A guide to dealing with death
from a person who has no idea how to deal with it: MWC Death
I think the deepest pain of losing someone isn’t the actual loss itself, it is the pain that hits you when you forget that they are gone.
It lies in the moment you buy something they would always have in their fridge and carry it home in your tiny jute-bag but forget that they cannot taste it; it lies in the second you search for their contact on your iPhone after passing a huge exam but forget that you cannot hear them cheer on the other line; it lies in the mornings you wake up blurry-eyed, but forget that they are not next to you to listen to your foolish dreams. This kind of pain can eat you up in so many unpredictable ways.
The biggest challenge when you lose someone is that you go through it alone. No matter how many people you have around, no one has felt the exact same thing about the person you have lost, no one grieves for the same memories, feelings and connection you are grieving for.
It took me a while to realize that if there was a cure for heart ache, there wouldn’t be a pinch of sadness on this planet.
The person that left the biggest hole in my heart was my “nonno” Kyrillos, also known as Bishop Kyrollos from Milan, or Metropolitan Kyrillos. He was the head of the Coptic Christian community all over Europe. Coptic Christians are one of the most prosecuted minorities of the 21st century, which was the reason why my parents moved to Vienna, and why nonno moved to Italy. The word “Coptic” means “Egyptian”, it also means long masses and incredibly difficult hymns, but – most importantly – it means home. When my mum came to Austria, she was only one year younger than I am now. She couldn’t speak a word of German, she had never tried “Schnitzel” before and she didn’t have a single friend (other than my dad, who had 3 jobs at the time). Nonno was not my biological grandfather, but back in the days, he travelled from Italy to Austria, from Germany to Switzerland just to check in on the people who fled from Egypt to a safer country. He was her spiritual guide, her second father and like family to all of us, being the only Egyptian I knew apart from my parents.
I remember the day I lost him like it was yesterday. Whenever I think about him, I think about the love he poured all over the people around him, the warmth and beautiful glow he was surrounded with. You know, he was the type of person that always made you feel like you are the most amazing miracle he had ever seen. His hugs always felt like therapy.
Since we had no church to pray in 24 years ago, he celebrated masses during the coldest Austrian winter mornings in a tiny (not really dense) tent: his altar was a bowl on an old and dusty wooden palette and his crowd consisted of 3–5 families. In the two decades before his death, he did not only built churches and monasteries, he made Lacchiarella, the tiny village outside of Milan where he resided, a home for broken souls. There was not a single person I saw coming out of this place with sad eyes. People from all over the world with problems I could never imagine as a kid would travel to the monastery to spend a few minutes with him. We’d travel there every summer and winter, but ever since he passed 4 years ago, I did not go anymore. I knew it would not feel the same without him waiting for me, arms wide open, to give me a hug and say something like “habebty, wahashteni, wahashteni, whashteni” (my darling, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you).
After this loss, I have decided on one single mantra for my time grieving.
Whenever you panic, count your fingers and your toes and put one foot in front of the other. Get out of your bed and walk for 20 minutes every day. Just start walking. No excuses. Remember that he is only dead on this earth, but, most importantly, still alive in your heart and as long as you live you have a part of him with you. So, you better make sure that this heart of yours is strongly beating!
The truth is, I think dealing with grief means doing whatever in heavens’ name you want to do to make the pain more bearable: Cut your hair, go talk to a therapist, start working out every day, sell half of your stuff, start a medium blog or buy a plant.
All these things might help you, maybe they won’t but whatever you are doing, as long as you DO SOMETHING you are on the right track.
And, if no one has told you yet, I am so sorry for your deep loss and I cannot imagine how terrible it is for you. If you need help or want to talk to someone, feel free to get in touch, but be aware that I’ll push you from your couch and force you to go for a walk with me.
