LIVE BY DESIGN | The complex costs of grief: Managing emotional and practical demands in bereavement

This is the column that almost did not happen. Sometimes, it is as though there’s too much happening in life, and there’s no headspace for writing. This week, that is what happened for both Mapi and me, where we both found ourselves overwhelmed by the very things we write about each week in Live By Design.

Eight of us sit in a circle, sifting through drawers of photographs. We are relatives gathered together because my much beloved Tante Inge has died. There is a groan from her 33-year-old grandchild. He wants to look at photos on Inge’s phone. He cannot open it. It needs her fingerprint. That’s not going to happen. We cremated her earlier in the day. “Oh my goodness,” exclaims Inge’s daughter, “What will happen when I die? My phone has facial recognition.”

Access to her fingerprints is not the first hiccup we have faced since 80-year-old Inge passed unexpectedly in the early hours of Monday morning. She’d had a good weekend, a Saturday of shopping and getting her hair styled. Amid our sadness at her passing, we were delighted when her children, my cousins, told us that her TV tray from Sunday showed she’d rounded off her evening (and unknowingly her last meal) with champagne and dark chocolate.

Later on Monday, the practicalities arising from her sudden death kicked in. Access to ready cash – that is the most immediate challenge. My cousin had spontaneously phoned the bank, “My mother just died,” she said, “what is there that we need to do?” Mistake. That one call unlocked the entire process to freeze ALL accounts.

My cousin choked when she realised what she had done. She had her Mum’s bank account PIN and credit card, as she regularly did her mother’s grocery shopping. She tried, unsuccessfully, to charm the bank clerk, “Can’t you just forget that this call ever took place?”

On Wednesday, we spent yet another whole day organising things for the funeral and the after tears. We went to the print shop – hours had gone into selecting eight portrait photos, one for every decade, for her funeral card.

We went to the flower shop. Everything needs attention to detail – exactly how many stems of the white flowers will be required to cover the top of the coffin? The after tears food? Inge’s children decide it should be one of her favourite meals – Bavarian bratwurst sausage and poppy seed cake. The butchery and the bakery were the next shops we visited to place the order. How many sausages? How many people might come? There are no exact figures – only guesstimates.

We end this day exhausted, physically and emotionally. My aunt’s preferred pastor, a lovely woman with presence and depth, is away and only available next week to officiate the funeral. We are being careful to be kind to each other. Our relatives slept in every room, including the home office and the lounge.

It is Mapi’s turn to write the column this week, so at least it is not on my to-do list. I can relax—or at least that is what I thought.

All day Thursday, I sneak peeks at my phone. Curious. What’s Mapi writing about this week? Sometimes, we share ideas and sometimes suggest additions or restructuring of paragraphs. What consistently happens is that we sign off on each other’s draft, indicating we are comfortable with what has been written.

Thursday after lunch. Sneak peek at my mobile. Nothing.

Exchange of messages.

Me: Just came back from undertakers.

Mapi: Just came back from two-day strategy session. Will write this afternoon.

Late afternoon. Cousins sitting together looking at photographs.

Sneak peek at mobile. Nothing from Mapi.

Thursday evening. The message comes in that makes me realise that Mapi has her own tsunami that she’s handling. A relative has died. Overweight. A special coffin is needed. Mapi has no headspace to write.

When I find myself awake at dawn on Friday, I decide to grab the quiet time and write about why it has been difficult this week.

This leads me to a bigger question I am grappling with. How do people manage to fulfil work obligations at a time of bereavement? And if you do succeed in accomplishing all the practical activities, at what cost? Do you put your emotions on ice to connect with later when the rituals and gatherings are over?

If you review human resource policies for bereavement, the paid leave days are minimal. In South Africa, employees who have been employed for at least four months are typically entitled to 3 days of paid bereavement in one annual leave cycle. This leave falls under the category of “family responsibility leave,” which can be used in the event of the death of an immediate family member like a spouse, parent, child, or sibling. This leave is usually considered part of the standard employment contract and can be verified with proof of death.

Three days of paid leave for a spouse, a parent, or a child! In my family experience and culture, I’ve needed at least a couple of weeks off work. And that was only to deal with the practicalities.

When my father died, I got on a plane and spent two weeks supporting my mother. I was the chauffeur, the communications officer, the programme coordinator, and the liaison with the police after a burglary. I returned home two weeks later. Only then, finally free of logistical busyness, could I sit uninterrupted with my sadness.

As I anticipate further bereavements in my circle, I realise the importance of two things. Firstly, the ultimate act of kindness to your loved ones is to be as prepared as possible in terms of the practicalities of dying. Minimise their stress over decision-making, passwords, or access to money. Second, after the practicalities are over, many of us will need time to connect more privately and tenderly with our feelings.