Grief: A Cruel Educational Institute

Grief. The word that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. "Let’s talk about something else." "It's time to move on."

"Look at the positive side of things."

"Where is your faith amidst all this?" "You know this is life. This is how it is."

Every person who has been through grief, which is almost everyone at some point, has heard one or more of the statements above.

But, what really is grief? It took me 12+ months to understand what grief is—what loss really is.

I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that grief is the cruelest form of education. But do you know what education does?

It makes you uncomfortable, destroys your old beliefs of rigidity and ego, and humbles you. It opens your brain's pathways, which were once so narrow. Education, of any kind, always has one core value: it broadens your way of thinking about life, the universe, and yourself, and for some, even God.

So what do I mean by cruel education?

Hear me out. A year ago, on 12th August at 1:29 am, in a cinema in East London while I was watching the Bollywood movie Rocky Aur Rani, I received the worst call of my life. A call I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy or ex! I really wouldn’t! :)

That call changed everything for me. In a few seconds, from being in my mid-twenties, living my best life in London with my favorite people, I was suddenly deciding whether the body should be buried in my hometown of Islamabad or in Lahore, where my father passed away—very suddenly.

In all honesty, when I got the call, I didn’t grasp what was happening. Everything spun, like I’d been yanked out of my own life and dropped into someone else’s—a strange film where, suddenly, I was the character. I barely remember how I made it home or booked the last flight out that night. Those familiar with central London know the Tube doesn’t run at that hour, but somehow, I got to the airport, suitcase in hand.

I packed without seeing what I touched. But there were three things I didn’t forget: my passport, my laptop, and my favorite stuffed toy, Choco. Life, as they say, happens when we’re busy making plans. But death—it doesn’t wait. Death arrives without an invitation, like a guest you can’t turn away.

My father’s death wasn’t just a loss for me; it rippled through my family, leaving each of us adrift in our own way. My parents shared a love marriage, and my brother was inseparable from my dad; they were best friends. When something shatters unexpectedly in a family, someone has to keep everyone grounded—someone to pull us back to center, to say, even when the storm rages, ‘Hey, we’re going to be okay.’

For reasons both fortunate and bittersweet, I became that person. And though I didn’t recognise it then, I see now how lucky I was to hold that space...

The story isn’t about death. Death is an event that eventually ends. Grief, on the other hand, is the aftermath. It’s a long-term committed relationship with loss that you didn’t even choose for yourself. It’s like an arranged marriage.

So, how did I make this arranged marriage that I never wanted in my life work?

The thing is: I didn’t. Initially, I denied it, repelled it, and ignored its existence. I had to—I was the elder daughter. I grew up in an army environment with a mindset that one person has to be strong, and that person is you. Don’t get me wrong, it worked for me.

But also, it didn’t.

But it did.

My mind took time to grasp the reality that, in the blink of an eye, I went from writing heartfelt Father’s Day letters to inscribing words for his tombstone. How does life shift so swiftly?

Who decides this course for us? How can we pause this relentless tide?

From writing him fathers day letters to writing his tombstone markings- Oh! How suddenly my life changed Baba!

I wanted to meet him one last time. I craved a goodbye, a final embrace.

Endless ‘what ifs’ swirled in my mind, whispering that this was not how it was meant to be. Yet, those thoughts lingered, refusing to fade away.

However, over the months, it did something more for me. It brutally started teaching me things about myself, the relationships around me, and the world. For a long time, I was stuck in the misery of it, but very, very slowly, when the bitterness started to fade from my mind, I could see what it was doing. And it didn’t happen overnight. It happened over months and weeks of crying, nothingness, bitterness, and even betrayal. A lot of self-sabotage was involved.

Here are a few lessons my cruel educational institute taught me, and I think they might help someone who ever goes through it (I hope you don’t), but if you do, know that someone like you exists! :)

12 lessons in last 12 months:

1. I no longer had room for people who downplayed my grief.
   (Change of conversations when you bring up grief, lack of consideration, saying "it's time to move on," and so much more.) Sometimes, it’s not even the words, it’s the behavior. Grief can’t be downplayed.

2. Everyone will go through grief; it’s a promise from the universe. Trust me, you are not alone. BUT not everyone goes through grief in the same way, so pick your own outfit—it’s your party. Cry, laugh, express, or hide. Choose your own expression.

3. Ask for help, again and again and again.

4. Your body understands grief better than your mind. It will be hard to listen to it, but please do. It’s smarter than you think.

5. A year won’t change anything. Don’t believe people who say "the first year is the hardest." Grief has no timeline—don’t give it one.

6. Keep the ones who are alive close during grief. Sometimes, grief can overshadow your current blessings. Don’t let it do that. Carry the loss and the blessings together, gently.

7. You could have done nothing to stop it. Don’t be hard on the little girl/guy inside you.

8. You are no longer the same person, so stop pretending. You can’t fit into the clothes and shoes of your pre-grief self anymore. It’s time to outgrow and accept your new self (maybe time for some new shopping, if you get the memo).

9. Don’t try to be both the savior and the soldier at the same time. You’ll want to, but save yourself from drowning first before saving anyone else. Don’t go into the "eldest son/daughter" mantra like I did. Grief hits everyone the same way; it doesn’t matter if you’re older or younger.

10. Friendships will evolve. You’ll learn that those you thought would always be there, weren’t. But hold on, you’ll also learn that those you never thought would be there, were. Those are your people. Learn to cherish them.

11. On a random morning at work while doing a basic task, you’ll start crying. But also, while getting your favorite ice cream, you’ll start crying. Grief hits in intervals, and most randomly—you don’t have to explain it to anyone. Take a moment and let it out. Make space for it, even if it’s another chair at the dining table. Welcome it.

12. Lastly (but it’s not the last, it’s the beginning of it): accept that grief is love.
    
    So, as they say, love fiercely. I say, grieve fiercely.
    

I hope this helps someone. If not, I hope it helps me again in life, because grief comes and goes in waves! :)

Ciao bella.