South Africans, even before Covid hit, have experienced much grief. Many stoically soldier on after devastating losses, telling themselves they do not have the time, the luxury or the money to indulge in grief.
This is not healthy. We need to find ways to grieve as individuals, and also collectively as a nation, or we risk grief becoming chronic, unleashing new emotional, psychological and physical illnesses.
In May this year, I suffered the devastating loss of a very close friend, Thashnee Padiaychee, who succumbed to breast cancer in the prime of her life.
Like many who are bereaved, I felt an intense sadness and struggled to make sense of her death, wondering whether there could have been other therapies available to treat her that we may not have been aware of.
The devastation wreaked by Covid made the normally joyful festive break one of wrenching grief for many South Africans whose lives have been shattered by the death or illness of a loved one.
Many Covid-related deaths could have been prevented. There was government incompetence in not procuring vaccines earlier; there was corruption in the misappropriation of funds intended for protective equipment; there was an ill-considered delay in allowing the private sector to roll out vaccines; and there have been harmful myths spread about vaccines.
The loss of lives under these circumstances is even harder to bear.
Covid has disrupted many of the rituals of mourning and grief because of the restrictions on funerals and communal singing, and social distancing. Many have been deprived of saying final farewells, giving a last touch or holding the hand of a dying loved one.
Pursuing face-to-face reconciliation, forgiveness and closure with those on their deathbeds, which is so crucial for post-grief healing, has frequently been impossible during the pandemic.
It is crucial that South Africans find the time, space and support to grieve. Cumulative grief, such as the trauma and loss experienced by many South Africans, compounded now by Covid, can lead to what specialists call “prolonged grief disorder” in which symptoms may persist indefinitely unless active intervention or treatment is sought.
Self-care is critical to overcome grief. The loss of someone close may shake one’s sense of self. Life may feel meaningless. Numbing oneself emotionally to deal with the shock — as is often the case in black communities that have experienced so much trauma — is not healthy.
One has to accept that bad things happen at random. Successfully rebuilding one’s life after the passing of a loved one means trying to find a new sense of purpose, continuing to care about others and staying engaged with one’s surroundings.
Given the fragility of life, it is important that in 2022 we live more intentionally, engage more consciously and caringly with the ones we love, and feel more gratitude for being alive. Toxic dynamics, whether in intimate partnerships, personal friendships, workplace relations or political combat, should be jettisoned.
The fragility of life, underscored by Covid, must compel us to increase the frequency of keeping in contact with family members, friends, co-workers and neighbours. It must also end the culture of secrets within families, for us to become more accepting of differences and different beliefs.
As I grow older, I have come to appreciate the cultural, religious, spiritual and communal rituals during apartheid that helped many black South Africans recover from the death of a loved one.
However, community fragmentation in the post-apartheid era, partially because of state failure, and the corruption of such rituals, means that it may be necessary for some of the rituals to be adapted for present times, or for more relevant and appropriate customs to be fostered.
New individual, family and community memorial gatherings are crucial to celebrate those who died in symbolic and spiritual ways.
This is an opportunity for the country to foster a national ritual of mourning that cuts across ethnic, colour or political affiliations
Although larger numbers of black South Africans have died of Covid — because they are generally poorer, or because of critical illnesses aggravated by the virus — this is an opportunity for the country to foster a national ritual of mourning that cuts across ethnic, colour or political affiliations.
Because of our segregated past, SA does not have collective mourning rituals and memorials.
Covid can be an opportunity for South Africans to work towards restoring solidarity, empathy and caring for others across colour, ethnic and political lines. For those burdened by grief, the devastation of the pandemic could be turned into a new sense of common national spirit.
A national memorial that contains the names and pictures of all those who died of Covid should be considered. In this way, the pandemic could be something SA can unite around — even if in grief.
• Gumede is associate professor, School of Governance, University of the Witwatersrand, and author of Restless Nation: Making Sense of Troubled Times (Tafelberg)
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