Losing a relative goes beyond what could be qualified as an imaginable kind of pain. This is why people always say that you would not get it until you experienced it. Unfortunately, I have. And I sincerely wish this topic had remained unfamiliar to me…

So if, just like me, you tried reading every blog there is about overcoming grief yet you failed to do so, then here are the non-cliché things no one has ever said. And if, just like me, you’re still grieving, then this is for you.

I remember being 5 and crying myself to sleep thinking it is quite illogical to be and suddenly not be anymore. At 21, I cried myself to sleep again. But this time it was different. They were and they suddenly were not anymore. This time, for real.

I quite know what it was like to “celebrate new year’s eve” for you. I know you felt like there was nothing there to celebrate. I know that a new year for everyone meant something different for you. I know it meant leaving them in the past. It meant getting to experience a fresh start without them in the picture. So when everyone walked around wishing you a happy new year, you could only think about one thing: it’ll only be a happy one if they come back. But they won’t.

I am sure everyone told you that they are in a better place. That they wouldn’t be happy to see you that way. That everything you do, you should do it for them. That they wouldn’t want you to cry.

When I personally heard all of these assumptions that were said to me, all of the hypothetical inferences people made to maybe give me some kind of consolation, I had one thought in mind: who are you to presume what a soul would be feeling? Who are you to tell me what they would want? They are not here. And you are not there. And these things we so directly say without a thought when someone we know loses a loved one just emphasize even more the distinction between the two worlds. Ours and theirs. And this is something no griever wants to hear.

How do we deal with that excruciating pain?

We don’t.

What do we do then?

They say humans are gifted with the ability to adapt. But for us grievers, I know it’s quite hard to grasp this idea. Adapt to the absence of a person? Who would even want that?

I don’t know what we should do. But I am certain of what we shouldn’t.

We shouldn’t refrain ourselves from pronouncing their names. From telling stories about them. From crying out of nowhere. From wanting to be alone for some time. From remembering them in the smallest of things. The colors of the socks we wore this morning. The tea we drank this afternoon. The TV show we watched at night.

Will this make you feel better? It could.

Will you one day heal from this agony? You could.

But in the meantime, here I am telling you the things I wish I was told:

I hope you find peace in your heart, no matter how much time it takes you. I hope you dream about them as much as possible to satiate this gap in you. I hope you meet someone with the same eye color so that when you look at them, some piece of you heals again. I hope you find whatever coping mechanism works best but you let go of the numbness you’ve found refuge in. I hope you go through the motions of life without the anger you’ve familiarized with. I hope you cherish them. And I hope wherever you go, you take them with you.

Romy Abdallah