‘Grief can be the garden of compas-sion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom’
—Rumi (also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th-century Persian poet
“WE discussed our plans for the next day before going to bed, but when I woke up in the morning, he was no longer there!” Illin exclaimed.
“What do you mean, ‘no longer there’?” I asked, unsure of whom she was referring to.
“Gone! He passed away,” she replied, her eyes welling up with tears.
Illin was a distant cousin from my maternal side. Despite not having seen each other for over thirty years, I wasn’t surprised that she felt comfortable sharing her life story with me. During our childhood, she had been fond of me because I often shared the stories I read in books with her. In return, I admired her tomboyish yet gentle nature and her generosity.
Her birth certificate bore the name Evelyn, yet those familiar with her affectionately referred to her as Illin. Most of her grown-up years were dedicated to being a loyal spouse to her cherished husband, Enri (short for Henry). Nevertheless, destiny had different intentions.
One hot July morning, Enri peacefully departed in his slumber, leaving Ilin behind, clinging to memories like delicate flower petals. In the immediate aftermath, Ilin found herself immersed in a tumultuous storm of sorrow. She sat in their vacant home, haunted by the reverberations of past conversations and laughter that once animated the atmosphere.
Despite the arrival of the yearly rice cultivation season, Illin lacked the motivation and energy to engage in any related activities. Instead, she often idled around the house or slept excessively, attempting to evade excessive sorrow, deep contemplation, and the constant ache in her heart.
However, Illin was not a helpless bystander. During moments of clarity, she reflected upon the hardships and resilience of widows she knew, who faced unjust scrutiny and social ostracism.
She possessed a keen understanding of the manifold challenges, societal pressures, and unfair judgments that widows encountered in their lives, particularly within the confines of her small community. In such a close-knit environment, anonymity or inconspicuousness proved impossible to attain. The pervasive knowledge of everyone’s affairs led to lingering whispers and judgments that permeated the atmosphere.
One Sunday afternoon, clad in a simple well-worn sarong so as not to stand out, Ilin walked through the village, avoiding the curious gazes of onlookers.
“Another day, another battle against the whispers and stares,” she thought to herself, with a heavy sigh.
She approached the nearest of the three shops in the village to purchase some supplies, but the shopkeeper eyed her warily.
“You’re out early,” said the shopkeeper in a hushed tone.
Forcing a smile, Illin said, “Yes, I need to gather provisions for the week.”
Leaning closer, conspiratorially, the shopkeeper said, “You know what they say about widows, don’t you? Always on the lookout for a new husband, they are.”
“And always the subject of unfounded gossip,” Illin muttered under her breath as she walked away, her smile fading away, replaced by a pained expression.
In the later hours of the evening, Illin found herself alone within the confines of her modest dwelling. Within the dimly illuminated interior, a solitary kerosene lamp cast flickering shadows. Her gaze fell upon a weathered photograph of her departed husband, causing tears to well up in her eyes.
Nevertheless, Illin possessed a resilient spirit. Swiftly, she brushed away her tears and fortified herself against the harsh realities that surrounded her existence.
“I refuse to be shattered by their words,” she whispered to herself. “I shall endure, for you, Enri… for both of us.”
With a renewed determination, she pledged to reshape her life while cherishing the memory of Enri. To alleviate her sense of isolation and prevent her thoughts from wandering, she began conversing with Enri as though he were still present, sharing her joys and sorrows, and reminiscing about his resourcefulness in tackling various challenges as they arose.
Indeed, it was one of the qualities that endeared her to him. Despite his limited literary abilities, Enri possessed remarkable ingenuity in managing household affairs and the farm, consistently devising clever solutions to problems that arose.
As time passed, transforming days into weeks and then months, Ilin’s grief underwent an astonishing metamorphosis. Each new day brought a glimmer of inner strength, gradually awakening within her.
Tentatively at first, she emerged from the cocoon of mourning, steadily gaining confidence with each step she took.
Before long, Ilin discovered solace in the simple rhythms of everyday life. With renewed enthusiasm, she nurtured her small backyard vegetable garden, drawing life from the soil, mirroring her healing journey. The once-neglected corners of her home radiated warmth and light once again, as she tenderly dusted off forgotten treasures and cherished memories.
In a gradual progression, her rational and practical nature began to dominate. One sunny weekend, she embarked on a thoughtful evaluation of the essential elements required for her survival — money, food, and shelter.
Enri had been incredibly cautious with money and had accumulated a tidy sum, which he stored in a jar hidden beneath the floorboards of their ground-level kitchen. Although she didn’t require much cash herself, her daughter, who was attending a secondary school in town, needed a monthly allowance. With two more years of schooling left, Morin would soon be old enough to seek employment.
As she reached for the jar, an unexpected surge of emotions overcame her, and she began to weep uncontrollably, pouring out her heart for several minutes until she exhausted all her tears. After reconsidering, she replaced the floorboards over the jar and proceeded to check her food supplies.
The past two years had been exceptionally prosperous for her and Enri. Considering that she was on her own, she estimated having enough rice to sustain her for up to two years. This timeframe should provide ample opportunity to reorganise her life and put her existing plans into action, which were already taking shape in her mind.
One night when sleep eluded her till the wee hours, she embarked on a daunting task: clearing out Enri’s wardrobe, a rustic timber cabinet firmly affixed to their bedroom wall. This moment had been looming over her for months and she did not want to delay it any longer. As she sifted through the clothes, a profound realisation struck her, leading to a momentous decision and a solemn vow she was determined to uphold.
This life-altering choice stemmed from her frustration and perceived helplessness in the absence of a male companion. She detested the limitations imposed by traditionally masculine tasks. Thus, she decided to acquire the skills necessary to perform those very tasks starting with home repairs, constructing a chicken coop, and building a shed for her firewood.
Reflecting on her tomboyish past, she reintroduced herself to towering ladders and secretly relearned how to climb trees, particularly those bearing fruits.
The driving force behind the change was her strong desire for independence. She was reluctant to seek help from men, except a few relatives, due to her fear of giving rise to baseless rumours. Furthermore, she was aware that the married women in the village would view her requests for assistance, even for minor favours, with suspicion.
Unconsciously, she abandoned gowns, dresses, including sarongs commonly worn by the village women. Instead, she started using Enri’s oversized trousers, which she skillfully altered to suit her measurements and height. She followed a similar approach with his old shirts.
Illin shared her sad story with me that day during the wake of a close relative who had passed away from old age.
Unfortunately, we never had the chance to meet again, and I’m unsure of what happened to her afterwards. Another cousin mentioned that due to Illin’s advancing frailty as she grew older, Morin, her daughter took her away from the village. Morin, who had a successful job in Peninsular Malaysia, was more than capable of taking care of both of them.
Like other close relatives and friends from my upbringing, Illin crosses my mind from time to time. Despite all the details she shared with me, it remains difficult to truly comprehend the depth of her emotional distress following Enri’s passing. I have witnessed how such a tragedy can evoke feelings of sadness, anger, guilt, anxiety, and numbness in others. The sudden absence of a spouse can leave the surviving partner feeling lost, empty, and overwhelmed.
Loneliness and isolation are additional challenges faced by widows and divorcees. They may experience a profound loss of companionship and support, leading to a sense of drifting or disconnection from the world around them.
For many individuals, a spouse represents not only a life partner but also a significant component of their identity and self-concept. Losing a spouse can prompt existential questions about one’s own identity and future. Worries about what lies ahead can trigger an existential crisis and a sense of purposelessness.
Grief has long-term effects on mental health, increasing the risk of conditions like depression, anxiety disorders, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Without proper support and coping mechanisms, these mental health issues can persist and hinder daily functioning.
The loss of a loved one prompts profound existential questions about the meaning of life, death, and the afterlife. Some individuals may experience a crisis of faith or embark on a search for deeper spiritual meaning to make sense of their loss.
Lastly, for those with children, the death of a spouse significantly impacts parenting dynamics. The surviving parent may struggle to balance their grief with supporting their children through theirs, leading to feelings of guilt or inadequacy.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
