Running Through Grief: How Loss Changed My Life Forever
The original version of this article was published on Medium on 22 December 2022. It is thus important to note the time-difference of dates mentioned in the writing.
A lot has changed since then, and while I still love running, my priorities have gone in a different direction. In addition, the Medium platform has drastically changed over the last few years, so in an effort to preserve my original writings, I thought I’d share a glimpse into my personal life here…
I have vivid memories of my childhood.
When I reflect on or share some of them with friends and family, one thing that always comes up is my eagerness to try new things.
Though I’m sure we’ve all tried several things until we finally find something we’re genuinely passionate about, I’d like to believe that my experience is different simply because I’m incredibly impulsive.
That was just a little introduction line, but to cut to the chase — I’ve dabbled in many passions — from being an aspiring dancer to playing chess and hockey, taking pottery classes, studying law, quitting studying law in favor of culinary, to blogging and writing this post on Medium.
But among my endless list of tried-and-tested things, I’ve never thought of becoming a runner. (It might’ve crossed my mind once or twice, but not really).
Until now, or about a year ago, to be precise.
Well, what happened? You may ask.
As much as I would like to tell you that it was just another impulsive moment in my life, it’s much more than that.
An old family photo somewhere in South Africa — Around 1996.
The Weight of Before
Losing my Father
About two years ago, my then-fiancee, now-husband, and I decided to emigrate from beautiful, sunny South Africa to equally beautiful but sunnier Cyprus.
But before we moved, my life changed unexpectedly and rapidly when first my dad passed away from a heart attack following a 6-year-long struggle with septicemia a few years earlier.
In 2012, at the beginning of my dad’s illness and on holiday with family, my dad complained about a stiff arm one morning while driving around citrus farms in Marble Hall.
Shortly after, what appeared to be a tiny little bump (the size of a marble) on his neck, quickly turned into a coma and health complications that, to a degree, are still a mystery.
Many struggles ensued in my personal life and my family’s.
Unable to work for months, by 2013, my parents had lost the home I grew up and lived in for 24 years, made all my memories, and kissed my first boyfriend.
To make matters worse, my parents had no medical aid in a country where healthcare is either of the highest quality — if you’re lucky enough to afford it — or extremely poor.
Fortunately, my aunt and dad’s sister, an advanced nurse practitioner, managed to step in and provide private healthcare support. Still, after many years of consultations with doctors and physicians, moving from one hospital to another, that medical coverage was also depleted.
During these troubling times, my dad had double-knee replacements in both legs by two orthopedic surgeons.
After his body decided to reject both implants (twice) and suffered severe inflammation, my dad naturally gave up and finally lost the battle on 4 August 2017.
I was traumatized. And so was my mother.
Losing my Mother
My mom truly deserved a medal in all of this.
Wholly absorbed in my dad’s recovery, very few people took notice of my mom.
Not only did she lose her financial freedom when my dad first got ill (my dad lost his long-time position as an aircraft mechanical engineer, and the bills soon piled on her), but she also lost her husband, the house she had built, and known to be her home for years, and her job too.
To say the stress took a toll on her is an understatement. She lost her appetite. And her weight.
When my dad couldn’t walk anymore or get himself out of the bathtub, my mom had to push him in a wheelchair or lift him in her less than 110lb (49kg) tiny frame. Seeing both my parents so fragile killed me, but my mom stayed tough for a while.
At night, when no one was watching though (or thought no one was watching), she would either cry herself to sleep while listening to Prince or drink or both.
A phenomenal wife, mother, grandmother, and my best friend — that she most certainly was.
But seven months after my dad’s passing and having endured further trauma in her personal life; so severe that I’ll probably never share her whole story, my mom decided that this life was too much for her.
On Monday, 5 March 2018, blissfully unaware of the life around me and too focused on healing my own sadness, my mom was lying on a couch and closed her eyes for the last time.
I was traumatized. Again.
What Was Left of Me
If you’re still reading, thank you.
I know that people’s attention spans are only 3 seconds nowadays and that the first paragraph of a story is the most important to keep the reader engaged.
But I needed to give context and wanted to share my story on paper for the first time after nearly five years.
So where was I? My mom. My mom also passed away.
No, Nadia. Be Honest. She chose to kill herself. In the most brutal way imaginable. That was my reality. And it still is. It will forever be.
Looking back and reflecting on that day, I can still vividly recall seeing her hand through the glass sliding door, slightly hanging off the couch where she was lying. Of course, it was dark, so I couldn’t see very well or anything else, but I knew then that my life had forever changed in the most horrific way.
Without going into too much detail about everything that happened after this event and how I recovered mentally, I can only say that my life (really) was never the same again.
Fast forward to today, I realize that had it not been for my husband and solid support from friends and family who didn’t run for the hills every time I went on a drinking lark (which happened a lot, quite frankly), I probably never would’ve found running.
An Unexpected Beginning
While I gradually moved on and processed everything that had happened in the past few years, parts of me got lost along the way.
I didn’t fully grasp this until we packed our bags, moved to Cyprus, and found ourselves completely alone, almost deserted from everything and everyone we thought we knew.
Trust me, if multiple loss doesn’t teach you how alone humans are, then changing your life for an entirely new one certainly will. It forces you to sit with your feelings, no matter what.
At the beginning of 2022, after wallowing in my thoughts alone and having no close connections to share them with for nearly five months since moving, it dawned on me how badly these events affected me and how desperately I needed a fresh start.
Like most, I had new year’s resolutions, one of which waseating less and moving more, obviously. (Aka, getting ‘killer abs.’)
Ps. Can we call it New Years Resolutions if that’s not included?
With my natural impulsive behavior and having bought high-quality running shoes a year or two earlier — which mostly gathered dust in a cupboard somewhere in Johannesburg but managed to make their way to a wardrobe in Cyprus — I decided that that’s how I’ll get into shape.
Through RUNNING. (And maybe a push-up every once in a while).
Learning to Run Again
Let’s wrap this up, shall we?
It’s almost a year later, and we’re again reaching the time for new New Year’s resolutions.
Looking back, what I thought I wanted then, is entirely different from what I received and more invaluable than I ever could’ve imagined. Instead of getting that perfect body that I was striving for at the time, over the year, I rediscovered something entirely different — my mental health.
Being the introvert I am, running has given me the tools and environment to express haunted emotions and feelings in a way that no therapy, friends, antidepressants, or copious amounts of wine ever could.
It’s still early in my running journey, but I have learned so far that, for the first time in my life I’m not pursuing something new just for interest’s sake…
I’m RUNNING.
Running for my dad — who didn’t have the physical ability.
Running for my mom — who didn’t have a voice and whose cup was empty.
And I am running for me — so that I can be free.
