On Grief – A Review

May 3

I am still unsure if I am in a position to give grief its justice. I know it will be difficult for me to be objective and give proper thoughts on it, but I figure I might as well try.

For the lack of competition in my spirit, I am a man entirely haunted by the concept of loss. I struggle immensely when things that were once here go away. I am too accustomed to object-permanence. To routine. To things making sense.

But grief is fueled by a denial of senses. Grief takes away their voice, their laugh. It leaves you with a hollowed sight, built on idyllic or painful memories.

In some ways, that’s a good thing. How hard would it be to get over a loved one’s passing if you still saw them on the street, or heard them telling you stories. Sure, you are left with only memories, black dots on an astrophotograph, but those dots represent the starry time when you had them.

Much of human thought on grief has led to rituals that stem from patterns, folklore, and shaky psychological studies. Over the centuries civilizations across continents have developed separate rituals and practices dedicated to grief and mourning. Many of which are public or highly visible. Veils, funerals, wakes, all of these serve as public actions of commemoration and places where grief can gather.

The concept of communal grief has occurred in virtually every country. The rituals vary, of course, but most follow a trend of coming together to dispose of the body, part with some of their belongings, and the sharing of something personal about their loved one. Whether that be an anecdote, a keepsake, or a photograph. These personal affects then become public, shared in mass, and digested by everyone. Often these affects are then memorialized and put somewhere even more public, like in a cemetery, a favored location, or that person’s home.

I often find myself consumed in thought by the concept of memorial benches and highways. These are those public things. These places that now become the representation of that person, in the same way that through grief, their physical person becomes represented by your memories of them.

Memorial benches, by the way, are not a solely American concept. They span most countries. Mankind has a habit of creating places of rest in the places that we associate with the person.

Some consider that there has been a “westernization” of grieving rituals. That we have taken the public and made it private. And while I disagree, I do understand why that is a fear. If, as a society, we shy away from these moments of commemoration, we truly do stifle those who are in need of a community to help mend the hole someone has left.

I think this thought process comes from how often we equate methods of mourning with religion. The subject itself has become more divisive, but not the practice. Grieving often brings those of different mindsets together, and in doing so, it should remind them of their similarities, but it could be quite possible that it just reminds people of how they’re different.

Regardless, to me, this should become a nonproblem. We, as a society, should be better than this. Because ultimately, I think grief was meant to be shared.

“Shared grief” is why public rituals and ceremonies most likely began. Coming together, seeing how important this person is, sharing in the beauty of someone’s life, all of that doesn’t lead to closure. In my experience it does not make the pain stop. But, for me, it makes the pain tolerable. It allows you to admit that this person was special, that this person did matter, and that these feelings are acceptable.

Seeing others grieve makes your own grief seem acceptable. It takes away guilt and replaces it with the understanding that you are not alone, that other people are hurt to varying degrees similar to you and you sharing that helps them realize the same. In that sense, grieving is a form of selfish altruism. A form of mutual symbiosis.

In times of crisis, I have read about people finding themselves in two positions: one is where they feel as if grief must be put on pause and another in which grief seems to be eternal and unending. And while many might romanticize the first and empathize with the second, I think both scenarios are wrong.

Partly, I think they are both extreme reactions to the disruption of ritual. Since we cannot gather to commemorate, we are either forced to put it on hold or be trapped in grief’s endless vortex. But, as easily indicated by the litany of rituals and takes on mourning/memorializing someone, there are different ways to cope.

Is it harder now? Yes. You know that. But just because something is difficult does not force it to be a worse option. Especially when you consider the ramifications of the alternative.

There is an adage, “this too shall pass.” The phrase often seems great to me, but I often worry its application is easily misapplied. I do not mind the small grief I feel when I find myself remembering someone I’ve lost. I welcome it. It makes me feel very human and appreciative of my own life and when it shared space with another, no matter how temporary.

So, when I think “this too shall pass,” I don’t think that grief ever will pass. I don’t think that the regret will pass. But the feeling that those moments are not okay, those are the things that pass.

The power of grief is that the negative goes, but if you help urge it along, the positive can always stay.

Thanks for reading. Have a great week.

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