Journeying Grief with Mindfulness by its side

Written by Aleema Noor

On 10th March 2019, my world changed forever. I was a young mom, my daughter had just been born 4 months earlier, and then my world turned upside down. My father had just died in a tragic plane crash. What followed were incredible moments of pain, anger, despair, confusion, rage, to name a few of these emotions termed as "negative".

For the first time, I was faced with this kind of grief. I knew what grief meant, but didn't know what it felt like. I had been supportive to many friends, and had had many tears shed on my shoulders. As the shoulders came to me now, I shed my own tears, and eventually withdrew from the world. Isolation became a friend, and my world started to unfold inside my head. My mind filled up the blanks with my own stories on what would have happened in my father's mind as he realised he was falling out of the sky. Did him and all the other victims scream out loud? Did he manage to put on an oxygen mask on time? Did the overhead cabins open up? I was consumed with darkness in my mind, and the unknown of being a first time mother. I was still aware of my baby who was a suckling infant. We had just celebrated a win of being on breast milk full time the day before. After the accident, I lost 90% of my milk. It had already been a struggle between being a breast feeding mom, versus a formula mom - and everything else that comes with this territory about feeling not good enough, and not doing enough for our children.

Depression set in - I had no idea that's what it was. I cried every day. I couldn't see a future without my father. What hope was left in a world without my daughter's grandfather? He had waited his whole life for her, and now he was gone. And she had just arrived. I never took anti depressants. I went to counselling and was being told what to do. I didn't want any of this. I just wanted my dad back.

I didn't want to live. But I didn't want to die. Was this being stuck between a hard place and a rock? I have no idea. The year flew by in a blur. My daughter was growing up, but I didn't really see her grow up, My heart ached constantly. I was afraid to look up at the sky - every time I did, I would imagine a plane falling. 

My awakening happened when I finally felt "peaceful" again. I had forgotten what peace felt like. I had been plagued by nightmares of planes crashing, of not being present as a mother, of being a lonely wife and a lost friend. That year, in 2020, when I finally rediscovered what it felt like to be at peace again, I suddenly found a hunger for it. I wanted more, because it had been so blissful and so...silent. The burning fires had disappeared, the screams of dying people had faded and I had seen a ray of sunshine.

When I began to talk to others who had experienced their own grief, I began to understand more about how this "peace" happened to me. I eventually allowed myself to learn more about it, and I began to see that there was a light shining somewhere on the other side of this darkness. My hope laid in the process of what is called "mindfulness" (I talk about this part of my journey in my TedX talk.)

I had been suppressing a lot of emotions. I had been feeling broken, unworthy of being a mom. I didn't have a job, and I didn't feel good enough to do anything. So I decided to try mindfulness. In my meditation practices, I began to realise that I was not my thoughts, and that feelings will come and go. I started to understand what it meant to observe my emotions, and to view them without judgement. I began to learn how to be more kind and compassionate to myself. I could laugh again without feeling guilty because I was allowed to do that. I was still here, even though my father wasn't - physically. Spirituality became a space of curiosity and fascination. I began to see things from a new perspective. This was not an easy process. In fact, this was so difficult. I wasn't always present and finding joys in the little things. But one thing I never faltered on, was my mindfulness practice. Whether it was a five minutes practice or a one hour practice, I made sure I did it every day, because that want for that "peace" became my why. It became the reason for me to live again - because that peace - was as sweet as having my father in front of me. Every time I practiced, I could come back to myself. I could be more present for my growing daughter. I began to see what I needed and didn't need in my life.

The path that began to show its way in front of me, became my grief journey. There were moments of darkness, but I didn't stay there. Along the journey, there was a lot of wisdom, and I eventually started to let that wisdom guide me. I became more grateful, and found energy in the forests and nature. I sat every day, and I practiced. I noticed my breath, I noticed my body, and I observed my thoughts. I began to understand the process of surrendering. I found joy in movement, and gratitude for the littlest of things. 

My daughter is now four and half years old. We say hello to her grandfather every day, because she knows he resides in her heart. We converse with him. She also asks me how he died. So I tell her, without faltering, without hurting. I tell her stories about her beloved grandfather - the gentle giant, a man who made everyone laugh, and who sang old, romantic Bollywood songs to his wife - my mother.

Mindfulness lit my path and continues to shine upon it and guide me towards my peace. Today, I guide those who have loved and lost. This journey shouldn't be isolating. You don't need to walk this alone. So let me walk alongside you.