When we get separated from our loved ones, whatever the reason, we can be engulfed by emotions that are so diverse and varying in the depth of impact that we are often not able to tease out what exactly we are feeling. If there is anything that the years of covid and the accompanying lockdowns brough to sharp focus, it is the isolation that can come from separation. When I think about the many instances in which we are separated from loved ones, I cannot help but think that we have often under-estimated the impact that has had on us. Or perhaps it was the length or the scale and the forced-ness of the lockdowns, coupled with the fear for our health and our lives that made it that much more felt.
Separation comes in many forms and as a result of varied reasons. When I have spoken to people who have been separated from their loved ones, either geographically or emotionally, the sense of loss, which undulates at different times, is palpable. Often people move away because they have some sort of choice and can always go back. They move because it feels like a natural progression and even though painful, it was always coming and somewhat planned for. There can be enough novelty in the move to keep them intrigued, and as they wrangle with the rigours of settling in, the pain of homesickness is somewhat diminished. As someone who moved away, even in the pain of my own loneliness and sense of loss, I often wondered about the pain for those that I left behind. How they filled the gap that I left, if ever they did.
For those who moved away of no choice of theirs, I can but only begin to imagine what a traumatic experience that is. Driven out by violence, poverty or disaster, irreconcilable differences, leaving behind all they had and all they knew, into a world that is often just as unforgiving, alien, unwelcoming and even hostile. How bewildering an experience that must surely be.
For many, missing out on the day-to-day happenings in the lives of their loved ones is painful. For others, it is the big events: births, marriages, illness, that hurt the most. It is the act of communal sharing that is missed. Of being with kin. Of belonging. Sometimes, it is the burden of not being close enough to help that can feel so overwhelming. When parents are ageing and in need of care, we can be full of guilt when we are too far to provide any. If there are siblings that are close enough to take on that role, we are troubled by the fact that they are taking on all the responsibility. This can be made even more complex when we have to make financial and other decisions from a distance. Faced with so much out of our control we can be left feeling helpless, alone and separate.
Death is of course the ultimate separator and when this occurs at distance, it can be especially painful. There is something about being close enough to say goodbye that is both terrible and simultaneously comforting for the dying and the ones being left behind. To hold the hand of a loved one, read them their favourite story, listen to their favourite music, recall a moment in time, or simply say nothing can be a gift. And to miss that opportunity, soul destroying.
If we come from communities where grieving is overtly communal, being far away can be a lonely and painful journey, both in reality and figuratively. Memories are usually fragmented as we desperately try to piece together the last time we spent in each other’s company. As we grasp at anything that will help us bridge that distance. Sharing with others and talking about the departed loved one is part of the process of making sense of what has happened. When that is missing, we lose a vital part of our grieving ritual. A lot can be said for social media but one of the things it has done is bring us closer, wherever we are in the world and allow us to partake in the ceremonies, rituals, companionship that we so need.
Finding people, things and spaces that can help us make sense of our loss is vital, not just in dealing with it in the now, but in helping us adjust, move towards acceptance and forge a future that is fulfilling. Books and music are some ways we can ameliorate our sadness. Sometimes we will seek what is familiar, and at others will look for activities that are far removed: it really depends on what resonates with us in that time. I have found self compassion and understanding, honouring how I am feeling at any given time, without judgement, so very helpful. Even when I howled with indescribable pain underneath the covers, or when I had to soothe myself because I felt that if I started crying, if I gave in to my despair I would never stop, or when I was so numb I felt nothing. In all those times, I hang on to the fact that those were all valid expressions of the love I had, still, for those I missed.
It is near on impossible, during the throws of loss, to ever think that anything positive would come out of it. Indeed, I believe it can be emotionally damaging to try and paint a positive picture of what is a horrendous experience. What we can get out of it with time, is a sense that we can get through challenges and an acknowledgment of the resilience and strength developed through these experiences. I have known people take up new hobbies; swimming the channel, hiking and trekking, volunteering, all things they thought they were incapable of doing.
Unearthed. Finding my place... 