School does not teach us everything. In fact, I think it misses out on some pretty important subjects. There are things I wish I had known about. Things I wish had been discussed. I see this column as my chance to talk about them.
Death happens. It’s brutal, but it’s true. Our lives are measurable, finite, spanning out in front of us. We have little control over them. This, unfortunately, means there is a time in which life, as we understand it, must end. The conversation about what happens after this life is an extensive and complex one, which I will not get into now. Nor do I feel particularly qualified to do so. What I do feel comfortable with discussing is the conversation surrounding death and grief and how I think it drastically needs to change.
As a society, we view death as a taboo topic. It makes people uncomfortable. You’ll even find people avoiding the topic completely, and it hangs over conversations like an unwanted guest. I mean, it makes sense why people don’t want to talk about it. It’s sad. It’s scary. It is followed by hurt, anger and inconceivable pain. People are reluctant to talk about it, largely, I think, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Phrases such as “it will get better” and a personal favourite of mine, “time will heal”, are all thrown about in an attempt to provide comfort and support. However, sometimes they can have the opposite effect. Sometimes a simple “I’m here if you need me” is enough. Sometimes an acceptance that things are a bit sh*t and understanding that you won’t be able to help, no matter how much you want to, is the best approach. Just being there is enough/ Making your presence known so that when people want to reach out, they can. I was once told by someone who was supposed to love me the most, “I’m sorry your friend died, but it’s time you move on now. It’s unhealthy for you.” He followed up by saying how much he cared about me; and thought tough love was the best approach. I’m a pretty easy-going person, but even for me, that was enough for me to walk out in an absolute fury. It proved to me that unless you have experienced grief, it is a really tricky feeling to explain. There are so many layers to it, and they’re all bloody horrible. Shock. Anger. Sadness. Emptiness. And then the feeling which still affects me the most today: guilt.
One of my closest childhood friends died when we were 17. I remember it so clearly; our family friends knocking on the door, me inviting them in so warmly, having no idea of the bomb they were about to drop on our lives. I remember not feeling anything at all for about 30 minutes. I was completely numb. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just stood completely motionless until falling to the floor in a sort of heap. What then preceded are months which I can only describe as grey. It was like a switch had been flicked, and life had turned from colour to monochrome. All vitality was gone. It’s like I was swimming against some unshaken current, not strong enough to completely take me out, but enough to constantly have me off balance, ready to fall at any moment. It was after these initial months that the feelings of guilt started. I had two main trains of thought. Firstly, “why has this happened to her, not me”? She was so smart, so driven, so unbelievably selfless. She approached life with such inspirational optimism. I admired her so much. How could something like this happen to someone who was so undeserving of it? Why should I be allowed to continue to live life when hers was so cruelly cut short? I felt a pang of guilt every time I socialised with friends and caught myself laughing. Whenever I was having a good time, or simply, every time I realised that I wasn’t thinking about her. I know now how unhealthy this was. It resulted in some pretty bad mental health struggles, which subsequently resulted in more guilt. Who was I to struggle with anxiety and depression when my life was so bloody easy? She went through so much with such grace and dignity. She never complained, never made a fuss. So, who am I to complain about my life now? I was completely ashamed.
I think that this shows an important lesson that has taken me over 6 years to learn – there is no correct way to grieve. There is no handbook on the process. We go through the motions and just have to accept that life has changed and find our own ways of coping with it. If I had to impart one piece of advice, it would be to not view people differently if they have lost someone. They are still the same person. Don’t speak to them less or entirely ignore their grief purely out of fear of saying the wrong thing. The truth is they probably won’t even know what they need, but I promise they will be thankful just for you being there. I know I was.
For Keisha x