DEATH is the one appointment every one of us will keep. It is the only true certainty, the immutable finale to the human story.
Yet, despite its inevitability, it remains a potent source of fear, a ghost-like presence that haunts our collective consciousness. This fear is often magnified when death arrives not as a quiet closing but as a sudden, violent shock.
Recently, the world watched in horror of how over forty people, who gathered for a political rally in India, lost their lives in a devastating stampede. They went out for a day of collective purpose and never returned.
Closer to home, a Malaysian family’s ordinary journey turned into an unthinkable nightmare when a truck rammed into their vehicle at a toll plaza, claiming the life of their young child. In one brutal, fleeting moment, a future filled with promise was extinguished.
These are not isolated headlines; they are stark reminders that the thread of life is fragile, and the question of what is timely or untimely is ultimately irrelevant to the raw, gaping wound of loss.
A nonagenarian may celebrate a 90th birthday with vivaciousness while a child is lost in an accident. Death does not discriminate, and the trauma it leaves in its wake is a natural and profoundly human response.
Why then does this universal reality paralyse us so, and why do we struggle to address its aftermath? The answer lies in the abyss of the unknown, the potential pain and the heart-wrenching thought of who and what we leave behind. But beyond this philosophical terror lies a more immediate problem: the devastating aftermath for the living.
The passing of a loved one, especially when sudden and violent, is not a single event; it is a seismic shock that sends ripples of trauma through families and communities, fracturing foundations and leaving individuals to navigate a landscape of profound loss. In this turmoil, a critical question emerges: How does one cope?
Globally, the conversation around grief and traumatic bereavement has evolved. In many nations, the stigma surrounding grief support is slowly eroding. Structured support groups, grief counselling and community-led gatherings are commonplace, providing a lifeline to those drowning in sorrow.
These forums do not offer a magic cure but they equip individuals with vital coping strategies, normalising their feelings and guiding them through the stages of mourning.
However, in Malaysia – and generally in Asia – a different, more silent narrative often unfolds. Here, seeking professional help to cope with the trauma of death is not yet commonplace. The cultural presence, with stoic resilience and a deep-seated preference for private mourning, often discourages open discourse. The message, though unspoken, is clear: bear your pain quietly and with time it will lessen.
But what if it does not? The sudden loss of a child, the shocking death of a spouse or the collective trauma of a public tragedy can shatter a person’s world. Such events can lead not just to sadness but also to severe trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder, leaving individuals with intrusive memories, severe anxiety and a debilitating inability to function.
Without professional intervention, these individuals risk being trapped in a cycle of silent suffering, their trauma buried alive, only to resurface in destructive ways.
“The Malaysian mindset often views seeking psychological help as a sign of weakness or something only for the severely mentally ill,” says a clinical psychologist. “But grief-induced trauma is not a weakness; it is a normal reaction to an abnormal event. When we avoid processing this trauma, it manifests in physical ailments, broken relationships and a life lived in the shadow of loss.”
The path to healing is arduous and non-linear but it must begin with one fundamental milestone: acceptance – the unequivocal acceptance that the loss is real, permanent and cannot be reversed. This is not a cold, intellectual acknowledgement but a deep, often brutal, emotional surrender.
You cannot navigate a terrain you refuse to acknowledge exists. Acceptance is not about being okay with the death; it is about stopping the exhausting internal fight against reality. Only when we stop shouting that this cannot be happening can we begin to ask: What now?
Slowly, a shift is occurring. A growing number of non-profit organisations and private mental health practitioners in urban centres are creating safe spaces for the bereaved. Online communities and moderated support groups are beginning to emerge, offering a platform for shared experience that was previously unavailable.
For those supporting a grieving person, the best strategy is often presence over prescription. Avoiding clichés like he is in a better place or be strong, instead of offering a simple, “I am here with you”, can be more powerful than any advice.
As a society, the conversation must move from the shadows into the light. The trauma that follows death is as natural as death itself.
Therefore, seeking help to address that trauma should be just as natural. Normalising grief, discussing end of life care openly and integrating psychological first aid into our community responses are essential steps.
Death, in its permanence, teaches us about the fragility and value of life. Learning to face its aftermath with compassion, support and professional understanding is not a sign of cultural decay but a marker of a mature, empathetic society. The goal is not to eliminate the pain of loss but to ensure no one has to bear it entirely alone.
As I pen this, on my late mother’s birthday, I am still coming to terms with her passing three years ago!
Dr Bhavani Krishna Iyer holds a doctorate in English literature. Her professional background encompasses teaching, journalism and public relations. She is currently pursuing a second master’s degree in counselling. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com