Do you have hidden griefs?

That you don’t/can’t tell anyone.

I have once heard that the equivalent of “hidden” in English is “hyden”, which means “bury the corpse”. This is exactly what I am talking about; the dead bodies you have buried in yourselves. How many dead bodies do you live your lives with?

A few years ago there was a smell from the walls of the house we are currently living in. At first, the smell was so faint that we could feel it only if we sat on the sofa in that corner. In time, the smell became stronger and it started to invade the whole house not only restrained to its corner. Afterwards, we understood that a rate (or some rats) went into the cavity wall between the house next to us and ours caused that smell dying there. The smells coming from the dead bodies…Even if the metaphor could be unpleasant, the similarity to the topic highly echoes in me.

I always mention that grief is a period experienced alone; however, a healthy community support is necessary as the weight of grief could be overwhelming for our small bodies. You see, hidden griefs are the ones where we are deprived of all sorts of support; a kind of deprivation areas.

Domestic violence, domestic abuse, violence and abuse not restricted to the family, abortion, miscarriage, suicide, murder…There are a lot of griefs in these areas. Where do these accumulated griefs go? Nowhere. It gets nailed to where it is, cannot move anywhere like a dead body and starts to slowly give off its smell. Like our dead rat(s)…

Are there any hidden griefs of yours which you are made to live with that smell, you are expected to behave as if everything was normal despite that smell?

If there are, please know that I stand in awe of you, my forehead touches the floor. My heart is heavy for you and it wants to expand for all your pains.

When, we human beings, will understand that we are connected to each other with invisible cords? When will we grasp that an individual’s unresolved grief is our “ cause unknown distress”?

Grief is wild, wants to be seen and requires its invitation to be accepted. Otherwise, unresolved grief turns into poison, becomes the nightmares of our sleep and unending tears of our days.

Once upon a time there was a river. Although it ran with a gurgling sound, the number of stones on its streambed never decreased; on the contrary, the number increased visibly from time to time. One day, it flooded out of the blue without any rain or storm priorly. When the villagers, in fear and astonishment, went to the river, they decided to ask the old wise grandma of the village what to do seeing brown hand-size stones filled the streambed of the river.

“Cry” said the grandma.

“Obviously tears which cannot be shed somewhere turned the hearts into stones. Tears come from the heart, not from the eyes, so cry and remember your hearts. Cry, or else, this water will flood the village”.

The villagers wailed wearing black for seven days. They cried and and shed their tears together. In the morning of the eihgt day, the river calmed down and the stones on the streambed disappeared as such.

While you are reading this writing, who knows how many people are carrying the weight of domestic violence in their own silence or tearing their hearts out for a loved one who committed suicide. Can we bring back their losses? No, but we can remind ourselves of the world’s hidden tears. I believe that a humanity remembering their heart leads a fairer life.

Otherwise, it is only a matter of time for that river to flood.

Yazının Türkçe versiyonu: Gizli yas

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