Grief is a Process That Never Really Ends

For those of you that may not know, a new Teen Wolf movie premiered on Paramount Plus last week. The cast have been busy doing all sorts of press which usually involves a red carpet, screenings, interviews, quizzes and scene breakdowns. Ever since the MTV reboot of the popular 80’s cult phenom wrapped, there has been many a request for a reunion. One balmy night, in hour three of my YouTube black hole (merely a not-so-clever referral to my visual consumption of various clips), I came across an interview with Tyler Posey and Crystal Reed aka Scott McCall and Allison Argent, to those in the know. What struck me was a phrase Tyler uttered, whilst answering a question. He said, “Grief is a process that never really ends.”

Profound, right?! Unfortunately, he suffered his own tragedy – the loss of his beautiful mother, during the time he was filming the show. It got me thinking about the very difficult and emotionally complex subject of grief and loss. People respond to grief in different ways and develop survival techniques slash coping mechanisms, to avoid succumbing to their person or animal – shaped hole in their soul. A tragic imprint left behind, felt every day for the rest of their lives until the gaping wound eventually becomes a permanent “scar.” My earliest and most cognizant memory of my first experience with grief, happened when I was a senior in secondary school. A cousin collapsed very unexpectedly in the doctor’s office after complaining about a severe migraine. The knowledge bank, gained from what I fondly call, the University of Grey’s Anatomy, now fully understands that he died after a brain aneurysm burst. When I got the news, it felt like my body was suspended in a state of shock.

My appetite completely disappeared and sleep was just beyond my grasp for a full 48 hours. It wasn’t until one of my besties at the time asked me what was wrong on Monday morning, that I actually allowed myself to feel all the pain, confusion, bewilderment, regret, sadness, despondency; to feel fully. My knees buckled beneath me and I sank to the concrete floor, let out a soul-crushing, guttural scream and wailed. For several minutes, I was totally inconsolable. The tears flowed freely and I remember my friend, hugging me tightly and rocking me back-and-forth. For several months, according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the process of mourning would be
tackled in stages. Five, to be exact. Not to discount the findings of Kübler-Ross, but when you are saddled with grief, it is often very personal, unique and isolating. As a family, we were having our universal experience of loss, however individually, we weaved in and out of kaleidoscopic phases of grief, over several years, even decades.

The second time that my entire being, belief system and faith were shaken to the core, was after my beautiful, thoughtful and protective Alsatian, Naomi, died. We got little Nay-Nay as an adorable puppy. She was so shy until she eventually blossomed into a quirky and mischievous personality. One hilarious thing she used to do, was charge towards any teenage boy that came to visit me and made a beeline to chomp on their genitals. I definitely did not train her to do that. Forgive my dark sense of humour. I should have clarified; it was comical to me.

At the age of sixteen, I left Nigeria for A-Levels at a boarding school in the Midlands and moved to England permanently to pursue my further education. Unfortunately, Naomi had to be moved to my relative’s house so she could be looked after and interact with other dogs. Time marched on. Naomi developed breast cancer and the vet told my mum that living with it would be torturous. On the day she was scheduled to be put down, she refused to get out of the car. It was like she knew that this would be her last time, sitting in the back of our blue Mitsubishi Lancer. Her level of resistance was so severe that my mum’s driver had to carry her into the clinic, hot tears streaming down his face, gasping for air and choking back uncontrollable sobs. As she passed on, we all burst into tears, despite being thousands of miles away.

One of my biggest regrets (and I have very, very few) is, that I was not there to stroke her head and whisper in her ear that she was going to be okay. The trauma of her death lives with me to this day, that the thought of getting another pet, is still met with feelings of terror and intense anxiety. It has been nearly 20 years. After all the complexities that have risen so far, as a card-carrying member of the spinal cord injury club, one aspect that I have been dissecting in my therapy sessions, is the sporadic but consistent grieving of my old life.

Whether I am waxing nostalgia after a particularly poignant and emotionally fraught scene of The Resident where the characters share a sweet kiss or catch a glimpse of myself, an image of me dancing on a table in a West End club whilst scrolling through the Facebook timeline, I am forced to re-experience that loss. Again, and again. The loss of a time before the life-altering, catastrophic injury that is now an extremely heavy fiscal burden and obliterated my dignity, self-esteem and emotive stability. My journey of healing involves picking up the pieces of my sense of self, and putting it back together; one figurative Lego at a time. In the first few years of the paraplegia, I gave into the overwhelming feelings of sadness, whenever I was truly alone. It felt foreign at first, a kind of sickening vertigo as my mind was going through a swirl of emotions. Soon these moments of grief, became just that – moments.

Daily conversations with people, often involve a reminiscence. My therapy ‘toolbox’ has taught me to briefly grieve my old life, and quickly replace the gloom with a sense of gratitude and feelings of hope. Grief has become a constant companion. One that I cannot avoid but through faith and countless therapy
sessions, I now see it through a lens of appreciation. Pardon me, whilst I switch gears to a more macro approach to my unusually inspired analysis of grief.

Three years ago, the whole world stopped. We all stood still, in suspended animation, trying to survive a global pandemic. Millions of people perished and as a civilisation, we collectively mourned the loss of loved ones. It started a conversation about unspeakable grief, that we all need to address. As someone who has been in and out of therapy since I was 22 (I am now 36 years young), being emotional honest is not only liberating, but necessary for the protection of my sanity and peace of mind. In 2020, all our feelings about the state of the human race and loss and death were incredibly overwhelming and so many people did not know how to articulate the introspective messiness that threatened to engulf them in a permanent state of limbo. Sweeping these complex feelings under the rug or sticking your head in the proverbial sand was definitely not a long-term sustainable option. One had to face and deal with these big feelings, in a very personal way. The inability to connect via human touch had explicit ramifications that illustrated the fragility of the artificial construct of compartmentalisation.

Even with the exponential increase in the use of social media platforms, nothing could replace being swept up in a family member’s or friend’s bear hug. One way or another, the grief will get to you. In order to get into the right creative mindset for this piece, I listened to all the available episodes of Anderson Cooper’s podcast, All There Is that tackles the topic of grief and loss. For those of you who may not know, Anderson Cooper’s mother, the effervescent Gloria Vanderbilt died in 2019, his dad died when he was 10 and his brother committed suicide in front of their mother when Mr Cooper was 21 years old. In a recent interview with late night talk show host, Stephen Colbert, Anderson Cooper said he discovered pieces of his family history in his mother’s things. He said he feels like the last man standing and now needs to be a bastion of the Cooper-Vanderbilt family dynasty for his kids. He wants to pass any vestige of the rich and complicated legacies, by sharing reminiscences and telling stories. Instead of Marie Kondo-ing his mother’s physical representation of familial memories, he recorded his mother’s voice, shortly before she died.

This may sound unbelievably morbid and heart-breaking, but a piece of his children’s grandmother will be forever with them, as long as they have memory. The ripple effects of hearing someone’s voice, especially someone that has passed away, creates a space for the ancestor(s) to be an indelible part of the lives of future generations. Not only is a podcast like All There Is extremely timely, it is also refreshingly revelatory how all the guests he interviewed expressed similar sentiments. They all said, at some point, in a myriad of ways that grief gives you another piece of your life-puzzle. Loss is inevitable and as long as you draw breath on this mortal coil, and your consciousness is connected to this earth, agony and turmoil will touch your life at some point.

For me, having a near death experience and “losing,” my old life, has given me a deep appreciation and gratitude for my existence. As a very astute person once said, “out of the hottest fire, is forged the strongest steel.” Efena 2.0 has been evolving through emotional (and literal) growing pains. This version of me would not exist, if I did not experience the trials and tribulations. I felt the horror of the paralysis deeply and was able to articulate all those big feelings over the years (I know – another mic drop moment). The poignant profundity of these ideas is not lost on me but I do hope the articulation of my thoughts in black and white have adequately simplified the topic in question.

Andrew Garfield said it best in a YouTube clip that, “grief is just unexpressed love,” and he hopes, the feelings stay with him throughout his lifetime. This extraordinary perspective allows you to see the beauty within the ashes, pause and acknowledge that addressing your grief is emotionally healthy. There is no road map. No right way to grieve. One can easily get stuck in a hamster wheel-type narrative and dwell in the despondency. The only thing that people do seem to agree on is that in time, memories do fade and gradually become bittersweet. Feelings of euphoria can be experienced side-by-side with heart-wrenching sorrow and despair. The process of figuring out how to live (and hopefully, thrive) with the ache and anguish, how to escape the isolation and loneliness of a universal, unavoidable experience of falling from an emotional precipice, should be considered an essential part of being human.

Interestingly enough, writing this piece has been kinda cathartic. I definitely felt out of my comfort zone 98 per cent of the time, but the words pushed their way through, despite the uneasiness. Almost everyone has had some experience with grief. From a religious or spiritual, grieving is a natural process that humanity has to deal with. Whether or not one believes in the passage to an eternal or a transition to another life, grief over loss is guaranteed.

My preconceived beliefs flew out the window when the road traffic accident happened. I was acutely aware that my life was forever changed and this injury would decimate any sense of control. My grief was loud, like a tambourine smashing against cymbals, that ensured masking or any mode of concealment would only be temporary. My modus operandi, maintaining the status quo was no longer an option. The first time I dream-walked was in the hospital. It was a weird sensation, feeling the “ground,” beneath my feet. When I woke up, I temporarily forgot that I was paralysed and tried to move my legs. The moment was fleeting, but it felt like I was reliving the trauma and grieving for my pre-injury life. What you may not know is, I still walk in every single dream but now, instead of waking up in despair, I wake up thankful for life. Tyler Posey had it right. Grief is definitely a process that never really ends. Whether it consumes you, is entirely up to you.