I Swear You Will Be Fine

I’ve always felt that I lacked quite a bit of empathy. Josh finds this funny and would “test” my empathy by giving me various scenarios. One of the ones we “argued” about the most was this:

Pretend you’re riding a bicycle and there’s someone in front of you. You ring the bell to alert them of your presence, but the person doesn’t move. You can’t stop in time and end up hitting them. Whose fault is it?

I have always said that it’s the person’s fault – I rang the bell, they didn’t move, so why is it on me? Josh, the angel that he is and has always been, insists that it’s our fault because we’re the ones controlling the bike. Even if they don’t move, we should have tried to stop the bike or swerve away. If I recall correctly, we ended up agreeing that neither of us should ride a bike in crowded places – because he thinks I’ll end up starting a fight, and I think he’ll end up getting taken advantage of.

With that example of my apparent lack of empathy, I’ve always kind of struggled to understand why people act a certain way in certain situations. I once came across a question online: “If your loved one was kidnapped and you had to drive over to save them, would you listen to music on the drive there?” Most of the serious replies said no. And before Josh’s departure, I never understood why (which makes me sound really daft). I always figured that I’d probably listen to music or the drive would be really boring, and there’s nothing I could do in that moment to help my loved one, so why not? It wasn’t until I was on the plane home from Japan in January 2025 that I understood – it’s true, you don’t listen to music. When someone you love is gone or in danger, your mind is too loud for you to listen to music. Yes, there is nothing you can do about the situation, but you’re not bored. Your mind will be so filled with a thousand thoughts at once that you can’t listen to music. Now I understand.

I never understood why, in movies, people who have lost someone just sit and stare at a picture of them for what feels like an uncomfortably long time. I (unbelievably) used to think: “Why are they staring at that same picture for so long? Is it just to look sad? Like, what are they even looking at…?” But now I get it. I can stare at Josh’s picture for hours. I walk by my photo wall or glance at any picture of him in my room, and I get stuck. I look at pictures of us on my phone or of him, for as long as I can. For an uncomfortably long time. It’s hard to describe why, I think. It’s as if I’m trying to memorize his face so that I can conjure it up whenever I want to. It’s like I’m staring at his picture because I can’t stare at him. I once told Josh that I could look at him forever, and I’d stare at him for an uncomfortably long time until he’d laugh and shyly tell me to stop. Now I understand. It’s just love and longing.

I never understood why couples put pictures of each other everywhere – on their phones, computers, walls, et cetera. When I was single and someone’s wallpaper was of their partner, I’d think, “Ew… why would anyone put so much of another person everywhere? Are they obsessed?” Well… Shalini back then has got to take a look at Shalini now. Josh is on my phone, my computer, iPad, watch, walls, even the pouches in my bags… Everywhere that I can squeeze in a picture, he is there. Maybe it is a bit of an obsession. We actually talked about this and came to an agreement that it’s fine to be healthily obsessed. Isn’t that just love? You love someone so much you want to see them all the time. I’d argue that that’s how you should feel about your partner. Before his departure, it was just my phone and watch (he too only had me on his phone, I think). But I understand it now. I really, really understand it now. Having pictures everywhere is just love, really – love and missing.

I think grief has taught me a lot. I’ve definitely learnt far more empathy than I thought I’d ever learn. Now I understand why people behave the way they do when they are grieving. Behaviors that I thought were strange and so far beyond my comprehension were all just expressions of love. I just didn’t know it because I hadn’t met Josh and felt love yet.

But that doesn’t mean I now know what to say though. I think that’s the only part I still don’t understand – what to say to someone who is just beginning this journey of grief. “My condolences” doesn’t even come close to what I want to tell them. A hug? Maybe that could work. A knowing look? Maybe. Or maybe, “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it hurts. And I’m here for you if you need me” That seems like the best bet – seems like something I wish I heard back then.

Josh, you’d be so pleased to see that I’ve gained some empathy. Not for everyone though (you’d smile at this; you’ve always been proud of me for being mean to those who deserve it). I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha