In October '22, my dear friend Ana passed away unexpectedly. She was young, energetic, ambitious, beautiful, and sweet. She left behind three young children, her husband, her parents and brother, and many friends, including myself.
After receiving the terrible news, I went straight to the Netherlands to be there, attend the funeral and give a speech, and be with her husband, children, and friends. But at some point, I had to leave the Netherlands and return to 'normal' life in Sydney. But what was "normal life"? What was normal for others no longer felt normal to me at all. I was enveloped in a blanket of grief. Meetings, deadlines, dropping the kids off at school, grocery shopping—it felt different, almost as if a filter had been placed over my world.
I learned that within grief—and mourning—there are, for me, two major challenges; first, of course, missing the person who has left the world. I felt the need to talk about who she was, her life, her story. If I didn't talk about her, she seemed more 'gone'. But how do you start these conversations, and how do your friends and family understand this need? Do you just start talking? I was afraid that I would cry, and so would the other person.
Secondly, it seems as if you are viewing the world through a lens you didn't ask for. Health, friendships, the quality of life, the realization that you shouldn't take anything for granted—meetings, grocery shopping—this new perspective on life.
Ik ging op zoek naar dingen die konden helpen (boeken, zelfhulp bij rouw, kunst). Het was allemaal zo donker, zwart omrand en lelijk. Ik was op zoek naar meer 'lichte' dingen, naar tools om over haar te praten en mijn gedachten te ordenen. En ook - iets om te geven aan haar kinderen, haar vrienden, haar familie.
Iets kleurrijks - zoals zij was. En zelfs nu, 1,5 jaar later, heb ik dat nog steeds nodig en waardeer ik dat.
Fast forward naar nu: Stories to Cherish
Hand getekend, gemaakt met liefde en met een missie.
Luister, vraag en deel.
Liefs!
