It’s been 48 days since the world lost her. I say this and not, “I lost her” or “we lost her” because it was a larger loss. She was my friend, she was someone’s wife, she was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. But she was so much more.
I don’t understand grief, or whatever it is that I’m feeling right now. I don’t understand this. I don’t even know if I’m sad, if I’m to be honest or if I’m just crying to release something inside me. I thought grief was identifiable, intangible but quantifiable. I know the models, I’ve read about the 5 and the 7 stages of grief, and I keep trying to figure out what I’m feeling and what “stage” I’m at. Apparently, I’m still in denial, because I barely feel anything.
No, wait. Sometimes I feel guilty. Most of the times I feel guilty. Guilty because I feel like not mourning her in the way that I’m supposed to be. Like I should be curled up on my bed in a ball, rocking to-and-fro, refusing to come out of it like they do in the movies when the main character, or even the smaller ones, do when they lose somebody. But I’m not. I’m living, I’m working, I’m even smiling & joking most of the times. Life has gone on for me.
And wait, there’s another thing that I feel guilty about. That I’m complaining of trying to grieve, or lack thereof, for a friend, because for every me, there are a thousand others who have lost so much more.
One thing has changed though. These days, the child in my head that would nudge me into bad decisions has gone awfully quiet. But I have not really tried to investigate why, because quite frankly I’m terrified that I’ll discover that I’ve lost her too.