Grief confronts us in many ways; whether it’s a close friend who is reeling from unexpectedly losing a parent, a relationship that seems irrevocably lost, or the illness of a loved one; loss and grief almost always take us by surprise, even if we’ve been anticipating it.

I’m not sure it’s possible to properly identify with someone who’s grieving a loved one, unless you’ve actually been there yourself. It requires more than empathy. When a close friend’s mother suddenly became ill and died a few years back, I found myself at a loss for words, despite a heartfelt desire to support, encourage and embrace her. I haven’t lost a parent. All too aware of this I didn’t want to say something that would come across as trite and insincere. But neither did I want my genuine sadness and compassion to get lost in my awkwardness. So I fumbled.

When my own mum was in hospital having an operation, I was taken aback to see her looking so vulnerable when I visited her – I simply wasn’t expecting it. It was troubling to see someone I love looking so battered and I was suddenly aware of her mortality. But it made me realise that my response to my mother’s situation was like a drop in the ocean compared to what my friend was going through… I can only imagine what that must have been like.

Years ago, a daughter from a family I knew, was knocked down and killed on a zebra crossing, aged just 14 – her young life inexplicably taken away. Her mum, who I later got to know, shared how she’d felt in response to the different expressions of grief and the condolences she’d received. The well-meaning words of many church friends missed the mark by saying the ‘appropriate’ things. Despite best intentions, these words failed to truly empathise with her grief and horrific sadness. More real (and raw), she told me, were the angry and passionate demonstrations of grief from her daughter’s school friends at the outdoor memorial service – yelling, crying, stomping and shouting – unfiltered by adult decorum. 

And then there are other forms of grief: perhaps it’s a friendship that seems lost forever, or the struggle to make a deeper connection with someone wonderful. That agonising tension of whether this person could be the ultimate safe place you’ve been longing for. Perhaps it’s the grief for someone who is a true friend but has their attentions elsewhere at the moment, or where the hope for a potential relationship has been awakened but will never be reciprocated. These are things we all move through at some point in our lives.

The bitter-sweetness in all of this is that experiencing these things proves that we’re alive – it’s in both the joy and the pain that we find meaning; nothing is wasted in the complexity of human experience. And along the way comfort arrives in the most extraordinary of forms. On my way out of the hospital from that unsettling visit to my mum that day, a local ‘Big Band’ of amateur musicians was playing Bossa Nova show tunes in the hospital reception area in aid of a charity. My overwhelming sadness and grief was somehow warmed and sweetened by the sound of well-practised and earnest musicians breathing life into saxophones, trumpets and trombones. The music washed through me – feeding and soothing my soul – as I gulped back the tears. I never imagined that ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ could have such power. In the midst of such pain, suffering and death there was still hope, joy and life made all the more poignant by the extraordinary contrast of that moment.

^{© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 8th April 2021.}