Grief

Many years ago, after my beloved Dad died, I crossed paths with the MD of the company I was employed at “it is funny to think that this is happening many, many times, every day across the world” he said, referring to my loss. I grunted and scurried away, probably to weep in the toilets. I have periodically thought about this insensitive comment from an inadequate man.  I wish I had had the foresight to say “but my dad doesn’t die every day, you ignorant brute” but I didn’t. Recent sad events have reminded me of this episode and have caused me to soften my harsh judgement of the tongue tied man.

In truth, it is difficult to know what to say, when tragedy strikes. Perhaps, in reflective moments, my boss remembers the crass comment he made to the grieving underling, he may even blush slightly in shame. Perhaps. We all, myself included, try to make sense of the world by aligning it to our own experiences, both first and second hand. But bereavement doesn’t work like that. It is not one size fits all, it is tailor made to each and every sufferer.  We should not presume how they can best move forward from their devastation.  They need space and time and no schedule.  They need friends and family who don’t judge or preach.  They need people to appreciate the uniqueness of their particular challenge. Not for a week, a month or year. For ever. As everything has changed now. Forever.

I was going to end there, but it seems terribly abrupt. The promise of hopeless and unremitting heartache. You know me too well for that. There will be light again, a little subdued, or just a glimmer, but light all the same.