Just days before mum left this world, I sat next to her and held her hand. Even though she was in discomfort, even though her bones and organs were sore and on the verge of giving up, even though she had trouble mustering the energy to breathe, let alone speak, she told me how worried she was about me.
She was worried about my life, about the lack of any significant other in my life, worried about who would care about me and care for me. I smiled and said I couldn't change that.
Closely related to life, at least in our culture, is having a home, and mum was worried I didn't have a home a place where I can call my own. "Compared to your brother, you have nothing...." she said.
I said, and promised I will try and do something about that.
But for the past 15 months since she left, I have done very little about it. I am tired, so tired so much of the time, it is nothing anyone can really understand. And I have been so lost as to where to start. Until three months ago, a friend referred me to an agent she said I could really trust. We spoke once on the phone, emails a few times, and for two months nothing.
Until today. We finally met and sat down at a coffee shop. And that sit down lasted for over three hours, three quarters of which we talked about everything else other than househunting and my plans.
We exchanged life stories and experiences, and though she is so much older, we share many similar sentiments towards loved ones and life. This was my experience also with people in my bereavement group, everyone of whom were so many, many (many!) years older. But death and loss is not about age, it's about the personal experience, the personal connections and attachments. And truly, as I have learned again and again, and again today, when someone has not experienced death up close and personal, when someone has not seen a loved one die in front of you, it is hard to imagine what loss really is about, and how one can move forward (not move on, but move forward...)
She sat and talked about her dad, who passed eleven months ago. Just the mere mention of "dad" brought back memories and tears she could not contain. I recounted my graduation, those final weeks at the hospice trying to comfort mum and seeing her suffer and trying to be strong for visitors and my own brother, and I teared too. We spoke about the way things were, about the love that was and is now lost forever and can never, ever be replaced. The smiles, the childhood memories, the arguments, the trips together, the hugs and touches, and very idea that the other person is just a phone call (or plane ride...) away. No more. No more. Life and loss are such personal, personal experiences, such personal, personal feelings, emotions and reactions come from life and loss.
And we learn so much about loss and life from loss. You realise who "real" friends are. You realise that those who only want to be there for the fun times and merry moments and shun you or call you strange or say that you have changed are not really people you can lean on in friendship or in anything. I hear this from every one I've met who has lost a loved one. And it is sad, because people who are grieving are those who need understanding and compassion the most, yet often times receive the least understanding or time from those who are prepared to be there. The lady echoed my sentiments, and shared her own frustrations.
Loss teaches you many things, about yourself and about others. You realise life is so much bigger than money, career, degrees and prestige, pride and winning over little battles about who is right or wrong. Life is, life can be, so much more. Only if you try, only if you allow yourself to be fully who you are. Life is not happier slaving away at some desk or trying to please difficult bosses and clients. Life is not happier with six figure salaries, trips around the world or tonnes of possessions or the latest gadgets. Life is richer with love, richer when you can give and when you can smile and laugh at yourself and at life. Life is richer with passion, with a loved one you truly, deeply and passionately care about and cannot let go off, not because of the physical attraction or emotional attachment, but because you know a significant part of you will die if you do not know about the other person's wellbeing or whereabouts. The lady shared with me a poem "The Guy in the Glass", which deals with who you should measure yourself against and who can best be the judge of your character.
For the few moments we talked about the housing market and what to look out for, she shared with me some tips and showed me a few places we could start looking at. It was exciting, like a new assignment, mission, that has been given to me. And it was comforting too, that after all these months, after the promise to my mum that I would find a place to call my own, I am taking steps to realising that promise. It is comforting and exciting that yet another one of my promises and life dreams is going to be realised.
It means that despite all the rough moments, the terrible, terrible anxiety attacks and lows I have experienced, despite the loneliness I feel in my daily routine, I am trying to be strong and better.
And if you really knew how difficult life has been after loss, if you really knew how meaningless life has become after death, you would know how brave have been, and how brave I am trying to be to be still standing.
She was worried about my life, about the lack of any significant other in my life, worried about who would care about me and care for me. I smiled and said I couldn't change that.
Closely related to life, at least in our culture, is having a home, and mum was worried I didn't have a home a place where I can call my own. "Compared to your brother, you have nothing...." she said.
I said, and promised I will try and do something about that.
But for the past 15 months since she left, I have done very little about it. I am tired, so tired so much of the time, it is nothing anyone can really understand. And I have been so lost as to where to start. Until three months ago, a friend referred me to an agent she said I could really trust. We spoke once on the phone, emails a few times, and for two months nothing.
Until today. We finally met and sat down at a coffee shop. And that sit down lasted for over three hours, three quarters of which we talked about everything else other than househunting and my plans.
We exchanged life stories and experiences, and though she is so much older, we share many similar sentiments towards loved ones and life. This was my experience also with people in my bereavement group, everyone of whom were so many, many (many!) years older. But death and loss is not about age, it's about the personal experience, the personal connections and attachments. And truly, as I have learned again and again, and again today, when someone has not experienced death up close and personal, when someone has not seen a loved one die in front of you, it is hard to imagine what loss really is about, and how one can move forward (not move on, but move forward...)
There's no right or wrong way, never too many or too few tears. As I read somewhere recently (even 15 months after her passing I'm still learning about the process of loss...), we don't move on from loss, we move forward with it. Every day passed, every memory recollected, every tear shed, we are one step closer to coexisting with loss and trying to find a "new normal" in the changed circumstances of our lives.
She sat and talked about her dad, who passed eleven months ago. Just the mere mention of "dad" brought back memories and tears she could not contain. I recounted my graduation, those final weeks at the hospice trying to comfort mum and seeing her suffer and trying to be strong for visitors and my own brother, and I teared too. We spoke about the way things were, about the love that was and is now lost forever and can never, ever be replaced. The smiles, the childhood memories, the arguments, the trips together, the hugs and touches, and very idea that the other person is just a phone call (or plane ride...) away. No more. No more. Life and loss are such personal, personal experiences, such personal, personal feelings, emotions and reactions come from life and loss.
And we learn so much about loss and life from loss. You realise who "real" friends are. You realise that those who only want to be there for the fun times and merry moments and shun you or call you strange or say that you have changed are not really people you can lean on in friendship or in anything. I hear this from every one I've met who has lost a loved one. And it is sad, because people who are grieving are those who need understanding and compassion the most, yet often times receive the least understanding or time from those who are prepared to be there. The lady echoed my sentiments, and shared her own frustrations.
Loss teaches you many things, about yourself and about others. You realise life is so much bigger than money, career, degrees and prestige, pride and winning over little battles about who is right or wrong. Life is, life can be, so much more. Only if you try, only if you allow yourself to be fully who you are. Life is not happier slaving away at some desk or trying to please difficult bosses and clients. Life is not happier with six figure salaries, trips around the world or tonnes of possessions or the latest gadgets. Life is richer with love, richer when you can give and when you can smile and laugh at yourself and at life. Life is richer with passion, with a loved one you truly, deeply and passionately care about and cannot let go off, not because of the physical attraction or emotional attachment, but because you know a significant part of you will die if you do not know about the other person's wellbeing or whereabouts. The lady shared with me a poem "The Guy in the Glass", which deals with who you should measure yourself against and who can best be the judge of your character.
For the few moments we talked about the housing market and what to look out for, she shared with me some tips and showed me a few places we could start looking at. It was exciting, like a new assignment, mission, that has been given to me. And it was comforting too, that after all these months, after the promise to my mum that I would find a place to call my own, I am taking steps to realising that promise. It is comforting and exciting that yet another one of my promises and life dreams is going to be realised.
It means that despite all the rough moments, the terrible, terrible anxiety attacks and lows I have experienced, despite the loneliness I feel in my daily routine, I am trying to be strong and better.
And if you really knew how difficult life has been after loss, if you really knew how meaningless life has become after death, you would know how brave have been, and how brave I am trying to be to be still standing.
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