What They Don’t Tell You About Grief
“I wish there was a book with a checklist listing the steps of getting through grief”.
Not a day passes where I don’t have this thought. Every day presents its challenges, and the logical person I am is wishing there was a guide I could follow, a list of steps, a plan. Unfortunately, there isn’t, so here I am, freestyling. I’m on this journey; it’s a new journey. Its continuing life without my mum or Is it starting a new life without her?
When this journey started, I thought I had this under control. I thought I was as prepared as can be. I knew it would be challenging, but my mum spent a lot of time preparing me. In true Makeda fashion, I thought I could use my self-awareness and logic to get through it, oh how I was wrong. I quickly realised that this experience was not going to be like the movies. It was not going to be loud or in your face, it was not going to be a dramatic Oscar-nominated performance, and it was not going to be like anything I could have prepared for.
They don’t tell you that grief isn’t sadness. Grief isn’t tears. In the early days, I caught myself smiling and laughing more often than I could have imagined. I didn’t understand it, I didn’t think it was right & I had a lot of guilt about experiencing moments of happiness - no matter how fleeting. It felt wrong; I felt wrong. What they don’t tell you is grief is the split second between feeling sadness & the splash of happiness. It’s a space in time, almost a transitionary time between two emotions. It is quiet, and it is lonely. Joy and happiness feel so different now. I don’t feel the same excitement or thrill about anything because my mum cannot be here to share it with me. I’m told this will pass, but, as I said, here I am. Freestyling. Freestyling and waiting.
I used to give myself a hard time for not being able to sustain happiness longer than minutes, but then I realised, grief isn’t the complete absence of smiles & laughter, grief is the constant cycle through all the emotions, sometimes in the same minute. This is tiring; it makes you unpredictable, unsure of yourself. Unreadable to others. It makes you cold in some ways. It pushes people away and attracts thing you don’t need.
Grief is a story, a personal story. It’s what happens behind closed doors; it’s the mental shifts; it’s the recurring emotional cycles. It’s the things that change how you govern your life. It’s happy memories and painful realities. It’s the knowledge and acceptance that life goes on, albeit differently. One of my most significant challenges has been the guilt I’ve felt about the rollercoaster you bring your nearest and dearest on. Me myself, I’m tired from the constant whistlestop tour around all the emotions, so I am guilt-ridden when i’m asked how I am at 10am, and I have a completely different answer by 11am. It’s tiring and I still haven’t become comfortable with the level of honesty needed to fess up to the speed of the changes.
One of the most enlightening experiences was the realisation that there isn’t a legal requirement for your employer to give you time off for bereavement. Most U.K. companies will offer 2-4 working days in your contract, potentially more, but that is at their discretion. How on earth do you go back to work after 2-4 days? Why doesn’t the government enforce a set time! This was a real lightbulb moment for me because whilst we may not lose people around us every day, people are lost daily. It is business as usual & the moment I experienced what it felt like for the world to continue to spin. The uncomfortable yet comforting realisation that the world must go on and you must go on with it.
Grief is strength; I’m proud of myself. One of the loneliest times of my life, but I’m getting up, and I’m pushing on. I’m wiping tears that may fall; I’m giving myself grace and space to just be. I’m so grateful to have experienced a mother like mine, in her toughest battle, she taught me so much about character. She has moulded me into the woman I am today, my heart is hers and she has given me a mission with an additional purpose. My mum always used to say to me, “Come on Mik, we get down but we don’t stay down”. So this is me, getting up, one day at a time.