Blue Jeans Opinion

Dealing with grief in isolation

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Published November 23, 2020 at 5:58 pm

I woke up feeling like the whole world was on my shoulders. I was taught to identify my emotions to process them better, but I couldn’t tell what it was that morning. But nowadays, my emotions are the last of my worries. My schedule is full of deadlines to meet, meetings to attend, and chores to do, so I drowned myself in work instead as I tried to rid myself of the feeling.

Later that day, as I was looking for a screenshot to send my group mates for a project, I saw a thumbnail of a video I haven’t opened since March. It was a video of my grandfather, my Angkong, as we called him, laughing when he caught me taking a video of him. I immediately burst into tears the moment I heard his voice on tape, and that’s when I finally identified the feeling I had that morning: I missed him.

Both my grandparents passed away last March just four days apart. Ama passed away on March 10, while Angkong passed away on March 14, a few days shy of the beginning of the quarantine restrictions in Luzon. Ama’s death, though heartbreaking, was expected. Angkong’s was not.

I was always my Angkong’s girl. We had a special relationship—not only was he my grandfather, but he also became one of my best friends. We talked about everything, and he knew some things I wouldn’t dare to tell anyone. My greatest fear was to live in a world without him. The day he passed away, a part of me died too.

There is nothing poetic in dealing with grief in isolation. I wasn’t able to see my Angkong get cremated because it was unsafe, and we didn’t hold a funeral, either. By far, grief is the most difficult emotion I have had to process. It’s a mixture of immense devastation, denial, longing, pain, fear, anger, and a whole lot of love with nowhere else to go.

Though I received messages of condolences and some calls from loved ones, what I needed was a hug. I needed someone to let me cry as they held me. I needed to tell someone how I had no idea how to go about my life without one of the people who loved me most. Really, all I needed then was someone to be there right next to me, but nobody could be. At a time when I needed other people close, we were forced to be in isolation for everyone’s safety. As much as I understood, I was heartbroken to be dealing with something so tragic alone.

I remember reading a poem on grief a few years back when I was trying to understand my best friend’s sadness over the loss of her grandmother. At the time, I told her that there was no avoiding grief, so she should just let it be a part of her. So I followed my own advice. I let my grief be with me. I allowed it to let me cry until 5 AM. I allowed it to accompany me as I made banana bread. I allowed it to wash dishes with me. I allowed it to remember my Angkong in completely unrelated things, like how he looks and loves like Ri Jeong-hyeok from Crash Landing on You. Eventually, grief became my friend.

Over the last few months, I’ve received an overwhelming amount of stories of loss and sickness from distant people in my life. I remember hearing about the death of my grandpa’s sister, two of my dad’s friends, my mom’s former officemate, my tito’s fellow doctors, and an incoming freshman in Ateneo. Whenever I encounter all these stories of loss, my condolences mean much more than they used to. My condolences are no longer the empty niceties I used to offer to those left behind, but an assurance that their grief is understood, and the memory of the person they loved is honored.

On days like that morning, the grief feels a little heavier to carry. As I continue to process the grief I continue to feel, I pray a little harder for what I’ve longed for since March—to be able to relish in the feeling of holding each other again. I’ll probably feel like my Angkong’s here again when that day comes.
Samantha Onglatco (2 AB COM) is a Broadcast News Correspondent for The GUIDON. She may be reached at samantha.onglatco@obf.ateneo.edu .


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