My grandfather, whom I called Dada, and I were always close. We spent my childhood playing on the swings and browsing in the supermarket. He was part of my every day, and he was an ally, who listened to what I had to say, but had the final word. His youth was spent travelling for work and navigating the alpha state that brown men are born into, but I’m told that he changed when I was born; he became lighter, happier and softer. His health began deteriorating in the summer of 2023, but his death felt like it came out of nowhere. A month before he died, we were dancing together, laughing and eating biryani. I think he knew it was almost his time, though. It felt like he was trying to tick off his remaining bucket list items, even visiting
Pakistan for a family occasion in December 2023. He travelled 18 hours to touchdown on the soil he remembered so fondly, soaking up the winter sun and laughing out loud with family members he hadn’t seen for years. He danced, ate and chilled to his heart's desire, only to pass away a few days later. He was admitted to hospital on a Tuesday, and by the following Saturday morning I received a message that said, “Dada has gone”. I haven’t dealt with his loss entirely. I don’t know how to deal with grief as an adult. There is no guidebook for coping with death, and even if there was, there is no one-size-fits-all approach. I have learned to let my feelings flow, take each day at a time and to talk, be it to a friend, a stranger, a therapist or a loved one. Following my first experience of death in adulthood, here’s what I want others to know. When I learned that my Dada had passed, silence filled the room. My youngest brother brought oranges and a pomegranate, favourites of my Dada. We made tea and shared memories and tears. Shortly after, we visited my grandmother’s home, accommodating the many peop g to pay their respects. I slept on the sofa to fill the space my Dada had left. I kept busy in the days following his death but random words would trigger tears, which slowed things down and made me realise I shouldn’t have thrown myself into daily tasks. Sadness came randomly; one the tube as it made its way past places we’d spent time together, during dinner or on jogs down busy streets. With the world moving so fast, a part of me feared what I’d be missing out on if I stopped, and unfortunately, that’s the hustle mentality, which makes dealing with death difficult. I confirmed several trips before he passed and I wanted to cancel them after I got the news. But one night, I heard a voice that told me to keep moving. My Dada loved to travel, and as kids, my grandparents would take red buses, hopping around
London every summer. He encouraged me to document my travels, mainly to show him things he couldn’t visit in his older age. A trip to Asia in February felt like an ode to him, and I was encouraged to try new things, from surfing in Bali to eating Stingray in
Singapore. I did things and told him about it, looking into the sky - do you think he heard? The hardest part for me was managing the messages of sympathy that poured in, and the sadness others felt for me. I didn’t know how to respond when someone said they were sorry for my loss. His death has given me a new lease on life. I spend more time with my family and enjoy being alone. I have cancelled projects to make space for new opportunities and scheduled time for stillness. I recognise that the older you get, the lonelier grief can be, so we must strengthen our soul, mind and heart for what’s to come. That said, life, grief, and death can bring us closer to a feeling of connection, reminding us that we are also human and have one life. So, as my Dada would say, ‘What are we waiting for?’