Death Waits For No Man
‘Death waits for no man’
-Markus Zusak
You can never prepare yourself for death. It doesn’t wait until you’re ready, it could care less about your last goodbyes. It doesn’t matter if you're good or bad, young or old, death is indiscriminate by nature. Death waits for no man, and he certainly didn’t wait for my friend Joe, who died before he could truly live.
I first met Joe after packing my bags and flying to China with dreams of becoming a teacher. Having arrived at the school a day before me, Joe and I became fast friends; both from England, freshly graduated, and severely out of our element, we found comfort in the familiarity of each other. Genuine and uncomplicated, the friendship blossomed over our shared endeavour to navigate the unknown. Eventually more friends were added on, and we established our own little squad, unbreakable and ready to take on whatever China could throw at us. We laughed together, celebrated each other’s achievements, and provided a shoulder to cry on.
Grief had always been an ambiguous concept to me; never having lost someone I was close to before, my experience and understanding of it derived primarily from TV. This ultimately made it difficult for me to empathise with others, and aside from the customary “I’m sorry for your loss”, my thoughts didn’t venture much further than that. That’s not to say I was some sort of emotionless psychopath, of course I sympathised for those going though such tragedy; believe me when I tell you I was a blubbering wreck for the full 2 hours of P.S. I Love You. But my emotions always had a shallowness to them, which eventually shifted to scepticism. Too often when I witnessed grief on TV it seemed exaggerated to me; the heartache taken and twisted into a caricature-esque illustration of its original self. I looked at it as an over-saturation of real-life, reserved for the big screen to justify drawn-out movie sequences where the main character screams and rages of the injustice of it all while a melancholic piano plays softly in the background.
It was only after experiencing grief personally that I realised wherein my derision lied. Oftentimes movies and TV shows will portray a character in denial or anger, but fail to show the mental journey that has taken place within the character’s mind to lead them there. Subsequently, to someone ignorant of the psychological proceedings that occurs internally when processing the death of a loved one, it can seem as if these reactions simply manifest out of thin air, with no rhyme or reason to them. Though I can only speak for myself, this failing stripped the emotions of its sincerity, making it harder to empathise with.
‘We begin to live again, but we cannot do so until we have given grief its time.’
-Kubler Ross’s ‘The 5 Stages of Grief’ (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance)
In Kubler Ross’s ‘The 5 Stages of Grief’ (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance) he discusses the mental dealings behind the core emotions we feel while grieving, including its reason, importance to the grieving process, and how we move past it. He emphasises that ‘there is not a typical response to loss as there is no typical loss. Our grief is as individual as our lives’. My experience with grief was similar to others in many ways, yet personal disposition, circumstances, and the nature of our friendship meant that my understanding and relationship with grief was wholly my own.
‘This first stage of grieving helps us to survive the loss’
When I first heard the news from a friend over the phone, I was in another country at the time. My denial didn’t manifest in the form of ‘I can’t believe this has happened’ but rather ‘I don’t believe this has happened’. It’s not that I couldn’t accept the truth, but that I was actively choosing not to. It created a divide in my head, deep down I was aware that I was only lying to myself, but I did it anyway because there was no other option for me at that point. I did whatever I could to strengthen this pipe dream; I told myself that my friend sounded too composed over the phone (he was in shock), that it was just some sick prank they were playing, that motorcycle accidents don’t happen to 21-year-old’s who haven’t even been given the chance to live yet. Me and Joe worked together, and I remember checking the work chat every day thinking that until they make an announcement, there’s still a chance it’s all fake. The physical distance between me and Joe made it so much easier to create a mental distance between myself and the truth. It became a case of seeing is believing, and until someone could provide me with physical evidence of his death, I would carry on this ruse.
During my young teens, I was a sucker for the so-called ‘Girl Power’ storyline. Movies that pitted the strong-willed wallflower against the sheltered and bird-brained female antagonist was my bread and butter. I had always envisioned myself as that strong-willed wallflower, a survivor at the core who could face whatever life throws at her head on, as if anything less would be a weakness. I grew to realise how utterly delusional of a mind-set that was, and appreciate the importance of allowing yourself to be emotionally vulnerable. However with all that said, it still makes me feel awkward to this day when I look back on my reaction to first hearing the news and think about how delusional I must have appeared to others. Eventually you just have to accept that, as Kubler- Ross states: ‘There is a grace in denial’, it is not a weakness one has to overcome, but rather a coping mechanism that allows us to handle only what we can.
‘Anger is the emotion we are most used to managing’
When I returned home, I could no longer deny what was right in front of me any longer; I could see my friend’s absence, and so I was forced to believe it. It was at this point when the beginnings of anger started to kick in. There was no clean-cut shift from denial to anger, one emotional state didn’t suddenly swoop in and knock the other off its pedestal. In his essay, Kubler emphasises that there is no ‘linear timeline in grief’. In my case, anger was born from my denial, it stemmed from no longer being able to keep denying what was now indisputable. I started to project this anger onto other people, getting annoyed when they openly discussed the details of what happened at work. What is there to talk about? He’s gone, why was everyone constantly shoving the fact down my throat? To this day I still don’t know the full story of the accident because I was so against discussing it. All I wanted to do was bury my head in the sand, and it seemed like no one was going to let me do it in peace.
My anger started to turn ugly, I remember seeing a post someone made about how much Joe meant to them and thinking: why would you post this? You weren’t even that close to him? It felt disingenuous, like suddenly people were popping up out of the woodworks to add their two cents and make it all about them. I saw this attitude reflected in others around me, the occasional sly comment, a judgemental pause of silence, as if because you were closer to Joe it allowed you to police how others grieve and to what degree.
*Dusts off psychology A-level certificate*
Building any kind of relationship as a foreigner in China is a social experiment in its own right. Unable to communicate with the locals, unfamiliar of the cultural norms, and oftentimes going days without seeing an foreigner you haven’t already met, you begin to heavily rely upon the few friends you do make in China. Add on to this a 6-hour time differences and the Great VPN Firewall of China restricting accessibility to family and friends back home, you find yourself living in a social bubble. This same isolationism can be seen in reality shows like Love Island and Big Brother, which force their contestants into environments with little to no outside communication. The resulting effects is that relationships, both romantic and platonic, develop at an abnormally fast rate; it made the few months that I knew Joe much more potent than was normal. In such a short space of time Joe had carved a space for himself in my life: he was a colleague, friend, and brother all rolled into one. If I was stressed over something I came to him, if I was proud of something I came to him. But this still didn’t change the fact that, in the grand scheme of things, we were only a chapter in each-others stories, and so when it came to mourning his death, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy and guilt began to emerge.
In the same way that I judged others, I was judging myself. I began to question the validity of my own feelings, whether the short time I knew him justified such strong heartache or if I, like so many of the movies I watched before, simply up-playing a role I thought was appropriate. Did I deserve to feel so sad over someone I barely knew? Who was I to have enjoyed his last few months on earth while his family and lifelong friends couldn’t. When I was sat next to his family at the funeral, I felt like an imposter.
‘Acceptance is often confused with the notion of being “all right” or “OK” with what has happened’
I wish someone had told me beforehand that acceptance doesn’t always equal peace, sometimes it just leads to more heartache and depression. The comforting warmth of denial and distracting heat of anger had been rudely ripped away and what am I left with now? The cold hard truth, what a scam.
Accepting that my friend was gone didn’t suddenly make it easier to digest, if anything it made me question everything. Though it seems obvious, it wasn’t his death that was the hardest to grasp, it was the idea that he no longer existed, or at least not in the way he once did.
Kubler describes this stage as ‘accepting the reality that our loved one is physically gone and recognizing that this new reality is the permanent reality’. In the end, no matter what you believe, notions about an afterlife are all well and good, but it doesn’t change the fact that those passed are no longer in the here and now. How can a walking, talking person, with their own thoughts and dreams for the future, now simply be food for worms? How can someone who was previously physical only now exist in the memories of others? I didn’t want the responsibility of keeping someone alive through only my mind and a few pictures.
‘There is not a typical response to loss as there is no typical loss. Our grief is as individual as our lives’
If there is one thing I took away from this experience, it’s the understanding that grieving is a fiercely personal act, idiosyncratic to the individual. I witnessed friends who cried for weeks on end after hearing the news, while others did so only once. I saw friends find comfort in the company of others, and those who found peace through solitude. Some gained a stronger relationship with God, whereas some started to question everything that they once believed. I realised that the cause behind my judgement of all these tv shows was the same thing that made me condemn those who posted their feelings on social media: I am a very private person, and so these open displays of emotion didn’t relate to me. That’s not to say that I didn’t feel the exact same emotions as everyone else did, but when it comes to my emotions, I’m an introvert at heart. I don’t post my feelings on social media, I rarely cry in front of others, and big public displays of affection only make me cringe. If given the option, I will always choose to implode than explode. This ultimately lead me to my third and final revelation: Everyone grieves in their own way, there is no right, cookie-cutter, one size fits all way to grieve. In the end, it doesn’t matter how you grieve or how long for, it’s about allowing yourself to experience the emotion and working through it to one day achieve some form of equilibrium to this new reality. It’s a journey we all must walk, and one we can only do ourselves.
For anyone who is currently dealing with death for the first time, here are a few websites where you can find support:
https://www.supportline.org.uk/problems/bereavement/