My cousin passed away. She was a mother of five. Using the past tense on her feels unreal. Her absence is loud and unfair in a way that makes words feel useless.
For days, time seemed to collapse in on itself. I stopped knowing what day it was. What I was supposed to do. What was needed, and where to get it from? For a wedding, you know what to do or who to consult when it comes to the worst, and the days are on your side, but in this case, what do you do?
And while I'm still floating through it, here's what I've learned and what I wish more people knew about grief:
1. Not everyone who loves you will know how to show up for you
I used to think that when something tragic happened, the people who love you would automatically know how to support you. But the truth is, they don't. Some disappeared. Some sent vague texts. Others asked if I needed anything, and I just stared at my screen, wondering, Huh? How do I even begin to answer that?
I learnt that when someone is grieving, don't ask them what they need. Just do something. Show up. Leave a voice note. Drop off a mealâ€"I've noticed I tend to eat my way through grief. Be present. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words.
2. Grief is not a group project
Even within my own family, we're all grieving differently. You'd think losing the same person would unite you in the same kind of pain. Nope. Wapi sha!
As much as the five stages of griefâ€"denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptanceâ€"make sense in books, in real life, it's a mess. A complete, confused gatogo. Some cry. Some clean. Some go silent.
We're not going through them in order, or at the same pace, or in the same way.
That's not dysfunction. That's grief and it invites to be felt. Observe and give grace.
3. Some people are for a season, others are for the storm.
There are people I thought would show up, but didn't. And then there are those I barely expected, who texted me every day, sent memes, or simply sat with me in silence.
I'm learning to let go of the disappointment and hold tight to the ones who stayed, the ones who didn't need an invitation into my grief. You don't need a village. You just need a few real ones.
4. Stop saying it'll get better
It won'tâ€"not in the way I used to think.
We don't 'move on' from grief. We move with it. Some days it's loud. Some days it's quiet. But it's always there, reshaping the way we see the world.
My cousin's death left a dent in our family's fabricâ€"a permanent thread of sorrow, one we'll weave into everything else from now on.
5. Don't rush the healing
Grief doesn't work on deadlines. You don't wake up 30 days later with clarity and closure. You wake up in pieces, and some days, you gather what you can.
Overall, life goes on, and you don't have to feel guilty for that. You'll laugh again. You'll dance again.
You'll scroll social media and feel guilty and weird. Do it anyway, live a life worthy Living doesn't mean forgetting. And pain doesn't cancel out joy. They can coexist. That's what makes us human.
6. Grief isn't a competition
There's no gold medal for grieving 'better.' Not even a participation trophy. We're not brokenâ€"we're just human. And that's enough.
To wrap up, I know it can be hard during these times to hear or read motivational quotes and advice meant to help with the grieving process, but trust me, find your own way of dealing with grief. Find creative ways, energetic ways, therapy, sleepâ€"whatever works for you. Find your way of feeling the pain because grief demands to be felt. You loved, and this is the price of loving them. Make their memories a legacy.
Written in the loving memory of my cousin, Nyirabahizi Florence. Forever our Zungu!
Josepha Mafubo
