There is no cure for grief

Grief is a part of life which will attack all of us at some stage. ‘It can’t always be the other fellow.’ The only type of human who will never experience the pain of grief is a psychopath or somebody who has never loved. You see, grief is the price of love.

Like so many other afflictions that can hit us humans, there are different degrees of grief, and they are in proportion of the love for the departed one. But even within the family, there are immeasurable differences in the pain. There is the soft nostalgic grief for a grandparent and the finality of grieving for a parent no matter how long we have them. Losing a sibling leaves a void and a sense of guilt we will always carry. The death of a close friend brings a grief that nobody else really understands and you continue to grieve on your own. The loss of a partner brings a grief that only the other half knows. Again, it is in direct proportion to the strength of the love.

But there is no grief on Earth to come close to burying a child.

People are marvellous in Ireland when it comes to support after a death in the family. They understand, feel helpless, but yet do their best to comfort you… and it does work. There is talk about broken hearts, but you know your heart is OK; it’s the inside of your head that is broken.

Grief is a chronic condition for which there is no cure. Like most chronic conditions it can be managed, disappear temporarily, only for the pain to flare up again without any warning. There is no other pain like grief because you know there is no tablet, injection or medicine to ease your suffering. The worst part is looking at what the shared grief is doing to the ones closest to you.

Grief is an invader in your head. It is a trespasser you can’t clear off and there is no exit gate. No; grief is more like a troublesome squatter you can’t shift. A squatter in your most private of properties that you know you will never be able to evict.

The forced occupation is an insidious state of affairs because you have to ignore the squatter and you will forget it for a while, only for it to rear its ugly head for no reason or at the least expected times. You could be talking to someone you meet on the road, having a chat about the weather and a bit of banter about the match.

See, everything is grand, and there isn’t a bother on you. Then a hundred yards further on, you see a black and white dog you don’t know running around a house you don’t know, and you burst into uncontrollable sobbing. But that is good, it is a temporary release and you feel better for it.

Self pity has no place in coming to terms with this grief squatter. ‘It cannot always be the other fellow.’ You are not alone and you will get great comfort from those people who come to you and tell you a similar story about themselves. You get reassurance from the sharing and you know for sure you will learn eventually to coexist with the grief squatter in your head.

In America they have a great saying; ‘may her memory be a blessing’; and that too is the antidote against the condition. The grief squatter will mellow in time and the beautiful memories will move to the front of the head. But in the early stages, it can take the form of anger as well as sorrow. Not about ‘why me’ or ‘poor me’, but why did it have to happen; and maybe guilt as to what we might have done to prevent the death. Shock is a safety valve, nature’s way of drip-feeding the enormity of the event.

There is nothing to be gained by trying to prove how strong you are. Cry when it comes and talk about it. Make it easy for the people who want to help you but don’t know what to say. The chat doesn’t have to be profound, just a few muttered words are fine too. Being there for one another speaks a thousand words and that is all that is needed.

Those who have a bit of faith and belief in a better hereafter have a great advantage here. God works through people. The prayers of ordinary people, the lit candles, and the unselfish goodness of the priests provide the sustenance of endurance.

There is a poster I remember seeing in a teenager’s room one time a long time ago: A caricature of a face with a single tear on the cheek and the words ‘LOST LOVE’ in large letters. That is what grief is, lost love… and it doesn’t have a cure…

Don’t forget

Sympathy is two hearts tugging at the same load.