“… But what follows from the Heraclitean view, in practice? This is where the Stoics picked up the ball and ran with it. One thing that follows is that we shouldn’t get attached to anything, because everything is impermanent. The Stoics thought that we should think of everything we have, including our loved ones, as a loan from the universe, and be ready to give back that loan whenever the universal web of cause-effect demands it.”
We find comfort in seeing a repetitive cycle of life’s sureties. We unknowingly assert our assurance on that, since there has been a typical pattern over a certain duration of time, the pattern in question will only change at a logical point in time. In some cases logic prevails but most of the universe’s ways defy logic, yet we find comfort in forgetting that it works that way. I say goodbye to you today and I rest easy not thinking of the possibility of that goodbye being my last one. We splurge with the riches from the loan shark that is the universe, sharing memories with loved ones forgetting that one of its goons, the reaper, might come collect what’s due at any time. We see death around us yet we take for granted that it’s not one of our beloveds, and when the reaper knocks on the front door of our hearts and lets in the cold winds of grief it comes as a shock.
I’m blessed enough not to have created a strong bond before my father passed during my infancy. I have no tangible memory that triggers my grief and opens up a buried well of tears. It has been more of an anger that I never had the chance to meet him and create a relationship rather than sorrow directed to an abrupt end to a relationship moulded by the years spent together. Losing someone who has always been a permanent character in your life brings with it a kind of sorrow that never heals. It is not like walking down a familiar path you’ve walked countless times and realising that they have cut down an ever-present tree. You will grow used to the absence of the tree in a matter of days. But even months later a simple phrase uttered by a random stranger can open a tightly screwed jar of emotions for a lost loved one that had been vaguely forgotten and left unattended on one of your shelves in your mind. Memories replay in your mind of times never to be relived again through conversations with the departed.
It is a strange feeling, a concoction of fond memories together that quickly turns into anger and leaves you with a bitter after taste of sorrow. It’s bitter but we must grieve. There is this Nguni custom when death rears its ugly head, the custom is called “ukuzila” and it brings a halt to life and its many responsibilities and stresses. Grieving takes place for a period of time. Everything stops, no television, no cellphone [unless urgent], no going out, no school or work, nothing. There’s this belief that whatever you do in this period you will end up developing an excessive addiction to it. If the supernatural aspect of this belief is in doubt, look at it from the psychological perspective. In deep pain we seek relief, we find unrest in healing in the pain and we want an escape. The Nguni belief is that whatever you invest your time in during this period of grief will forever act as your escape. This reaction happens with any kind of pain but is particularly dangerous with grief. When the pain of the passing of a loved one is not processed it pops up disguised as another kind pain and the natural reaction is to reach out for an escape. The disconnection from the outside influences of the world and one’s pleasures forces one to process the pain without an escape. Bitter as this remedy is, it heals the pain.