My aunt Wendy says grief is selfish, yet I will still cry for Nelson.
by ggPuppetLady
Here is my aunt’s full quote, as left as a comment on my last post:
“… I think grief is less to do with the people themselves whom we’ve lost, more about what we’ve lost in terms of our childhood, youth, a supportive relationship, etc. So essentially I think grief is selfish, but that’s ok – we have to be, to some extent, to survive. Grief is the price we pay for loving and being loved.”
This stopped me in my maudlin tracks. She’s a smart lady, my aunt; one of the elders whom I wish I could spend more time with and learning from as she heads into her mid-seventies. But she’s in a small Welsh seaside town, and I’m here in Australia, so Facebook and occasional emails are the main communication channels. I would describe her as a political animal: a feminist, a peace activist, a vocal advocate for the rights of the marginalised everywhere.
This blog refers a lot to my sadness at losing my Dad; while the rawness of it has eased, it remains ever-present, on my trusty clipboard of grief.
But Wendy’s comment shone a different light on my world, which is the best you can hope for when writing I think. I have indeed lost everything she mentions, plus the physical comfort of his voice at the end of the phone, or the smell of him when we hug hello at an airport somewhere in the world. And it IS incredibly selfish: it’s all about MY loneliness, MY challenges in living without his support, my sadness at his lack of influence on my child, his grandson.
But MY world is all I know. It’s all I have. It surrounds me completely. So when something in it is torn away, it hurts. And yes, I will survive, no doubt, although I did briefly come close to not wanting to.
So what about when we lose someone who is not just of our personal world? Someone who is a symbol of hope and justice for millions of people?
When I was 14 or 15, my Mum told me we had to stop eating any food from South Africa. I had to stand there embarrassed beside her in the fruit shop while she confirmed from where the grapes had been imported. And the mandarins. And the apples. Then in 1984 The Specials released ‘Free Nelson Mandela’, and the opening chant cut through my sullen teenage rebellion. Suddenly my infuriating Mum became a cool political animal after all, just like her younger sister Wendy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgcTvoWjZJU
I still love this song.
Now the great man is moving toward leaving us. He’s lived a long, challenging life, and achieved the unthinkable. He means so much, to so many, and was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993. The collective grief we will feel on his death will be both universal and selfish; in general terms, we will have lost an inspiring advocate for equality and human rights, who has been a presence in our world since the 1960s. We will also each have a personal connection to that which resonates within us about him, ripping a tear in our unique emotional fabric. Even if it’s just the memory of forbidden seedless grapes and a ska song.
So it is with the loss of a parent. While perhaps my brothers have cried less than me, we each mourn in our own way. Communication builds a bridge between suffering humans; it may be a blog entry, a stilted conversation, or via the pages of a journal. It may unite people across oceans, and evoke support and understanding from complete strangers, such as I’ve experienced here on WordPress.
Profound communication may be achieved in the smallest of actions: our household went without certain fruit in England to let Nelson know that we supported his anti-apartheid movement. It may be a letter you write to a politician, or a march you attend, or a cake you bake. It may be in an unexpected form that reflects who you really are, and what you really think:
Aunt Wendy is right: grief IS selfish. But so is Love. And one is indeed the price of the other. Thus while I may stumble at the cost, I will pay, over and over.
Dad was worth it, and so is Nelson Mandela.
Thanks for writing this. Personally, I don’t think of grief as a “price”, so much as just part of the rich texture of loving. So it’s only “selfish” in the sense that it’s an inevitable side-effect of us being a self who loves others – whether that other is another being (or a way things were), or even some part of our own self that we’re mourning the loss of. Missing people or times is also a celebration of them.
I think our culture is very confused about grief around loss. On the one hand, this kind of grief can be somehow worshipped and perpetuated – when I was younger, someone I loved died in a fire, and there was a definite sense around our group of there being an unspoken “hierarchy of grief” about who was expected to be the most upset, and therefore allowed to be the most upset. But then at the same time, there’s also a lot of pressure in our culture for premature recovery. I have a friend whose father died recently, and a fortnight later, someone where they worked literally told them “It’s been two weeks now, it’s time to move on…”
This is such harmful nonsense. For sure, there is neurotic hugging of grief to watch out for – but as a friend of mine once told me, “You can walk away from something while you’re busy running away from it.” So I think we go through grief, not around it – otherwise we just keep on going around, and around…
Beautifully written and brilliantly expressed. I have often thought there are so many layers to grief, but I have never been able to express it as well as you (and your aunty). Superb.
Aw thankyou! I’m glad you got a chance to read & appreciate it. I hope all is well for you over there? Cheers gabrielle
Sorry, Gabrielle, but I don’t believe that grief is selfish. All species practice grief — have you seen the elephant honoring her departed friend or why a pod of whales currently stranded in the Everglades won’t leave if one of theirs is weakened? ? Grief is a process common to all species.
Love is not selfish either. Look at what planet Earth gives to all her inhabitants. She doesn’t charge a price. Selfish is a human notion, a human practice and a human judgement.
On what grounds do you determine that your brothers cried less than you at losing your father? His departure strengthened your relationship. Not everyone expresses loss in the same manner. I agree that if one can move through grief then we can move beyond it, but you have to go into it and not skirt around it. What are you holding on to?
Oh I think it’s so great you & I feel safe to disagree Suzanne! 🙂
I actually wrote ‘perhaps my brothers cried less than I did…’ as of course I can’t quantify public & private grief; and I acknowledge that we all mourn in our own way- this I have learnt, well & truly. I honestly feel as though I AM moving into my grief to be able to move through it; this blog is partly about that. I am in no way comparing my relationship to Dad with anyone, nor anyone’s relationship to their grief with mine.
I stand by my reflections though that grief can indeed be selfish, in my world, & I value both my Aunt’s input and yours. Thankyou for reading & engaging, as ever xx