The Strange, Unsettling Intimacy of Grief That Began 44 Months Ago

The Strange, Unsettling Intimacy of Grief

That Began 44 Months Ago

Mum, my grief is not only about your loss, but about our life together, the

closeness, the silence, the words said and unsaid, it is rooted in memories of

both joy and heartbreak, as our bond was real, flawed, and fiercely loving

My Dearest Bother Faxi & Me

Ma, the day I lost you 44 months ago, the clock stopped, not the gentle pause of a held breath, but the violent halt of a heart mid-beat, unexpected, sudden, brutal, final, and the moment you left this earth, something in me went with you, something irreplaceable, my life changed, my rhythm faltered and my sense of time, space, and identity blurred into something unfamiliar, as grief did not arrive softly, it did not tiptoe or offer a polite warning, but it crashed through the door unannounced and uninvited, and it flooded every crevice of my world with a pain so vast, so raw, that I simply did not know where I ended and it began, 44 months have passed, and in all that time, grief and I have formed a relationship I have never asked for, never understood at first, and still struggle to fully define

 

Ma, if someone had told me 44 months ago that I would one day have a relationship with grief, I would have looked at them with confusion, because relationships are for the living, relationships are built on interaction, on love, on shared experiences, but in that one shattering moment, grief did not just come to visit, it let itself in, unpacked its bags, made itself comfortable on my sofa, sat down in the centre of my living room like it owned the place, and it informed me that it had no intention of leaving, ever since that day, grief and I have been locked in the most complicated, exhausting, and intimate relationship I have ever known, it is a transformative relationship, not one of acceptance, not one of resistance, but something that exists somewhere in between, and it is a reality to be lived

 

Ma, and now, 44 months later, I can tell you with absolute certainty that I can still remember the knock vividly, it was so bloody loud, one moment, I was living in a world that made sense, a world where your love was a gravitational force I could always feel, the next moment, the door splintered open, and grief stormed in, in the beginning, grief was a terrifying intruder, a monster, and an abusive partner, I did not know its language, its habits, its moods, it was just this massive, vicious, utterly dominant, suffocating presence that filled every room, it screamed at me from every corner, every memory, every moment, it dictated every single thing I did, it ate the light, it stole my appetite, my sleep, it devoured my ability to breathe without conscious effort, our relationship was one of pure shock

 

Ma, I did not know grief then, as I only knew a fog so thick I could not see my own hands in front of my face, we were strangers sharing a space of the wreckage of my former life, the first few months were a blur of logistics, of tears that came in tsunamis, of an intense physical ache in my chest that felt like a heart attack waiting to happen, since it demanded attention, it refused to be ignored, it made even the simplest tasks feel impossible, I thought, naively, that this was grief, and it came, stayed a while, then politely moved on, so I would eventually return to some version of myself, but I did not realise that the numbness was just the introduction, the real relationship was about to begin, and that is when things got truly complicated, it stopped being an event and became a presence

 

Ma, after the dust settled, life might have seemed to return to normal, I resumed routines, engaged in conversations, and participated in the world as expected, but beneath the surface, grief and I were left alone together, over these 44 months, I have tried to fight it, at times, to understand it, to make sense of it, to place it within some kind of framework that feels manageable, to find a way back to the person I was before you were stolen from us, but grief resists definition, and in its infuriating way, it just waits, always there, watching, reminding me that it is not going anywhere, as the months turned into years, I sometimes resent it for how long it has stayed, other times, I hold it so tightly, knowing that without it, I would be forgetting you, forgetting love, or even forgetting part of myself

 

Ma, at 44 months, I have stopped trying to evict grief, stopped waiting for the day I would wake up, and it will be gone, but in its presence, I have learned that this relationship is for life, I have learned not just how to survive, how to walk with it, but how to honour it, how to carry your love forward, how to tell my story without silencing yours, how to live a life you would be proud of, even if I do it through tears, grief, in turn, has learned something too, it has learned that it cannot destroy me, even when it has tried its hardest, it has thrown everything at me, and I am still here, changed, yes, scarred, absolutely, but still here, in the midst of all this struggle, this unwanted cohabitation, grief has given me a job of being the keeper of your memory, and the guardian of your legacy with such a ferocity

 

Ma, 44 months in, I have realised that grief is not just the pain of your absence, it is also the container for all the love that still has nowhere to go, every tear I shed is a love letter I cannot send, every ache in my chest is a hug I cannot give, but we have reached a fragile, uneasy coexistence, we are not friends, but we are no longer the bitter enemies we once were, and for better or worse, we navigate this messy, heartbreaking, and strangely beautiful relationship together, we are bound by both the deep love, and the profound loss of you, the most extraordinary lady in the world, and for that, I suppose, I can learn, painfully and patiently, how to keep living with this misgiving, quiet, Intricate companion, a presence that reminds me not of what I lost, but of what I was lucky enough to have