Hello to Grief
“Grief is like the ocean — a constant surge of waves, a continual collection of salt and tears. Sometimes grief is loud, both tidal and tempestuous, an overwhelming pain that breaks you open and crashes against your heart. Other times it’s quiet, discreetly hiding beneath the surface, presenting itself as a steady hush of longing. Grief is full of unknowns that can only be discovered when swimming in its depths. Some days sorrow and joy will be intertwined, a delicate dance of dark and light — both deserve to be softly held, both belong in sight. When grief calls you to its edge, tread gently in its space — for no matter what you feel you are always held by grace. You cannot slow down the ocean, you cannot tame the sea, so ache, laugh, break, mend — let your emotions free. Driven by the tides, your pain will recede, but like a persistent undercurrent, a sense of longing may never leave. And that’s the art of living on but never letting go. If you’re ever lost in the infinite sea, may you find peace in knowing that unending grief is also endless love. For grief may try and weigh you down, but your love for them will carry you through.”
(started writing on July 29, 2020, completed on Aug 31, 2023)
“What is a feeling you miss?” a friend asked me one breezy afternoon.
“Not knowing grief,” I answered immediately.
In 2020, grief became a familiar feeling to everyone. An emotion with a multitude of layers that takes strength and perseverance to slowly uncover. The thing is, every single one of us has suffered through grief in our lives, whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a home, a job, or a relationship. COVID smacked us in the face and we were forced to let go of being with one another and doing the things we loved to do. We had to grieve our sense of normalcy and safety, and our individual needs for the well-being of others. And yet grief still feels like the most isolating experience.
On June 12, 2020, I heard a knock on the door and begrudgingly said “Hello” to Grief.
On that day, I lost one of my best friends, Frankie, to suicide.
The grief that comes with the loss of something is unique to each person and situation. Though it’s my third time losing a loved one, each experience has felt completely different from the last. And so the type of grief I will attempt to put into words is one that encapsulates the loss of a dear friend, my childhood, and my identity.
As I replayed all of the memories, it was clear that he was a monumental part of my life. At 13, when you’re so uncomfortable and unsure of the changes happening within you, figuring out who you are, being hyper-focused on others’ opinions of you, your peers’ approval and acceptance are everything that you want. When Frankie and I met in 7th grade, I didn’t feel like I belonged to any group of friends. I had friends, but I struggled to feel fully accepted and connected to anyone. Then one day, he and another friend decided I was cool enough to start hanging out with their group of boys, and thus began our friendship story.
I’ll never forget the moment when we were asked to pick work partners for a Science project and he immediately shot his arm up in the air and shouted “I want to work with Alison!!” Maybe it was because he knew I would do the work HAHA, but it was one of the first times I felt valued and chosen as a friend. Frankie was really talented in making you feel that way.
And yet, 24 years was all we’d have with him.
Our last picture together. Taken at Osteria Morini in New York City (Dec 2019)
Part I
How do I begin grieving an 11-year friendship, someone I’ve known half of my life? One of the best people I’ve ever known that was loved by every person he came across. He was only 24 — why the fuck was this his fate?! The day he left, before anyone told me, I felt it miles and miles away. I woke up that morning feeling very uneasy, but couldn’t shake it off and didn’t know why. Little did I know, until the end of the night, what had happened on the other side of the world.
We usually fear the worst-case scenario in life, and for me, a worst-case scenario actually happened. The trauma set off by the sudden loss follows me as I ride a taxi at night on the same street I received the dreadful call, when I go to a birthday party, when I watch anything related to depression or suicide, when I go to the places we used to go, when I watch a scene that surrounds childhood friendship, when I listen to a song we both liked, when I say goodbye to a loved one… I will never, ever forget that day — not only for the worst pain I’ve ever felt to date, but also the beginning of this journey that has revealed how love and pain coexist so intricately together.
I often sat in silence with the immense weight of the loss on my shoulders, tearing me up inside. They tell you that it’s okay to cry, but sometimes each tear stings the wounds you’re trying to heal. It leaves you so weak and lonely. I wished the world could just stop spinning for one second so that I could catch my breath and process everything. But the world doesn’t stop for you. It keeps going as if nothing happened. I was numb. I would repeat the facts in my head, that he was gone, that he died, that he wasn’t coming back, but they were still just words strung together. Sometimes it was like my body was present but my mind and heart were nowhere to be found. When I was with friends, I laughed and had a good time. Then once I was alone again, darkness came over me.
We were able to hold a Zoom memorial service for him, and though it brought some sense of comfort and closure, it kind of made the shock intensify too. THIS was reality. This service was happening for him because what’s happened is done. I don’t think the shock settled until I was done jumping between denial and acceptance. The fact is I didn’t want to accept it.
Part II
Then, came the guilt. Guilt feels like a knife being twisted in your gut, not that I would know, but that’s how I imagine it would feel like. It was the self-inflicted knife I used to keep myself in a state of sorrow, because how dare I move on with my life when he gets left behind. I had guilt over how he wouldn’t get to live out his life and dreams, while we still would. All the things I wish I said during our last few moments together, especially about his struggle with depression. During our last hangout, we talked about his dating profile and how he should highlight his artistic skills and identity more. He was so talented!!!
I told myself — it should be him sitting on that couch in therapy instead, you should have paid better attention to the signs, you weren’t a good friend. I cried about how I was so, so sorry that he was in so much pain and couldn’t see another way out. If you called him your best friend, how could you not know?? You would’ve done anything to help if only you knew how bad it was. But you just didn’t know…you just didn’t know.
Over the next 2 years, I felt inadequate, unworthy, and ashamed to call myself a friend. A good friend wouldn’t have shied away from certain conversations, would’ve had better intuition about the other’s wellbeing, would’ve checked in more during the pandemic…I held this godly standard for myself of being a friend and thought I had some power that could have changed the outcome. I began to question all my other friendships, and whether I was valuable as one. As a result, I socially withdrew and had very limited energy to be with others. It was like I couldn’t face myself failing as a friend again, so why bother trying anymore? The guilt kept me imprisoned from loving and forgiving myself and receiving love from others. I just had to take the very scary step of admitting that I had no control over what happened, even if I did everything “right”.
Part III
I’m certain I’ve cried more these few years than I ever have. I still can’t put into words the pain I felt, I just know I would never wish it upon anyone. Every day, especially during celebrations, it feels like he is being left behind. The more time that passes, the farther away he is. How could I be laughing or enjoying myself when his last moments were so dark? I thought to myself “The sadder I feel, the more he meant to me… right?”
My tears held so much of what I couldn’t express in words. Vessels filled with gratitude, sorrow, happiness, disbelief, anger… Each time I cried, it was fueled by a slightly different emotion, and the one that I felt most hopeless with was when I cried out of sorrow. Some days the sadness was overwhelming and all I did was curl up in a ball to cry. My grief began to manifest into fatigue, loss of appetite, weight loss, bad sleep, lack of focus, hormonal acne, frequent migraines, anxiety, depressive episodes, and low social energy. I lost a noticeable amount of weight. It’s been difficult to gain this weight back and I subsequently added body image issues to the list of things to heal. So whenever someone commented on my weight loss, I felt helpless, misunderstood, isolated, and defeated. I was visibly struggling and it felt awful that people just saw me as someone that needed to be fixed. The weight was just a result of the internal turmoil that needed more attention.
I had never been hit with such a big loss of control— over my friendships, my beliefs about life, my body, and my emotions. I couldn’t recognize myself, and that was so scary.
Part IV
I’ve stopped going and engaging with church regularly since this happened. I was furious with God and couldn’t comprehend how such an awful thing could happen to someone good. Sure, I knew the textbook answer to why, but it didn’t make sense to me in my mind or heart. It wasn’t enough to make this okay. I hated hearing phrases like “Everything happens for a reason”, “Be strong”, “I know how you feel”, “They’re in a better place”, or “Time will heal”. What I wanted to shout in response was: NOOO!!!! There is absolutely no good reason for this to happen. You don’t know how I feel. I don’t want to be strong. I want to cry and scream and shout and run away. Time won’t heal the pain of what happened. I don’t want to move on. Everything was better than the way it was before all of this.
It’s not in my nature to really express my anger, so it first appeared in an explosion of forehead acne. My anger felt foreign because I usually suppressed it to keep peace around me. Anger is usually just the tip of the iceberg to all the feelings underneath. The core of any anger reaction is hurt. Hurt from being disappointed, betrayed, disrespected, bruised ego…I was upset at Frankie for leaving us. I was hurt by how this one incident affected so much of my life. I was frustrated at how I was now responsible for putting myself back together. I wanted to direct my anger to someone/something to gain some sort of control and clarity. And when I couldn’t or it wasn’t satisfying, it just led to more frustration and confusion.
One of the biggest difficulties of this journey was learning more about depression and suicide. At first, I interpreted it as a personal choice and that we had the power to influence him but didn’t try hard enough. This interpretation held me hostage in shame, confusion, and sorrow. Then, when I learned more about what depression does to your brain neurologically, cognitively, and emotionally, I began to see how Frankie was not Frankie in a clear state of mind. He was literally sick and couldn’t get the help he needed to recover. I’ll never know the reasons why he felt like he had to make this decision. It is very difficult to process suicide as it is a self-inflicted act and a natural cause (sickness) at the same time. There can be many reasons and triggers for someone to want to end it all. But when I started thinking of it as he set himself free and that this was the ending he needed to be free from pain, it helped my wound not bleed as much.
Part V
Day after day, I tried to slowly pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. You’re left with all these pieces in your hands that slowly become too heavy to carry on your own. I wrestled with what “processing” and “being okay” meant. I tried to quantify my progress of grief, measuring how much “better” I felt each day. I thought I needed to have a positive answer when people asked “Are you okay?”, especially if it had been a few months ago already. I wanted to talk about him yet I felt weird doing so because not everyone knew how to respond, nor knew him. I was desperately yearning for someone to accept all my pain without hoping I would mute it or package it better. I wish I could tell people how sad I really was and how I was really doing.
I realized I had to acknowledge what I lost to know how to start healing. What wounds did I have to tend to? How deep were these wounds? What other parts of my life did it affect?
So first, who and what did I lose? I lost one of my best childhood friends. I lost the first person who showed me what genuine friendship was. I lost someone who saw me grow up and change and celebrated it. I lost someone I knew would always have my back.
There is a very unique experience of grieving a childhood friend at a young age. We only get one of each person. Some people make a certain impact on you that no one else can, they enter your life at the right moment in time. When you grow up together, you think you’re invincible, with all sorts of hopes and dreams. You laugh together at the trips and falls that make each person’s journey unique. You know you’re not on the journey alone, that you have one another to ground you and remind you of where you come from no matter how far off you go. We’re all still kids on the inside. Then in one instant, that safety and illusion was shattered and I was left looking around to see what was left to believe in. This loss showed me how the love I felt is something people search for in romantic partnerships, but what can be found in friendships is just as deep and fulfilling. In some ways, it is more beautiful because you sign up to be in each other’s lives through every season and version of you. We were friends before the world showed us a lot of friendships are shallow and transactional. It was simply about having fun and accepting each other. Even when we were distant during college, when we saw each other again, there was always a sense of home. He was the first person I wanted to tell about my most embarrassing moment. We could chat and fall back into laughing like the old days. No matter how much time had passed. We chose to be part of the other’s family.
Since no one else knew the depth of my relationship with Frankie, grieving him made me feel so alone. I had close friends in the same group who were also heartbroken, but we each processed and were affected by the loss differently. No one else knows exactly how they made you feel and what meaning they had in your life. That felt so frustrating because the feelings were more than words could contain and I just had to sit with them myself. I tried to seek validation for what I was experiencing, but it never felt like enough. That’s when I learned that you are the only one who can validate your hurt and that’s all you need. Whatever you feel is real, present, and valid.
Part VI
It’s been three years without hearing his high-pitched laugh, texting him about an embarrassing moment, hearing about the silly shenanigans he and the boys would get up to. It’s felt like a lifetime but it’s sadly just a fraction of how much longer we’ll have to go on without him. Soon there will be more moments he hasn’t been here for than the ones he has.
At first, I found grief to be filled with negativity, something I thought I needed to resolve and get rid of. By living through the multiple waves and iterations of it, it’s now clear to me that the deeper the grief goes, the more love is found. Grief should be something we try to befriend and use to gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and our relationships.
Figuring out what made me feel better was simply trial and error. The more I tried to be a certain way that I thought was expected of me, the worse I felt. Once I gave myself the permission to get deep into my feelings and only focus on giving myself all my energy, was I able to process and go through the tunnel. I cried a lot. I cried alone, with my boyfriend, on the subway, on my walks along the river, during movies, in the shower, and while cooking. And that always made me feel better. Whether or not I had a specific reason or trigger that I could pinpoint, I knew myself and I had to let it out each time to keep going. I allowed myself to do the minimum and let myself just be. I only spent time with people who knew what I was going through. I deeply appreciated those who didn’t try to rush my journey and wanted to just walk with me. Honestly, I wasn’t looking for them to say anything specific, I just needed their presence.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All of that unspent love gathered in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in the hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
Though I was waiting till I was “healed” to write this (it has taken me many attempts to write this post, literally 2.5 years), I’ve accepted that it is a never-ending journey. There is no past tense for grief. I can only mark this moment in time of my journey. I heard somewhere that “healing” after trauma is trying to become whole again, gluing back the pieces together. It’s true, I completely fell apart. It made loved ones uncomfortable to see me this way. They wanted me to just get better and not let it affect me so much anymore. But it will always affect me. It affects the way I view my life, my relationships, my fears, and my values. I don’t know what else I have to experience in this life, but I know I’m surviving one of the worst things that could happen. It feels so surreal to be at this stage of the journey because I genuinely didn’t think the darkness would brighten. The journey has felt so long and lonely, but I am here now. Looking back at the miles I’ve conquered gives me the confidence of knowing I have it in me to keep going.
I’m most proud of myself for staying true to my journey, giving myself the space and time to process and validate my feelings, and listening to myself. I’m slowly accepting this new version of myself. Only I truly know how excruciatingly painful this experience has been for me. I had every reason to react the way that I did. I just had to eventually come back. Now I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and becoming whole again.
I don’t believe there’s any silver lining that comes out of a tragedy as such, but there have been rainbows that have appeared after the dreadful storm. I’ve developed a beautiful friendship with his family and we’re able to encourage one another, share how we’re coping, and support each other from afar. I met my loving boyfriend at the start of this journey and he’s been one of the most unexpected and biggest blessings. I genuinely believe Frankie sent him to take care of me when he had to leave. I’ve deepened my friendships with those who didn’t shy away when I was at my lowest. This experience gave me such a deep appreciation for those who were really there, reached out and asked questions, and gave me the space to talk about him. I miraculously managed to complete graduate school. Although I wasn’t able to retain a lot of information because of my mental state, I still finished and I’ve had to slowly accept that is good enough. I found the courage and inspiration to start writing my children’s book, which has been on my bucket list for years. And lastly, I’ve found more conviction to listen to my voice, live with no regret, love deeply, embrace all my emotions, and express myself.
What I learned about death is that they’re never really gone and they’re really still around us. It was mind-blowing how he appeared to me in instances that I never expected. One day I got caught in the rain while walking on the neighborhood path we would walk together. Once it stopped, I saw a double rainbow appear right next to the building he used to live in. During a moment when I really wished I could speak to him, he appeared in the form of a red cardinal on my morning walk. On my birthday, I was strolling around a new neighborhood and I walked past a new place called “Frankie’s Cafe”. I get to see him in my dreams, in our mutual friends, in his family, in our Hong Kong neighborhood, and in every other place where we made happy lifelong memories. I loved his creativity, warmth, genuine and generous care for others, and zest for life. I will always aspire to have those traits in my life to honor him.
By Stubbs Road, Hong Kong
While focusing on the beautiful memories eases the pain, a loss is something we don’t get over. We can’t forget the person, we can’t erase the love, we can’t truly hide from the pain. We just have to learn how to gently let it go in peace and slowly build other happy moments around the pain to cushion it. Though I wish with everything I have that none of this ever happened, here we are now, with what has happened. If he were here, I know he would tell me to live fully, happily, and unapologetically. And that’s how I’ll spend the rest of my life trying my best to do.
With that, I’ll end with a message to Frankie:
“Hey buddy! Some days it’s still hard to believe you’re gone and just a memory. But I’m one of the luckiest people on earth who can say that I knew you, and you were one of my best friends. It’s been so hard to keep going, but I know you’d be so proud of how I’ve kept on trying. I’m much better now, just trying to live each day to the fullest as you would’ve. Hope you’re painting, drinking, and laughing up there. I miss you so, so much. Please keep looking out for me. I’ll catch you up on everything when I see you again. ”
Well, I did it! I finally finished writing this 😮💨 If you’ve made it to the very end, you’re a real one. Thank you for taking the time to read my scattered thoughts that I’ve tried my best to formulate into a coherent post. I kept coming back to try and finish this because I truly hope it can help someone out there who (god forbid) is going through the same thing, for someone to gain a better understanding of what suicide loss feels like, or someone also experiencing traumatic loss. We’re all trying our best to survive and live a full life. Remember to be kind to yourself. You’re not alone 🩷