Grief is always…
Grief is always not too far away in life and when it hits, it hits like a bitch. There is no word to quite describe how it ebbs and flows with the pain hitting when you least expect it. Just random triggers that remind us of not just the person we lost but the chances we lost or never had.
When my father passed away last November, it was not a surprise. He had PTSD from being a war veteran and was depressed for years. This coupled with alcohol and cigarettes created a self imposed slow suicide that no one could stop because it was too late. By the time we realised this he was well into his 60s. PTSD is best addressed before you are 60. Even then, the person has to be willing to accept and seek help. My father was a proud man with an old school outlook. Not just that, Sri Lanka has no proper mechanism to help people like him and it has no alcohol rehab. And so we tried our best, time and time again to get him out of his dependency and get him help, but he kept refusing. He was stubborn and independent and these did not help him at all.
And so we watched, helpless towards the end as he slowly wasted away his life. A man who was considered the strongest of his batch, a national swimmer, brave soldier and leader. Yet what we also did not realise was that he was sick. PTSD is a sickness that needs professional help. In a country that waged a civil war for over 35 years, we are yet to look at PTSD as a serious sickness. People like my father just suffered and continue to suffer. I know for a fact that he was not the only man suffering like this.
Being from Colombo with access to the best of everything, with Presidents and Army Commanders looking into his well-being, he still did not stand a chance because it is not enough. As a society, Sri Lanka is woefully ignorant of what mental health conditions are, with those who are mentally ill still being ostracised or neglected by their even well-to do families who think ignoring it will make it go away.
We have failed as a country and as a society to take serious note of mental health. Watching my father waste away, knowing I could do nothing about it was possibly one of the most painful and humbling experiences I have endured. It was also my reminder that my work in this world is not done. And the first step to anything is acceptance – acceptance that we have a problem that needs to be addressed.
It is this grief that keeps hitting from time to time – the grief of lost chances. My parents’ marriage fell apart because my mother has Schizophrenia and my father with his PTSD did not know how to handle it. They both suffered for years – and whatever help came too late. Looking at the pictures, looking at the letters and remembering jolts of painful and joyful memories makes one realise how much we are lost in some mad race to nowhere fast. When life has so much we need to address and be aware of.
My father’s death in a way brought everything full circle – it also came at a time when I had decided to sever ties from a workplace that was toxic, unethical and wanted me out. His bravery in the face of a Defence Minister 36 years ago for which he is still revered, gave me the courage to step away from a snake pit and do so with my head held high and on my own terms. That is the power of one person standing up for what is right – it has a cascade effect. And though the grief of lost chances remains, there is comfort knowing that life is cyclic and there is a calling to do more and be better so that others do not suffer the way we have.
