the traumas of loss and pain?
"I'm a rookie in mourning..." I described myself. How much mourning is enough? How much is overindulging? How much is lingering? How long is it all going to take? Why do I break down and cry at the slightest trigger or association with death, family, mother, cancer etc? Is it my right to mourn for as long as I wish to, and am I entitled to have my rights as a mourner respected?
Meeting the support group for the mo(u)rning walk again helped clear my head a bit. I outed my frustrations at attempts to approach my friends and vented how at times I seem to gain not support
but instead dismissive cliches that show that no one really understands and no one really listened.
It is normal, the group leader said, and we are all guilty of cliches in the face of death. Because it is so gripping, so emptying, so lonely and painful an experience that there are simply no words of solace strong or soft or soothing enough to take away pain. People may not mean to hurt you or rub salt in your wounds. Friends would never intentionally want to kick you while you are already down. At times I wish to shout back: "When it's your turn to deal with the loss of your last remaining parent, then perhaps you would say this easily..."
But sometimes pushing you to move on, measuring you against the behaviour and happiness of "normal" people, comparing you to how other people seem to deal with loss and mourning so easily is not fair. Loss is ever so personal, ever so emotional and spiritual, and we each have own own pace and we each need our own space to grief and to process our pain and loss.
I got many hugs, and soothing words. Again, the members of the group look at me with such sympathy and compassion because I am the youngest member they have yet encountered. "Hang on there..." one told me, and described how this whole process is like mountain biking. You have to go through mud and get dirty and perhaps even lost before you can find your way. But you control the speed and direction of your process, your very personal process. One day, you will get the hang of things. One day, the pain will be less, the tears will flow less often, the sorrow will subside and happiness and contentment will resurface.
It is a process of adjusting to your own body, your new circumstances of life. And sometimes in the process you will realise that those in your life whom you thought were dependable and supportive fade away as you find deeper and more meaning in the new life and new self you are.
It takes time. It really takes time...
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