“There’s no rulebook for this.”

Afterwards she was left in her bed for a day. Eyes permanently, partially open. We got that one day to come to terms with it. There was so much to do now.

She wanted to donate her body to science. A university in Sydney was happy to oblige. They told us she was going to a forensic science lab and they would send us her ashes. They never did.

We reached out to our local church, desperate for help with anything. They clutched their chests and feigned grief while offering to do anything they could. My mother simply asked for someone to help clean the house, as it had become so messy in our listlessness and the church promised to send someone. They never did.

We wanted to celebrate her life with everyone. But everyone was spread across two countries and three states. So the next three weeks or so were spent travelling, organising venues, thanking people for their sympathy, and floating through a fog of apathy. People we hadn’t seen in years gathered and mingled and apologised for not reaching out more. They promised to from now on. They never did.

Death is isolating. Victims are looked at from afar but the voyeurs fear to get close. If you’ve never been through it, it’s easy to turn your nose up at these watchers. Get angry on behalf of the bereaved. If you have been through it, then you know exactly why they shouldn’t be blamed. This kind of loss strips away society and leaves only vulnerable people. Death doesn’t care what’s proper, or nice, or comfortable nor does a naked soul reeling from the blow. It’s a lot. It really is. Grief counsellors will train for years and still have a hard time facing an individual in the throes of it. So don’t blame the voyeurs. The reminder that they and their loved ones will also die someday is enough. I didn’t understand any of this at the time though so all I saw was the world shutting its doors on us when we needed help. I would have retreated entirely had it not been for a select few individuals that defied this newly perceived reality. And a counsellor I got through work.

~

One of the perks of my job, which I got only because I was “filling in for her while she got better”, was access to an Employee Assistance Program. The program connects you with counsellors who can help with everything ranging from poor mental health and difficult work relationships. I was connected with someone who specialises in grief. I had 4 sessions with her. One per week for a month. The first one was helpful solely because she was the first to tell me the extremely important fact that

Grief is not a mental illness.

The next two sessions were her playing tour guide for Melbourne. “Have you been to the museum?” “Down the river trail there’s a bridge where all the bats live.” “There’s lots of venues that do live music, have you tried that.” While I agree that getting out of the house can be helpful, I was so struck by the absurdity of her singular focus that I fell backwards onto the answer. Holy shit. Nobody knows what to do. Not really. There’s plenty of good advice on what can help, but there’s no single answer that fits everyone. In fact, a helpful tip given to someone one day may prove unhelpful a day later. Nobody knows what to do. This meant it was ok that I didn’t either. It meant people weren’t being deliberately awkward around me, they just didn’t know what to do. There’s no rulebook for this so the best thing I could do was simply my best. One day, one moment, one mood at a time.

I didn’t go to my fourth session. I still haven’t seen that bridge where all the bats live.