Grief is rarely
fatal. Grief simply lingers on,
disguised and hidden. Grief transforms
one’s life into an unimaginable state of disbelief, suspense, and
surrealism. Grief opens the gates of
one’s heart and conscience to the reality and finality of death. Grief makes death familiar and within reach.
Grief sheds death’s shroud of mystery and doom by turning it into a tangible
human experience, albeit an exceedingly bitter one.
Unbelievably, it has
been two long and agonizingly painful years since the death of our precious
daughter. I am still here, living and
breathing without much effort, while Shahdi is slowly turning into dust in her
white coffin. Grief has not managed to kill me but it has triumphantly wiped
out most of my hopes and dreams for the future. Grief has taken the element of joy
and delight out of most ordinary life experiences.
Having been forced unexpectedly
to own grief, the only rational choice has been to move forward and deal with the
chronic pain one day at a time. When my journey started, there were many benevolent
souls and supporters along the way who offered us emotional assistance;
however, as the days, weeks, and months dragged on, the supportive crowd slowly
dispersed and the path ahead became quiet and lonely. Nevertheless, I was under no illusions and the
journey has proceeded as expected, alone. Had it not been for my writings on
Shahdi's memorial page, my solitary walk would have started much earlier.
My sentiments have not
altered much since Shahdi’s passing; however, the way I express them has
undergone a substantial change. Essentially, my grief is now in
hiding. It is camouflaged behind a
veneer of cheerfulness and normalcy. My feelings and thoughts on the subject of
the passing of my beloved daughter are the same as in the immediate weeks and
months following her death; however, my two-year grief experience has made
me realize that 'others' have only a certain level of tolerance for
my grief. There is a large disparity between others’ expectations of where
I should be by now, and my own reality of where I see myself two years after
losing my flesh and blood.
Regrettably, even some
people in my immediate family can no longer bear to see my tears or any other
manifestation of longing such as displaying more pictures of Shahdi around the
house. Someone recently asked about what I was trying to prove by wishing to hang a newly-finished
painting of Shahdi in the family-room instead of in the basement. Hearing such
a statement was truly surprising and upsetting. Does a bereaved mother have to prove her love for her deceased
child?! Is that even a reasonable
question? I think not. As a result of hearing such a comment, I
decided to offer some tips here on how to refrain from judging a bereaved
parent and his/her grieving style.
Bereaved parents have a wounded soul and can never be ‘normal’ again.
A parent who has lost a child is not whole anymore because the heart that is
beating in his/her chest is fractured, and the mind is constantly bleeding regrets
and memories. There is not a single instant when the parent is not aware of the
loss. Unfortunately, most people expect the parents to forget about their loss
with the passage of time, but that is impossible. I can honestly say that the
only people who are able to understand my pain and suffering are the unlucky
parents who have also lost a child. I can be comfortable around them because
they have traveled down a similar path.
Bereaved parents never forget their deceased
child regardless of the length of time since the death of their beloved child. Others will forget but the parents never
will. Thus, mentioning the name of the deceased child will not remind the parents of their loss, but rather
will be pleasing to them because it assures them that their child is still
remembered by others. It shows them that their child still matters even though
he/she is only alive in memories. If I get teary-eyed when someone mentions
Shahdi, it is not due to being reminded
of her, but due to the fact that she is not yet forgotten by others. That
revelation has a soothing effect on my wounded soul.
Grief does not have a deadline. When one loses a child,
the grief never ends - it only transforms itself. Grief mainly goes underground, and resurfaces
only in private or in company of other bereaved parents. Distressingly, parents
are encouraged by their immediate social circle to move forward and leave the
past behind. Only people who have not experienced the loss of a child could have
such unrealistic expectations. People ought to refrain from being judgmental by
telling the bereaved parents how to behave and when to stop
their grieving.
There is no need for intervention unless the
parents are physically and emotionally incapacitated. The best thing to do is to acknowledge their
heartbreaking pain and be respectful of the manner in which they deal with their
sorrow. Otherwise, simply give them space and do not minimize their loss.
Each person dealing with grief has to
find his/her own path to peace. There is no one formula. Grieving is a very personal and lonely
process, and one must be prepared for an emotional roller coaster. One should
not hasten the grief process to please others, but rather must take his/her
time to fully experience all the raw and painful emotions. Gradually, one gets
to the longing and sorrow, and finally accepts the finality of the loss.
However, one will never be the same as before and life’s priorities certainly
change. The loss of my daughter made me accept death as my friend because I
know someday it will lead me to my beloved Shahdi. I am no longer afraid of death. This
change by itself has been quite liberating.
It is not helpful to tell grieving
parents that their deceased child is now in a better place. Nobody knows that for sure. It is simply
a speculation. If one is not religious, such a statement sounds simply as a
conjecture. The wiser approach would be to acknowledge the enormity of their
loss and pain and grant them the freedom to grieve for their child in their own
way. Give them as much time as they need. Don’t tell them how frequently to cry
or how often to visit the cemetery. Even if you are a bereaved parent,
recognize that individuals are different; a person’s approach to grief could be
different than yours. Furthermore, give the bereaved parents love and support.
Don’t leave them alone, or they may immerse themselves in despair with old
memories and fall into depression.
Losing a child is a devastating experience
which permanently alters the course of one's life. It transforms the vision of present and
future. It wipes out long-held plans and dreams. It shatters all hopes. In
short, the negative ramifications of the loss of a child are enormous. People
should realize that the priorities of the bereaved parents may not be the same
as in the past. People ought to
acknowledge the reality that death changes one’s attitude, perceptions,
disposition, goals, and plans. Grief may soften the hearts of some bereaved
parents by making them more tolerant and patient or it may harden others by
making them less tolerant and more short-tempered. Either way, be kind and
understanding because they are living through a hellish experience with no end
in sight in the mortal world.
Bereaved parents enjoy talking about their
deceased child; his/her likes and
dislikes, character, talents, accomplishments, etc. I have twenty years of
memories with Shahdi. Twenty years of bedtime stories, trips to the mall and
grocery stores, movies, books, take outs, birthday cakes, dance shoes, laptops,
cell phones, concerts, recitals, school events, spelling tests, science
projects, debate tournaments, piano lessons, Halloween parties, etc. I find it comforting
to share my twenty years of experience in coexistence with Shahdi with any soul
who is interested in getting to know her even though she is no longer
alive. I enjoy talking about her because
for me she will always be alive through the ‘rerun’ of twenty years of precious
memories. There is no switch to turn off the constant replay of memories in my
mind; therefore, at any given time, a sound, a smell, a color, a location, a
picture, etc., can trigger the retrieval of certain memories from my memory
vault. I am grateful for these memories and wish I could remember more of
Shahdi’s childhood and life. I know some of the memories are stored in the
depths of my long-term memory where they are not easily accessible. However, I
am hopeful I can gradually access them as the years pass by without my Shahdi
returning home.
Shahdi will never again
text or email me, or call my name from across the room; however I still regularly
hear her voice in my head. Her voice from different periods of her short life
is constantly floating in my ears - from the time she was a vivacious and
bubbly toddler to the day our beautiful young lady took her last breath:
..”Mommy – can you read me one more book?”
..”Mommy – I love you.”
..”Mommy – can you hold my hand till I fall
asleep?”
..”Mommy – can we go to the park?”
..”Mommy – can you make me green eggs and ham
for breakfast?”
..”Mommy – can I have another Starburst?”
..”Mommy – what is for dinner?”
..”Mommy – can I have some ice-cream, please?”
..”Mommy – can we have pizza tonight?”
..”Mommy – can I invite my friends for a
sleepover this weekend?”
..”Mommy – can I get a Frappuccino?”
..”Mommy – can you order me these leggings?”
..”Mommy – can you take me to Walgreens?”
..”Mommy – can we go to Michael’s?”
..”Mommy – will you please make some Napoleons
for my French class?”
..”Mommy – I need more perfumes.”
..”Mommy – I need a new flat iron.”
..“Mommy – is that you?”
..“Mommy – I am glad you are home.”
..”Mommy – can you please get me a heat
protectant from Sally’s on your way home?
…..
The next to last line
above was how Shahdi greeted me after my return from a trip three nights before
her passing. Her greeting was
accompanied by kisses and a warm bear hug.
I have recalled those moments so many times in the last two years and
will continue to do so for the rest of my life.
The
very last line above was Shahdi’s last request a few hours before she passed
away. A request which I did not fulfill due to deciding to postpone it until
the following day, not knowing there would not be a ‘next day’ for my darling
Shahdi. Such is life: unpredictable, fleeting, indecipherable and complex.
Even after two years,
it still is most painful and heart wrenching to see 'Shahdi' and 'death' in the
same sentence.
….
Until
we meet again my darling daughter, Shahdi ‘golam’, ‘nazaninam’, ‘noor-e
cheshmam’…
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