It's your loss...

Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you...

Hall and Oates had the right idea if you ask me. Having recently lost my grandfather (and having previously lost two other grandparents, a great grandparent, and a friend), I believe that when a person we love dies, they do indeed take a piece of us with them - but in turn, they leave us with a piece of themselves too.

In my culture, women have not usually been allowed to go for cremations. Back in the day, wives or even daughters would frequently "pull a sati" and jump into the fire with their late husbands/ fathers and this is why they were no longer allowed to go. (I am choosing the ignore the terrible stain in our history in which men would sometimes throw/ push widows into the fire with their cremating husbands because it infuriates and horrifies me and does not help illustrate my point, but for the sake of accuracy - yes, men of the past were absolute bastards).

My point is that when a person you love dies, a part of you dies with them. That is what that empty feeling is. It is a loss of a version of yourself. It is painful and sad and uncomfortable because it is the shedding of skin. It leaves you feeling raw and bare and sometimes numb but it paves the way for new skin to grow and a new you to flourish. It makes you take a good hard look at your life and let go of things that no longer serve you. It makes you re-evaluate your life.

As I said earlier, they also leave a piece of themselves behind, imprinted on to you. You feel it when you think of them, when you remember stories they told you or left behind. When something reminds you of them, when you do something that you learned or inherited from them. This is how history is formed. Stories and traits and values are passed down from one generation to the next - this is how culture is formed. You are their legacy.

Sometimes the change is so subtle that those closest to you don't even see it. But you feel it. You know something has shifted. You just aren't the same person anymore. Things that used to matter, suddenly seem far less important. Things you were holding on to for dear life suddenly don't seem so impossible to let go of. Your perspective shifts.

Loss is like a huge shock to the system. It is like a car accident. Even if you knew it was coming, even if you were 'prepared'. It still knocks the wind out of you, it hits you like a big steel truck. One minute you are fine and the next, you have an airbag in your face, a ringing in your ears and you cannot breathe.

People seem to get bored with our grief. They want us to either be crying constantly or completely fine and they just cannot comprehend the space in between those two extremes. It simply does not work that way. Sure, there will be moments when you are a blubbering mess and moments when you feel ok. But there are also a thousand moments in between those. Moments when you feel denial, anger, numbness, selfishness, reclusivity, when you need distraction, when you just want to move on, when you feel guilty for laughing and being ok, when you even forget what happened. It truly does come in waves and we just have to ride out those waves and trust that eventually, they will calm. The dust will settle and we will indeed.... be ok.

Speaking of light....

They say not to rub salt in the wound, but washing away emotional wounds with salt is surprisingly effective.

Apparently, in the 18th and 19th centuries, doctors would prescribe salt baths to cure depression, moodiness, over-caution, and introversion. It is even believed that taking a dip at the beach can spike the brain's production of dopamine and hence - make you feel happy.

In spirituality, saltwater is respected as a method of clearing negative energy - it is even used to help exorcise.

So, if you, like me -feel as though the darkness is closing in and need some help turning on the light, obviously go speak to someone and ask for help and all of that - I am doing all of those things as well and am in no way saying that this alone would instantly make all your problems disappear, but make a trip to the beach - go for a swim or even just dip your feet into the water. I walked in until my ankles were submerged. You do you, and let the saltwater do the rest.

The next thing I did, was get out a pen and a notebook and let my heart leak out onto the pages - my favourite form of therapy. I am not saying its a magic cure or anything - I know I still have more steps to take, but it helps.

The wind in my hair, the sun on my back, the water tickling at my ankles and the sand between my toes; my emotions pouring out onto the page - the darkness feels just a little brighter now than it did before.

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Nano, I love you. You weren't perfect but you were fearless, brave and unyielding in your pursuit to provide for your family. You taught us all so much and you will forever be in our hearts. <3