Common Grief

(Part 3/3) “He did not come back. Only his father and brother did. I knew what had happened. A mother can tell if her child is coming back or not. I collapsed then and there. Many days past and I regained my mind. My husband sat next to me and said, “Your son knew his future. He knew he was going to leave us. In the ambulance, he gave me 10 minutes to talk. He told me he only had 10 min and he left. He asked me to tell you that he should have asked you to come in the ambulance. He asked me to tell you he loved you.”

After that day our family changed. We shared common grief. Most of the times silently. I became unable to venture out of the house. The trauma that I had experienced in my life had finally taken its toll. I stopped doing social work. I stopped visiting the community. I stopped doing anything that had meaning. I just became lifeless. My family started to worry about my mental well-being. Word spread to the community. And soon my fellow co-workers with whom I would visit household providing assistance to women in need found out. They came to visit me and said, “You need to come with us and get engaged in community service again. We are there for you. We will make things comfortable. Your son would not want you to sit in the corner like this.” 

That day I thought a lot. I cried thinking of my son. But that day I also made up my mind that I would continue with the community work I was doing. Everyday someone came to pick me up. I attended training and meetings. I spoke about my loss and listened to the stories of other people. In doing that, I felt we all were the same and happiness and sufferings are just part of life. And we must learn to deal with the loss for the ones who are with us. Had I not found meaning in sharing my story and listening to others, I would not have been able to talk to you. Even though I cried with you, the tears have brought me relief. Tears are not bad after all.”

Saraswati Neupane, Dang

#shareyourstory#MentalHealthForAll
Stories of Nepal x Health Foundation Nepal