“How Baham helped me re-discover my purpose.”

What does grieving mean? It’s a wide-ranging term that carries personal significance for each of us. When we experience a loss—whether of a person or something dear—we grieve. This process cannot be quantified or adhere to a timeline. For some, grief lasts for weeks, months, or even years. I view grieving as the absence of what we cherish most deeply. When that individual or thing is no longer present, we lose the ability to physically connect with them or feel their presence, and the sense of longing integrates into our daily existence. The loss of a loved one, friend, colleague, or even a pet is an experience no one should endure; yet, death remains a natural and vital aspect of life—a cycle of existence after life itself.

Indeed, there exists a life that follows the end of a life. Why do I say this? Before I elaborate, I want to share a deeply personal story about death and grieving. Almost two years ago, we lost our beloved brother only five days after his 32nd birthday. It was both tragic and completely unexpected. “How?” It’s a question I hesitate to answer now, as it would shift the focus of this narrative. We lost him as a brother, son, uncle, friend, and even as a caretaker to a German Shepherd.It was his birthday week when I was in Zurich for work and received a phone call from my sister in Bangkok. Reflecting on that moment is overwhelming, and words fail to capture the intensity of the experience.

***After writing that, I had to pause and close my eyes briefly. After all this time, I thought I was okay reminiscing about that very moment, but I guess not.

That moment resides within me as if it’s happening all over again. I vividly recall the room where I sat, holding that phone, the ambiance, the people I was with, and that vision of me talking to my sister over a video call. No tears came down on that cold face of mine that day.

My colleague walked me out of that restaurant, and we sat outside where people were passing by, enjoying the summer weather of the city. The car came to pick us up; my colleague drove us back to the hotel. Nothing had synced; in the back of my mind, I was hoping to receive a call sooner that he would be in the intensive care unit in a worse situation. After arriving in our room, I sat down and started making phone calls at home; the vision of seeing my mom was unbearable. The cries of my two brothers made me want to fly back home instantly.

*** I had to pause again and compose myself as I tried to remember every minute of that longest part of the day.

The Longest Night: A Journey Through Grief
Grief can feel overwhelming and isolating. The night after my brother passed away felt endless. It was like a nightmare that I could not wake up from. As the darkness settled in, I had to face the painful truth: he was gone. All I wanted was to catch the first flight home. At the airport, I kept seeing his face in the crowd. It felt like he was everywhere. I cried openly, feeling no shame as tears streamed down my face. I didn’t care who noticed; I just wished to be home.
In the weeks after the wake, family and friends gathered to celebrate his life. Each visitor shared memories and paid their respects. Eventually, we laid him to rest. This should have brought closure, but it only deepened the emptiness everybody felt. The silence that we can hear in the house, was also the loudest.
As friends and family returned to their normal lives, I struggled with the reality of my own loneliness. Work responsibilities pulled me back, but I hesitated to leave the comfort of home. I wanted to stay with my parents, brothers, and nephew, where I still felt connected to my brother.

The Unpredictable Nature of Grief
Grief often resurfaces unexpectedly, akin to powerful waves crashing upon a tranquil shore, accompanied by the tumult of thunder and lightning. It resembles a sudden train illuminating your path, leaving you uncertain of its speed or direction. For some individuals, the grieving process initiates with the loss of a cherished person or thing; for others, it commences only upon the acknowledgment of that loss. Ultimately, grief constitutes a personal journey of love and loss that defies quantification. The intensity of one’s sorrow correlates directly with the depth of one’s love. The journey of grief is not linear; it is a complex set of feelings that evolves over time. We each handle grief in our own way—some choose silence and retreat, while others express their emotions openly. I have observed how my family members process their grief, each with their own unique story.

For my case, the first part of the process was treacherous. In the sense that it consumed me, I blamed myself for not being able to see my brother’s state of health. As a nurse and caretaker of the family, I felt I failed in this part. Taking care of other people but not my own blood is a painful truth to swallow. The process also made me experience anxiety for the first time in my life; now I know how to describe it. The years of practicing meditation, mindfulness, and more made me shy away from even practicing it. I let myself loose, system shut down, and yes, I saw myself at rock bottom. I sought professional help as it was affecting my job; I exhausted my personal relationships, and anger and guilt were just breathing in me.

The constant travel and moving from one place to another helped somewhat, but the longer and farther I am away from my family, the faster I spiral down. I had no choice but to take a break from work, spend a few months at home with my family, and eventually, a leaf started to grow. A leaf symbolizes life, purpose, acceptance, forgiveness, and the future. It took a while for that leaf to sprout. As I grieve, I also tear down all the reasons that made me want to stay in that feeling. What I have learned with grieving is that there is a subconscious space where you just want to be; part of yourself wants to move on from that situation, and at the same time, you find comfort in that very grieving process. I pushed myself hard to understand death and its meaning. When you leave your comfort zone and face reality, your perception changes.

My grieving process was a spiritual journey. I believe my brother’s life and death had a purpose for everyone involved. This journey led me to new places, where I met many people and learned about their struggles and journeys as well. I read more books than I have in the past few years, the kind of books that Baham and I would share and talk about. Not many people knew about this, but my brother had a kind of intelligence where principle, logic, and spirituality were his recipe that made his unique personality. He was a musician, a cook, a steward, a loyal friend, a protective and dangerous brother. A funny moment when he and his two other brothers comforted me from my heartbreak was when they changed the lights in my room so I could cry properly with the lights on. 😀 I will never forget that moment, and those are only one of the many stories told. We celebrate our loved ones by remembering them, how they touched us, and what we have learned from their journey to inspire us and teach us a lesson.

I felt my brother’s presence throughout this ongoing journey. I just knew he was there, sending me clear messages. This isn’t just my grieving mind; it’s real. I had a conversation with an Ayurvedic doctor, and she told me that our loved ones can have a strong spiritual presence, especially when the love and connection are deep. When we think that we still feel them in some instances, it is true that they are with us, they truly are, looking unto and guiding us. The depth of our love can amplify their presence in various forms—through people, animals, objects, and situations. All the answers and little messages I come across, are songs to my family’s ears. The greiving process is on your own terms, your rules, your timeline.

To this day, I still send messages to my brother’s Facebook Messenger, sharing everything from my good and bad days at work to random thoughts. I meditate and converse with him in my mind, especially during prayer. The process of moving on feels like an art form; I curate my masterpiece until I reach that ‘A-ha’ moment. His passing has profoundly changed my perspective on life, relationships, family, and my outlook on the future. I am living life as if chasing the last train, laughing, not exhausted. I try not to worry so much anymore; I lift and surrender everything to the universe, mindfully following and allowing my purpose to unfold. I am breathing my brother’s definition of life, with a calm and relaxed attitude like him.

We often think we have a lifetime, yet none of us truly knows when the last page of our story will be written.

To Bam, you have lived your life, and there is nothing that we could have changed about it. Your story is beautifully written, and no other circumstances could have altered that. It is your story to tell and yours only, how you ended it is the very essence of your life, we are living that purpose.

As I finish this last paragraph, it brough me to tears, I am reminded by his calm and smiling face telling me “OK LANG KO DI ATE BING”, “CHILL LANG” , these will be the phrases that he will tell me definitely. We miss you Bro! I know somehwere, in a different lifetime, we will see each other again. We love you and we celebrate you! Our Dragonfly!

Love,

Ate Bing 💙