Encountering grief 2

Andrew Shaw, a former BBC journalist, was reporting from Vietnam when he lost his mother. He was so grief-stricken that he invited his mother for lunch in one of the best restaurants in Ho Chi Minh City and sat at a table and had a long conversation with her. He spent a whole hour talking to her, and by his own admission several years later, “I believe I was going temporarily insane.” Of course, that conversation was a monologue. His mother never responded today; launch our chat.

Grief is a complex set of emotions, and unless it is encountered, it is difficult to determine how one would behave or what impact it would have when a loved one passes, when a colleague passes, or even when a friend passes. This BBC journalist’s life changed significantly. He remained in Vietnam and became a jade cutter, a closed profession that was not often open to just anybody, let alone a stranger. But he stayed, learnt the sacred trade, was accepted, and married there. This is how his life changed after his mother died.

There are people who die from the sheer headache. Of grief. Respected broadcaster Sisi Bimbo Oloyode talked me through my sister Mary Ann Asuku’s passing when she told me to be strong and heal. “I started healing after I lost my child,” she said, “by reading certain verses of the Bible. I would sleep and that verse would come to me. ‘You need to be strong,’ she said. ‘Your sister’s memory will always be there. What you need to do is leave the permanent grieving seat in your house.’ Go out, get some air, and read a good book. You are going to be alright.”

When award-winning writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie lost Before tragedy struck again and again, first with her mother’s passing and then the unspeakable tragedy of her sons’ passing, she was so grief-stricken by her father’s loss that a whole literary genre came out of it. A book, Notes on Grief, is a whole treatise on grief, opening doors for conversations on how we mourn, why we mourn, and how to move on. Her book opened the vistas for fireside chats, interviews and book readings. The subject matter of that little book was my beloved father, Professor James Nwoye Adichie.

A high encounter with the information of the passing of her father is similar in many ways to how one hears about the death of a loved one. In her case, she is abroad, miles away, and her encounter with grief at that time is both a study in grief via distance and the raw emotions of dealing with grief sans community. Her thrashing about, the gentle voice of her daughter, and the memories of her father. His intellect, his warmth, his pride at her success. Etched in my memory is her father’s simple description and how he was befuddled by persons who are show-offs. So in a book about grief, I fall about laughing. When she talks about setting a suitor for one of her sisters who is trying to impress her late father, he tells her he has an obscene number of cars. Her father’s epic reply was, ‘Why?’

Encountering grief takes different paths for different persons, and the more I read about the encounter of this thing that reduces us all to a new version of ourselves, the more I understand that grief is a raw emotion that spares no one. But how it is handled is as diverse as persons, cultures, and relationships.

In Sierra Leone, they have a feast for the dead and put out food at a certain time of the year for deceased family members. It is the same in parts of Latin America. There are different cultural dynamics for releasing the dead or celebrating those who have gone before us. The moment makes for a woman’s memory tapestry. How it happened, when it happened, why it happened, where you were when it happened, and how you felt through this moment damaged us, or the memories can heal us.

Isabella Allende’s book on the person of her daughter is a phenomenal book on encountering grief. Her daughter had not been ill. She came home one day from school and just complained of mild discomfort. They ended up in the hospital. While watching over her daughter as she slipped into a coma, Isabella started to speak to her through writing letters to her daily. Her daughter eventually passed, but the book remains a testament to love, creativity, and the powerful encounter with grief.

Whatever you are going through today, whoever you have lost, grief never escapes anyone. May you heal. Amen. May your encounter with grief strengthen your resolve to be a better version of yourself. May their memories never fade. Amen. May they rest. Amen. Be strong.

This piece is written in memory of my late sisters, Maryanne Asuku (née Amodu) and Josephine Amodu (aka Baby), and my sister-in-law, Comfort Aisha Abu.

May the rest in peace. Amen.