Grief, Love, and Moving Forward

Loss is a strange thing. It’s something we all know is a part of life — and yet, when it touches our lives personally, nothing can truly prepare us. It’s sudden. It’s heavy. It changes everything.

Today, I want to share a story that's deeply personal to me. A story of love, grief, healing, and everything in between. It’s not easy to write about, but sometimes, putting feelings into words is the only way to breathe a little easier.

If you choose to read, thank you for being here with me, even if silently.

April 18, 2024

Have you ever experienced loss? The loss of someone so dear to you that you never imagined a day would come where you'd outlive them?

Of course, loss is normal. Losing people is part of life. As you grow older, the fear of losing people creeps up on you — it eats you up.

Why?

Because you're at an age now where it’s natural to experience it.

I’ve lost people too. But this one... this one hit differently.

It began just like any other day — except it changed everything.

It’s not a day I would like to remember fondly. And here I am, about to tell you exactly why.

(Consider yourself warned: this is a real personal story. It might seem boring to some, and if you want to leave — this is your sign.)

It was around 4ish in the evening. I was in the kitchen, carrying out my daily routine of making tea for the family. I overheard my mom saying she got an unusual number of calls — not just one, but a few — from her sister-in-law and a family friend.

Sensing something was wrong, she called them back, but no one responded.

She then decided to call my older cousin brother, and that's when we heard it:

"Akku got in an accident."

Worried, my mom asked, "What happened? How is he? Is he okay?" With his voice hesitating and shaking, I overheard him say:

"He's... he's gone."

I thought I heard wrong. There was no way.

How? Why?

I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do. I heard something so shocking I couldn’t process it. I tried to continue making tea — of course, I couldn’t focus. I was in denial. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t just heard what I heard.

And yet, I needed to know what happened.

After a few phone calls, we found out.

Like every other day, he had gone out to play football with his friends. While fetching his ball that had fallen over a wall, he got electrocuted.

It took time to get him to a hospital.

They tried CPR for about 23 minutes. But it didn't work.

Everything felt unreal. Nothing made sense.

How could he be gone? He was just a little kid.

The worst part? I wasn’t even there to see him.

At that moment, all I wanted was to go back to India and see him.

Nothing felt the same after that day.

I wanted a break.

I couldn’t focus on anything.

I wanted to disappear.

I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

I felt angry at everything. It felt unfair — deeply unfair — to someone who didn’t deserve it. All I wanted to do was cry and scream.

I couldn’t bring myself to talk to his family. I knew I had to. But I couldn’t.

If I was feeling this broken, what were his parents and siblings going through?

Eventually, I forced myself to call them. I built up a tough exterior, but it crumbled when I heard his mom crying. And it was his father's words that completely broke me.

His words are still vivid in my head:

"He’s my son. He just left a little bit earlier. But I’m proud of him. God took him early because He loves him. I don’t feel angry. It happened because it was supposed to. My little boy was amazing — he loved, he dreamed, he believed. He will guide me to paradise when it’s my time to leave. And that’s why he left early."

I couldn’t speak.

If I tried, he would have heard me cry. So I kept humming a quiet "yes" and hung up as soon as I could.

He was my little brother. (Technically, my cousin’s cousin — but did that even matter?

All that mattered was how close he was to my heart.

Funny thing is, I never even lived much in India. I used to visit for a month or two every year during vacations — and even then, I'd meet him only for a few days.

But during my college years, when I spent four years in India, I really got to know him. Looking back, I’m so grateful I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known what a gem he was.

It’s been a year now. What’s changed?

Nothing — except now, I carry the absence of him with me everywhere.

It started with a few hours without him.

Then a day.

A week.

A month.

A birthday without him.

A Ramadan without him.

An Eid, An Onam, A Christmas, A New Year Without him.

Time goes on like nothing happened.

People don’t move on — they live on, because they must.

Life just... goes on.

Cruel, right?

How did I deal with it?

Honestly, I didn’t.

Not well.

He was my baby brother.

My last encounter with him was so brief. I wish I could go back and relive it a little longer.

After that day, I became an emotional mess. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I hated opening up about my feelings. But at the same time, I wished the people I loved would check up on me.

It’s not a topic people willingly talk about.

Even now, if someone I know is grieving — I still don’t know the right words to say.

I believed I didn’t deserve to smile, laugh, or enjoy anything.

I kept myself distracted — busy, always doing something — just so I wouldn’t have to think.

Even this blog became a coping mechanism.

And yet, nothing could fill that hole in my heart. I felt empty.

Every second, every minute, I thought of him. I kept looking at his photos and videos.

Everything reminded me of him.

I was miserable. And a part of me wanted to stay miserable.

I was afraid that if I stopped feeling that pain, I might forget him.

When good things happen now, I still ask myself:

"Do I deserve it?"

Time heals?

Don't believe that shit.

It doesn't.

You just get used to it.

A year later, here’s the truth:

I'm in a much better place. I feel good, I feel relaxed.

Of course, I miss him. I always will.

I wish he could see me now — doing things I never thought I could.

Growing, evolving, succeeding.

I look at the sky every day and pour my heart out to him.

Because I know he's watching.

He’ll always have a special place in my heart. He was a bright beam of light for all of us.

I miss his smile. His laugh. His goofiness.

The way his eyes lit up when he saw me.

And I will never stop missing him.

If you're going through something like this...

I’m so, so sorry for your loss.

It’s not easy. It’s never easy.

It might feel like your world is ending. Like you have no idea how to cope with it.

Don’t bear it alone.

Talk to someone.

They don’t have to say anything — just being there is enough.

I relied on one good friend during my worst times.

I’m forever grateful, even if it meant hearing my rants over and over again.

Rant

Cry

Scream

Feel it all.

Don’t avoid it.

Don’t suppress it.

It’s okay to not be okay.

I’ve been mean to people while I was hurting. If you can,

try not to push away the people who care.

(But if you do — forgive yourself, too.)

Some days will feel okay.

Other days, it’ll hit you all over again out of nowhere.

That's just how grief works.

There’s always light and dark.

Good and bad.

Yin and yang.

The pain will stay,

But so will the memories.

And someday, the good will feel a little bigger than the bad.

And you’ll carry their love with you — forever. 🤍