when grief doesn’t bring us together

I always thought that grief would bring people together, but in my family it didn’t.

My expectations around death and grieving have considerably changed throughout my lifetime. I’d like to think it’s a part of adulthood and becoming older, but I don’t understand what that really means. I don’t think anything is meant to be really understood, but instead genuinely felt.

Feeling shame, guilt, and anger are not encouraged in today’s society. We are given so many numbing agents that distract us from that sort of pain, in the pursuit of some false calmness and inner peace. (More so in the sense of taking a shot of DayQuil before inevitably lugging yourself to work your 9-5 job. A bandaid on a brain tumor.) We claim it’s good for society to continue running. And thus it is much easier for us to engage in behaviors which I like to categorize as ways of self harm in an effort to gain control of our own suffering. But even newer forms of “not dealing” have emerged like being able to doom scroll on your phone towards a bottomless abyss or even drown yourself in an endless drone of a right-wing propaganda podcast 24/7. Tell me something I should be doing. Give me something to do.

I couldn’t make sense of the sadness and the suffering for a while. The past couple years it felt like my life and lives of the people around me were centered around loss and making sense of that loss. Complicated emotions and feelings rose up when my family and the families around me all had to learn how to break and repair, leading to varying results.

I always thought that grief would bring people together, but in my family it didn’t. I always thought I knew how to support others while they grieved, but when someone I loved died I realized I didn’t. I always thought that people would show up for others no matter what, but I learned when my boyfriend said “honestly, you learn people don’t like to have difficult conversations.” I learned that despite what they say people will go to any lengths to avoid talking about hard things.

There was so much more I wanted to say about Grief. The embarrassment of not grieving the right way. Living away from grieving family members. How money complicates your relationship with the deceased and the living. The importance of close ties. How a culture of kindness has been destroyed by years of war. I don’t think I know yet how.

My biggest lesson was that consideration is scarce. Attention is scarce. Kindness was free but wasn’t really free anymore because attention had become so expensive. Kindness and generosity could be given up to only a certain point before givers became cruel and ugly.

Kindness was costly and scarce. That’s what makes it so special.

I lived with no regrets and I live with no regrets because I know I was loved the most by my grandmother. In Korean culture, it’s an honor being the first grandchild and my honor was being hers. I could sing before I could talk. I could run before I could walk. For her, watching the bygone era of Korean tradition and time melt off my skin, it must have been amazing to see. She loved everything I did and made sure I had no limitations in my life like hers. She loved me the most.
It was the kind of love that is still causing us problems, drawing out anger and resentment in others. Maybe that means it was love that had an impact, that really meant something? I couldn’t make sense of the sadness and the suffering for a while. But I just keep reminding myself that once I was loved, I am loved, I was loved, I am loved.