Living for the dead: When you have to stop grieving

Caveat: This is sullen. Perhaps even (marginally) harsh, but after I have had to deal with the death of a dear friend, it is the only way it can be. Even worse, she could not be buried fast, which prolonged the mourning period, but also left me feeling guilty as I wondered if the reason we (where I come from) bury people quickly is to allow us to move on with our lives. Then again, is there anything to feel guilty about wanting to move on as fast as possible? After all, there is nothing we can do to change the deceased’s status.

I stated it would be borderline harsh, but in my 50 years, I have learned to be pragmatic with death. You do not live to 50 having not lost very key people in your life. By 50, you have experienced grief so much, that you could write a guide book about it. At 50, you have accepted that you are not immortal, that death is just a breath away, because you have lost people you have never imagined dead; age mates, spouses, children, siblings. At 50, you have already been through, several times, the character development programme that teaches you that life, indeed, will do what it wants. So will death.

In the end, you mourn more for those who are left alive than those who are dead. We comfort ourselves that the dead one has gone to a better place even though the only ‘evidence’ we have of that better place is a Jewish folklore. We miss them when they are gone, but also, in some dark way, we admire them because they do not have to wait for death anymore. They do not have to walk on eggshells, wondering when their turn will be. 

New titles

You mourn more for the living because they have to live without the departed. They have to make major adjustments. They acquire new titles they were never interested in, like widows, widowers, orphans – titles that invoke pity from others, even strangers. An average human hates pity, because pity puts us in a position of no power. You do not pity a person with power, you pity the weak. Losing someone close makes you look weak.

You mourn the living, because you have to live with some sort of guilt, and not because you had anything to do with the death. You will feel guilty for not spending enough time with the departed, or for not having enough money to buy medication that could have saved that person’s life. You feel guilty because you were supposed to see the dead person, but something came up and the visit was postponed, only for that person to die that evening. You feel guilty because the last time you were with the deceased, you argued.

But losing someone close demands pragmatism. You must accept that you have lost to the supreme court of life. No appeal. You must find a way to live without that person, however hard it is. And it is never easy. You must, unless you want to die too, accept that you will never, ever see that person again. Unless you believe in the Jewish folklore, and even if you do, you might end up in different destinations depending on the weight of your worldly sins.

“When you lose someone close, you must start living for them,” That’s a quote I read one time while dealing with loss. See, death, ironically, forces you to live – to live for those who have died. You must put on a brave face, like ‘you got this’, because in the end, you cannot mourn forever, and you do not want pity from random people and if you do not look like you are moving on, you will receive pity. Even from your foes, and there’s no dignity in that.

The burden of living for dead loved ones befalls you, and it is a heavy burden that needs courage, pragmatism, acting and divine intervention.

But, it is not impossible (to really live again), especially because the choices are limited and unattractive. The choices are you either die, or you spend the rest of your life being actively miserable.

PS: In private, please break down on demand.

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