I wailed once

I wailed once. Just once.

You see, I was a happy, smiley, bouncy baby. A contented child. A teenager who’d been brought up to believe that feelings could not be trusted and therefore could not be expressed. A young adult who believed that crying was a sign of weakness.

It was all about control. And I was really, really good at that. I had one experience of ‘letting go’ at University and my life spiralled completely out of control and I ended up in a place I had no intention of ever visiting again.

And then my mum died. Very suddenly. She had a cardiac arrest in hospital and I was there. Sat by her side. I was there when she died.

The days between her death and the funeral passed in a blur. I was in shock. Wandering around in a complete daze. I remember nothing of that time.

But when I stood by the open grave and watched the coffin being lowered down into the ground, then it hit me. The whole reality of the situation was like a full on collision. Disbelief was closely followed by utter desperation.

This can’t be right. What’s going on? Stop. This can’t be happening. She can’t go. I’m not ready for her to go. Stop! I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. Just wait.

And I wailed. Really, really wailed. I was wrenched open, my rib cage spilt in two and my heart released all its pain and anguish in a torrent to the heavens.

It was completely uncontrollable. No way would I have allowed that to happen if I could have stopped it.

I didn’t do things like that. We didn’t do things like that.

I wouldn’t have been out of place at a Middle Eastern funeral, but here, amongst these people? This wasn’t the way we did things.

I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

Afterwards, I found out that my wailing had felt uncomfortable, embarrassing, maybe even distressing to some. My husband had been asked to calm me down. But he was wise in that moment. He let me be. He could see that I needed to do this.

And I am not ashamed. I have never been ashamed of how I behaved on that day. That was real, raw emotion. That was how it should be.

That was it. My one experience of wailing. Now I barely cry. I haven’t cried in over a year. I’ve learnt to control my emotions again. I keep going for the sake of my kids and my husband, my family and friends. I’ve forgotten how to grieve. I’ve forgotten how to let go.

And that is why I need to learn to lament all over again.