Grief, Remorse and The Absence of Closure

Originally written by Sana Mitsuki on January 1st, 2020. 

Before I begin writing this, let me assure you that I am fully aware of my lack of rights to write about it. My rights are limited simply because I am about to write about a grief that belongs more rightfully to many others.

And the reason I am not entitled to this grief is because I am not her mother, I am not her sister, I am not her closest female cousin, I am not her best friend, and I am not even her classmate.

But I have to write this. Even if it takes many words to describe my lack of entitlement or involvement in this grief—I must.

Because I am searching for the words, or even just a description, to explain this sadness you feel many years after a friend—someone who was less than a best friend, but far more than a casual acquaintance—decides to take her own life with no explanation whatsoever.

Don't get me wrong—it's not an explanation I am asking for, nor even the kind of closure her family is surely yearning for.

What I am looking for—or rather, what I hope to do—is to demonstrate in many words the emotional complexities that arise when someone you knew leaves the world in such a disquieting manner.

And I shall begin by describing to you my schoolmate—Zhenying.

 

Zhenying is kind.

I know she is kind because when a new girl at school, Gem, professed her undying love for Zhenying, instead of treating Gem with disdain (which, truthfully, is something we might expect from a young heterosexual person), Zhenying became her friend.

It’s easy to call someone you’re superficially kind to a “friend,” especially in school—but I suspected that Zhenying was a real friend to Gem.

Not because I saw them spending time together outside class, or having meals together at the canteen.

But because I have a distinct memory of seeing a teary-eyed Zhenying walking quickly past me.

In her hand was a piece of paper.

I don’t recall how this piece of information came to me, but I knew that the paper was given to her by Gem. For a long time back then, I could only speculate about the reason for her tears. And the facts of my speculation grew stronger when, one day, I saw Zhenying in my classroom, sitting beside my classmate, looking visibly upset.

“Is it about Gem?” I asked.

I was returned a look that stopped me from asking further.

Back then, I considered Zhenying a friend.

Not because we spent time together outside class or shared meals at the canteen.

But because we were involved in many school activities together. It’s just the nature of school—you see people so often, in so many contexts, that it feels strange to call them merely acquaintances when, in truth, you don’t know them deeply.

All I knew about Zhenying, besides her kindness, is that she took her responsibilities very seriously—so much so that she became easily distressed by them. I know this because I used to tease her whenever she ranted about irresponsible schoolmates. And I was one of them. During her rants, instead of offering a listening ear, I would only listen for a few minutes before suggesting that she was taking all this “school stuff” way too seriously. Sometimes I would cut her off with my lame slapstick comedy routines (which I secretly practiced) to get a laugh out of her.

But I know now that making someone laugh is not the solution to their problems.

Remember when I said I suspected Zhenying was a real friend to Gem? The irony is, I only confirmed that long after their friendship ended.

Years after Gem first arrived at our school, I found myself sitting beside her, listening to a story I never expected, yet somehow needed to hear.

“I tried my best not to like her like that,” Gem began.

“She is a wonderful friend. She acknowledged my feelings for her and tried to understand why I felt the way I did. I thought I should do the same—acknowledge that she would never be able to feel for me the way I wanted her to. I really tried my best. I tried every day. But I couldn’t change the way I felt. Every time she smiled at me and spoke kindly to me, my feelings only grew. I kept that to myself for a long time. I didn’t want her to stop being my friend. But one day, I couldn’t hide it anymore.”

Gem stopped and rolled up her left sleeve. I should mention—ever since the day I saw Zhenying in tears, I’d noticed that Gem always wore long sleeves, and I’d wondered why. My question was answered when I saw the inside of Gem’s left arm. Dark, slightly raised scars adorned her arm from the crook to the wrist, forming a word that brought me sudden clarity: Zhenying.

“When I showed her this,” Gem continued, lightly tracing her finger over the scars, “she stopped speaking to me.”

When Gem looked up at me, tears were welling in her eyes.

“It broke my heart. Because I knew she didn’t stop talking to me out of punishment, but because she just couldn’t. I broke her.”

We sat in silence for a long time. Then I asked, “Do you still love her?”

Gem laughed softly. “I will love her forever.”

And Gem did.

I know this because, years later—after we had all grown from young, complicated girls into older, complicated women—I saw Gem sobbing uncontrollably beside Zhenying’s casket. I saw her unable to stand, unable to look again at Zhenying’s pale and deformed face. I saw our friends and acquaintances trying to console her, trying gently to pull her away, out of respect for Zhenying’s family.

I don’t know why Zhenying left this world the way she did. I don’t know if Gem still loves her.

But I do know this:

Zhenying is a wonderful person. Her life was short and significant. Her effort to treat Gem with care, even when it must have been so hard for her, was extraordinary.

Lending someone your ears—without rushing to interrupt, advise, or distract—is sometimes the kindest, most important thing you can do.

Not all problems have solutions. And not all problems are even problems.

"Hey big girl, big and strong girl;

strong enough to make choices,

big enough to take actions.

We are big girls, big and strong girls,

strong enough to say goodbye,

big enough to appropriately cry.

Here’s a big lamp, big and strong lamp,

strong enough to light forever,

forever in our hearts."

                                                       // Sana

RIP Zhenying, 1992 – Forever

Photo credits:

Japanese school uniform dsc06052 by [Author Name], via Wikimedia Commons.

Licensed under CC BY-SA [version].

Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Japanese_school_uniform_dsc06052.jpg