Unexpected Life Lessons

Until very recently, I had never attended a funeral or experienced the tenderness of grieving the loss of a loved one. Living far away from all my relatives, I have grown up lacking connections to kin beyond my immediate family. Truthfully speaking, this has also meant that the loss of all my grandparents has not had such a profound impact on me. The grandparent I considered myself to be closest to passed away when I was just a young girl, but I am grateful that in such a short time, I experienced the full joy of a grandparent-grandchild relationship. Over the COVID years, I lost my other three grandparents. Although I felt sad for my parents, especially as they were unable to fly across to be with family for the funerals, I simply did not experience real grief.

Just a couple of weeks ago, albeit vicariously through a family whom I now hold very dear, I finally learnt what it means to truly lose a loved one. But what I was not prepared for, is the role of comforting someone deeply impacted by this loss. How can one possibly anticipate so innocently attending a movie on a Saturday, going to the bathroom and coming out to see the tears streaming down someone’s face as they receive the news of their grandpa’s medications being stopped? Where is the guidebook for what to do when the dreaded phone call of the actual passing away finally slams into your stomach, your heart, your whole psyche.

Knowing that in Jewish practice, bodies are buried as soon as possible after a passing, I knew what was about to come my way. The following day, Sunday, I attended my first ever funeral, with the support of my mum. As someone who finds naked emotion slightly uncomfortable, my instinct is always to deflect with humour. However, not being amidst my own relatives, I knew this would not be appropriate, so instead I opted for feigning complete calmness. As a master of holding tears inside, I was able to do so throughout the entire ceremony. But what I did not realise was that my own version of grief was yet to hit me, like a bucket of ice water to the face.

I never really knew what my mum meant when she said funerals provide necessary closure to help the grieving process. But boy oh boy do I get it now. The day presented me with a cascade of festering emotions, waiting to truly crack the surface. I was moved by the beautiful memories shared by two grandsons about their grandpa and confronted by the rawness of watching the coffin lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. I spent the rest of the afternoon with the family and accompanied them to prayers that evening.

Then, from the moment I got home, I realised it could not be a coincidence that this had occurred at the end of my first week of placement on an outpatient rehabilitation team, where the key age demographic is elderly people. Having grown up without grandparents, I have never really learnt how to interact with the elderly. But I found myself really enjoying that first week of placement and thought, “Wow, this is great, this will really help me have more conversations with both grandpas”. I guess God had other plans. It seems so blatantly unfair that in the short time I had known this sweet old man, I had subconsciously grown accustomed to his presence, only to have it so suddenly snatched away. Whether at family celebrations or Friday night dinners, he was always there, quietly a part of it all. And I now have to accept the fact that next time, he will not be there.

That night and then again Monday morning, the tears surfaced, my body shaking and my heart pounding. Faced with immense sadness and anger, I was furious that everyone else around me had simply been able to carry on with their weekends, having fun. I dreaded the thought of attending placement for the day, but as I have to keep reminding myself, sharing emotional experiences with others undoubtedly helps with the mental processing. I knew that keeping busy and continuing with routine is important, but while trying to work through my own process, I simultaneously wanted to be a continued support for the family, as I had done the day of the funeral.

Yet, as I was sitting with them on the Monday afternoon after my first day back at placement, I realised that in fact, they were supporting me. Looking at old photos and just being with each other, the warmth I felt in their presence is everything I have always craved and tried to build, essentially filling the gaps of living so far from all my extended family.

I truly believe you cannot be there for others without first being there for yourself. You need to recognise your own boundaries and allow yourself to reset so that you can offer your best self to those in need. Undeniably, it is immensely challenging and mentally overwhelming trying to balance self-care and care for others. But if there’s one thing that this family has taught me, it is that you just do your damn best every day and that will always be more than enough.