A situation that one faces increasingly as one grows older is being expected to, or having to, deal with grief. Quick flashback, we have mythological characters going absolutely out of control and cursing the world out of grief, we have kings and queens declaring war or burning down cities from grief, some of our best poetry, best literature, a myriad of themes and motifs, accompanied by alcoholism/substance abuse, and a hauntingly wrecked life, all resulting from grief. Heroes have been made, heroes have perished, epics have been penned on the wreckage of life beyond loss and grief.
But do you and I know how to adequately process grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Pop culture has burnt Kubler-Ross's thesis on anticipatory grief into our brains, but have you wondered how many of us truly get past each of these stages? Time heals all wounds. Does it, really?
Insomnia driven binge scrolling on instagram has made me privy to a variety of heartbreaking music playing over some of the most sorrowful thoughts I've seen written. The fact that it wasn't written for fictional appeasement or as character development or as a plot twist, the raw sentiment behind it, got me thinking. How much do we really get past denial, how many of us progress from denial to depression and then just exist there?
Some of us hustle harder, some of us get creative, some of us drink in binge, sleep through it, we make impractical decisions, reach illogical conclusions, pass on our pain to all and sundry, but how do we heal?
What do we do about that playlist that we've to ignore for a year, and even after be able to deal with only because we've grown numb? Those roads, those movies, scents, idiosyncracies, routines, habits?
Post three decades, I do not have an adequate response to death. My eyes well up when I think about Achilles asking to be buried with Patroclus, but I did not know what the right expression on my face should have been when each of my grandmothers passed away.
I turn away when my cat gets a shot at the vets', I cannot get through any Toni Morrison book without my stomach being painfully knotted, I can't read Fine Balance without ensuring there is a tub of emotional support ice cream in the freezer, I cannot watch Life is Beautiful without closing my eyes and ears right before the father gets shot, I cried for two days after watching Marley and Me, I avoid posts that talk about Fred Weasley's death. But I do not know the appropriate response to existing in a world where someone we knew doesn't exist anymore.
Therapy tells me how to deal with the losses I've incurred where all concerned subjects are alive, and stalking them, blocking them, ignoring their existence, and faking it till you make it are definitely not on the list of coping mechanisms!
I am but a collection of pieces touched, caressed, fondled, cared for, healed, protected, and loved by all those who've walked with me on some day (s).
I suppose I'll either discover spontaneous combustion or a wise sage will impart to me the elusive prowess to heal.
