The Smile of Grief

Quite recently one of our common friend’s husband passed away. After a long battle with a terminal illness, he left behind a family struggling to come to terms with the change in life which was forced onto them by nature. Suddenly, the hurried visits to the hospitals ended. Much more time was at hand. There were no doctors to be called or consulted, no depressing reports of blood counts and platelets. Surprisingly, for everyone else around life was going on at the same pace. But If an x-ray report could ever show the condition of the soul instead, then a whole new meaning to life would probably emerge. Quite thankfully, medical research is still now limited to studying empirical data. I dread the day when the feelings and emotions of people will be captured through MRI scans and then pinned up on the backlit white boards in stuffy doctor chambers. Some x-ray would show depression while some will show anger. Some will show passion and excitement while others will etch their mark on the plate through their greed and jealousy.

I wonder if the plates would ever be able to show happiness? It is a utopian concept, isn’t it? Being happy? Even if we had a scale to measure, it would never be enough. The reason being that there’s no fulfilment in happiness. In being happy. The happier you become, the happier you want to be;

Same for depression and sadness; there is no end to it, and it remains as a constant element in our life always; But our lives become a part of it. We learn to work around it. This has been so beautifully captured by my friend- who writes after her husband’s passing away, by quoting an extract from ‘- John Pavlovitz’s writings. Such a beautiful expression.

John writes:

“The day my father died; I was at the grocery store buying bananas.

I remember thinking to myself, “This is insane. Your dad just died. Why the hell are you buying bananas?”

But we needed bananas. We’d be waking up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and there wouldn’t be any bananas—so there I was.

And lots of other stuff still needed doing too, so over the coming days I would navigate parking lots, wait in restaurant lines, and sit on park benches; pushing back tears, fighting to stay upright, and in general always being seconds from a total, blubbering, room-clearing freak out.

I wanted to wear a sign that said: I JUST LOST MY DAD. PLEASE GO EASY.

Unless anyone passing by looked deeply into my bloodshot eyes or noticed the occasional break in my voice and thought enough to ask, it’s not like they’d have known what’s happening inside me or around me. They wouldn’t have had any idea of the gaping sinkhole that had just opened up and swallowed the normal life of the guy next to them in the produce section.

And while I didn’t want to physically wear my actual circumstances on my chest, it probably would have caused people around me to give me space or speak softer or move more carefully—and it might have made the impossible, almost bearable.

Everyone around you; the people you share the grocery store line with, pass in traffic, sit next to at work, encounter on social media, and see across the kitchen table—they’re all experiencing the collateral damage of living. They are all grieving someone, missing someone, worried about someone. Their marriages are crumbling or their mortgage payment is late or they’re waiting on their child’s test results, or they’re getting bananas five years after a death and still pushing back tears because the loss feels as real as it did that first day.

Every single human being you pass by today is fighting to find peace and to push back fear; to get through their daily tasks without breaking down in front of the bananas or in the carpool line or at the post office.

Maybe they aren’t mourning the sudden, tragic passing of a parent, but wounded, exhausted, pain-ravaged people are everywhere, everyday stumbling all around us—and yet most of the time we’re fairly oblivious to them:

Parents whose children are terminally ill.

Couples in the middle of divorce.

People grieving loss of loved ones and relationships. 

Kids being bullied at school.

Teenagers who want to end their lives.

People marking the anniversary of a death.

Parents worried about their depressed teenager.

Spouses whose partners are deployed in combat.

Families with no idea how to keep the lights on.

Single parents with little help and little sleep.

Everyone is grieving and worried and fearful, and yet none of them wear the signs, none of them have labels, and none of them come with written warnings reading, I’M STRUGGLING. BE NICE TO ME.

And since they don’t, it’s up to you and me to look more closely and more deeply at everyone around us: at work or at the gas station or in the produce section, and to never assume they aren’t all just hanging by a thread. Because most people are hanging by a thread—and our simple kindness can be that thread.

We need to remind ourselves just how hard the hidden stories around us might be, and to approach each person as a delicate, breakable, invaluable treasure—and to handle them with care.”

As you make your way through the world today, people won’t be wearing signs to announce their mourning or to alert you the attrition or to broadcast how terrified they are – but if you look with the right eyes, you’ll see the signs. There are grieving people all around you.

Go easy. 

RIP: Debojyoti Chatterjee

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Capt. Shoukat Mukherjee is an international award winning Leadership exponent and the Author of the best selling Leadership book 'Mind Over Water. He is a Key Note speaker and the Founder & Editor of India's first digital Audio Visual Magazine 'Ship Mag Star'

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