Fragments of Grief

[by Bill Ivans Gbafore for Hearts Unfiltered, the series]

I. Grief is a storm

April began with a sudden storm. We woke up that morning to houses without roofs, uprooted trees, and flooded communities. There was unexpected chaos in many places, but the world kept going on. Sometimes this is what grief looks like - it comes at unawares, suddenly, but the world goes on still. It doesn’t stop for you despite the wreckage and ruin, destruction and chaos, overwhelming terror and confusion, or loss and disdain. The world doesn’t stop even when people’s lives crumble under the weight of buildings in a night’s time. But what we make of loss, grief, or endings are really important, not transcendentally, but idealistically. What does the debris mean when the ocean recedes? The dirt and filth, ugly and dangerous, was once a part of a beautiful body of water that flipped and flopped. But same as the shells and crystals along the seashores that beautify surroundings. What underlying meanings do we attach to the things that are left behind after the storm? How we rebuild is important, and what essence we attach to the storms, even cardinal. How we tend to laugh in the rain as kids underscores this theatrical value of life in the midst of storms even if our parents worried about the roof. We were not detached from the sufferings, but we lived no matter how many skies were falling. This is symbolic of our lives.

II. Grief is lost love

The other day I was listening to the Australian musician and author Nick Cave in a conversation with Krista Tippet on the On Being podcast exploring the themes of loss, yearnings, and transcendence, and he quoted, “I don’t think that the common thread that runs through humanity is greed or power or these sorts of notions. It is this binding agent of loss” and goes on to sing, “we are not alone, good news for my heart…” Nick experienced tremendous loss throughout his lifetime, including the death of two of his children and a divorce, but has reappeared as an embodiment of a life examined and evolved. In his book ‘Faith, Hope, and Carnage’, he explored the essence of reconciliation and life after loss: the lost love, the enduring grief, and the power of community. As I process ‘loss’ across many areas of my life in recent years, I am reminded of the impermanence of life, moments, experiences, and how temporary everything is. I am also well-versed with the reality that all the love in our hearts can be lost in an instant and sometimes it terrifies me. But I am even more conscious of how I interact with my environment, and exert myself fully, with so much intentionality and awareness, and continuously thrive on the incredible support of the community I belong to that replenishes all the love that I have lost.

III. Grief is full of yearnings

During Easter I was reading my Bible and encountered a familiar story about Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsamane and was deeply intrigued by the hypostasis expressing an intense longing, full of unmet desires, and anguish. That longing was borne out of betrayal, then abandonment - by his closest friends - superimposed by the sins of the entire world - past, present, and future - which became so great a suffering to bear. Christ’s prayers in that moment, tarry with me a little longer and let this cup pass over me, were full of yearnings: a yearning for companionship, to share his burden, a request for help from a Father above who is loving and full of grace, and if possible, to avert the sufferings.

Grief is full of these same longings and yearnings. Longing to go past the suffering, and yearning for help. The longing for relationships ended by sudden death or transitions, desire for familiar places, jobs or routines, or experiences that gave us meaning but exists beyond our reach. I often liken this to the Italian Renaissance painter Sandro Botticelli’s depiction of Dante Allighieri’s symbolism of mankind in inferno, with an outstretched hand yearning for escape from an abyss. But all this longing is full of things gone, or things to come. Grief is only for a moment, and though it may change us wholly, we can be certain that it will end. I’ve learned from Jeanette Winterson in ‘Lighthousekeeping’ that '...we are lucky, even the worst of us, for daylight comes.’

IV. Grief is hinged on memories

I was reading Roland Barthes’s Mourning Diary the other day, the book he wrote each day for a year after his mother’s death detailing his struggles with grief and the pain of loss, 'I have known the body of my mother’, he writes, ‘sick, and then dying.’ When we undergo loss to such a dire extent, the grief grows so profound and eats us to the core, sometimes altering our characters, involvements in relationships, and interactions with the world. When a relationship so acute ends, the grief is borne out of vivid, painstaking, enduring memories. The laughter lingers, or sometimes the wind blows and it feels like a lover’s hand against your cheek. Someone crosses the street and you’re lost in their shadow. You see a boy and his old lady in the bus and you think about a dead parent. Or the hospital walls always give you goosebumps. There is always something in nature, or at work, or in your space that sets the world on your shoulder again. This kind of grief often reminds us of the impermanence of life and moments, and the inevitability of endings. We grow more akin to finding reason and purpose after such loss. To become better humans, or learn some lessons of kindness and empathy in relation with the natural world. We tend to see others through our sufferings, with the understanding that sometimes everything beautiful we’ve made comes falling apart like waves crashing against sandcastles along the seashores.

V. Grief brings so much clarity

The Clinical Psychologist Meg Jay who specializes in young adult development in twenty year-olds narrates on the Rethinking Podcast with host Adam Grant that what many young people really need in this era of their lives is clarity, not certainty when they are confronted with the quarter-century crisis. Clarity to see things for what they are and know exactly where you are headed. You can’t be sure. The psychological impacts of crisis and loss are layered in many dimensions and clarity is one thing that grief brings. About five years ago when the world was shaken by COVID-19 and a series of mental breakdowns, the Italian novelist and screenwriter, Francesca Melandri in a Guardian’s news-story on the COVID outbreak in Italy called the pandemic a moment of chilling clarity. At the center of all that was the surge of loss apparent in its many manifestations - people were processing grief a lot amongst many things: the pain of lost jobs, plans, relatives, and routines that kept them balanced and going. They realized that no virtual connection can replace the value of true human touch. Years later, the world has changed drastically, and we have grown even closer to loss, and that chilling clarity, but things seem to be moving much faster and the apocalypse nearer - the looming human crisis of climate change, war, geopolitics - all reawakening the fears of isolation, separations, and barriers. The rise of Artificial Intelligence is spurring new debates on the future of jobs and labor markets, including education, the creative enterprise, and the rapid growth of the digital nomads. We are caught up in this whirlwind of debates, and the next thing, and don’t process clearly what the grief of the past years/moments is teaching us. We only see some things when we slow down.

VI. Grief is the remnant of a shattered world

‘On Things We Left Behind’, one of the three finalists for LaunchPod 2019, the UK’s first podcast competition is a story-driven podcast that explores the hidden afterlife of war told by Somali refugees Saredo and Surer Mohamed. The podcast in six short episodes talks about the struggles of leaving hometowns, family, country, and being forced into the unknown to start all over again. Sometimes war forces us into the unknown, something we are never quite prepared for. But what people make of such grief when their world is shattered shape their lives in most part forever, and these are moments that should be honored. Remembering the events of war and loss is critical to rebuilding, healing, and transformation. Covering scars doesn’t mean the wound is lost - it can still be opened with scratches and triggers, which is why vulnerability and openness is key to such a process. What we make of the remnants from the wars we go through helps us bring anew, heal, and reimagine a future of possibilities. When a war is coming what items do you take when escaping home? What stories do you tell about those items? How well do you memorialize them? Grief is the remnant of a shattered world.

VII. Grief is not the end of the road

When I lost my dad some eighteen years ago, the grief was profoundly overwhelming and during the earliest years after his passing we would often remember his birthday, offer prayers, and mourn his loss. But in recent years I’ve noticed everyone forgets, including my mom. It’s truly amazing how we can grow past so much loss, grief, and trauma that we never imagined life could be possible without. As I reminisce on how much has changed across these eighteen years of my life, it inured me with so much courage and strength while dealing with the losses of the quarter-century crisis - relationships, jobs, life plans, career goals, opportunities and dealings that set my soul on fire, including the suicidal death of the last girl I had a brief stint with for two months and didn’t get to meet. These failures, losses, and subsequent regains have helped me realize how much we move in such a spiral, and are capable of creating something new from what was lost. I have seen to what extent the years and experiences have stretched my intuition and shaped my character and appreciation of love, death, life, and spirituality - which are all not entirely metaphysical, but are of conceptual and experiential truths. I have learnt to see ahead and beyond: that death is not the sudden end of a thing, love is to be lived, all life is fleeting yet exquisite, and the essence of our existence lies in the yearning for connection and belonging. All loss, and grief experienced, even in its most profound state, is not the end of the road.

‘...despite being so human and so terrified, here, standing on this unfinished staircase to nowhere and everywhere - we can live, and we will.’ - Ocean Vuong, On Hopes, Fire Escapes, and Visible Desperations

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About the Author: Bill Ivans Gbafore

Bill Ivans Gbafore is a storyteller who explores culture, lifestyle, and the transformative power of the arts to foster shared strengths, socioemotional support, community building, and social change through his writings. He aims to highlight everyday struggles and familiar yet essentially overlooked stories critical to human existence. Bill’s work is a homage to the profound impact of human experiences, drawing inspiration from the depths of personal reflection, interactions with other works of art, and the collective consciousness of humanity's shared journey. He runs a Medium blog where more of his stories can be found. Bill is also currently nurturing a literary arts community through Literati Liberia.

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This piece is one of four pieces part of an original storytelling series titled "Hearts Unfiltered". If you haven't already read the entire series, click below to read more about it and access all the other pieces.

Read all about the Hearts Unfiltered series here.