The Melon Effect

 

 

I understand that the majority of my blog posts are largely centred around the more morose aspects of my life, so let me stand to reassure you from the beginning of this one that I am not at all sad. In fact, I am the happiest I have been in a very long time. I have just passed my first year of medical school, I am in a stable, happy relationship. My relatives and loved ones are all in good health. These are the things I am thankful for every day.

That said, writing has been an outlet for me specifically regarding my grief. I fear that this topic will continue to be discussable forever, for as long as I experience it, I will write about it to help myself. If the first two years after my mother’s death are any indication, you should expect many more blog posts. As a medical person, the entire psychological process behind grief and the grieving process as a whole fascinates me. Maybe you will regard this as a macabre fascination, but I have sat there for what seems like hours of my life, staring at ceilings at bed time, wondering why this emotion is so distinguishable from any other. Even sadness. A lot of people describe grief in ‘stages’. I’ve pioneered my own explanation of things. I call it, “The Melon Effect”. You may envisage any melon of your choosing.  I’ve gone for your bog standard honeydew for no other rationale other than I’ve just eaten a bloody lot of it on the holiday I’ve just been on. This may seem like a random post but it stemmed from the fact that prior to going on said holiday, I had only ever missed my mother in places that reminded me of her. How could it be that I went to a completely different country, a place that she had never been, and yet some days I still ached the same as I did in her bedroom? I was ashamed that I could still be so completely undone by it all two years on and in a foreign country to boot. This started the whole thinking process (with a large amount of frustration) all over again. Thus, the melon effect was born in the mind of a deliriously tired girl on an airplane.

 Firstly, when you prepare your melon, you take a (usually large but horrifically blunt, if it’s anything like my house), knife. The first grief in those few fragile days directly following death are a blow. A distinctive blow. However, it’s all a bit waxy (See where I’m going with this) and feels a bit contrived. Kind of like a melon skin, I guess.  “Yes, they’re dead”, you think to yourself and you nod because it’s all very definite. 

Then come the pips or the seeds. This is probably the most difficult stage I experienced for myself. It is the craggy underbelly of that first, poignant pain. You don’t know your arse from your elbow, whether you’re up or down or somewhere in the middle. It’s all a bit difficult to navigate and it takes careful precision. This is particularly true with regards to family members and friends. Why aren’t they grieving like I am? Why aren’t they as sad as me? Why is that friend who only knew my relative for a year so much sadder than me right now? What can you even do with this stage? It doesn’t make anyone feel better and no-one deals with the issue. This is the autopilot stage, the funeral arrangements. The bits that no-one really wants to do but we do diligently because it is a person’s last wish. We owe it to them to help them on their way from this life to the next in the best fashion possible. It is our job to respectfully divvy up jewellery, clothes, pictures to the correct recipient. Everyone knows you can’t eat the seeds, they just have to go. That said, seeds aren’t completely useless, are they? And just like that seed is a thing of promise and life, these tasks that you undertake with your family will power you through. They are the moments you will look back on in years to come and think, well didn’t we all pitch together well? Those tears you shed together looking at the photos, the stories told around the earrings or the necklaces will hold you together and give you a sense of purpose.
 

Then of course, comes the fruit pulp. This is the longest (and the mushiest) stage. This is where even your bones feel soft and heavy with the weight of holding it all together. Even when you feel like you might just be getting somewhere, you realise it’s all for nought and all it takes is a word or a memory to send you back into brain meltdown. But at the same time, it’s strangely refreshing. After wandering around like an android for the last number of days/weeks/months you are finally letting it all out.  Well, the first taster is refreshing. Then, also a bit like melon, when you experience too much of it all gets a bit sickly. This is your ‘go either way’ phase. You can choose to let your grief nibble away at you, to finally allow yourself to embrace your inner banshee. To sit down with all your memories (Good and bad) and excise all your demons. Or, you can resist. You can fight it and you can sit there and rot. With good support, I am here to tell you that you can indeed ride the waves of despair into some form of sanity again. It would be such a waste of melon to let it rot, wouldn’t it?

 And finally, there you are. The little melon carcass. You have the teeth marks in the remainder of that pulp you just couldn’t be bothered to attack. But eventually, the mush falls away and you are left with a thick skin. Unfortunately, you are also left with your post traumatic memories. Every now and again, little melon, you will be overcome by that unmistakeable hollow feeling (This is what started the whole melon analogy), that continuously reminds you of how far you have come and all you have lost. But with your thick skin comes a resilience you never knew you had. Eventually, that whole horrendous journey that felt like it split you into a million pieces and turned your insides out, becomes a memory. You will survive.

The point is, no-one rebuilds your melon. You cannot change what has been done. However, we all sit there after we’ve devoured one thinking “that was a lot of effort, but now I feel great”.  As well as all of that waffle above, the term ‘melon head’ is vaguely amusing and at the very least, if you are trying to work out whether you are at skin, pip or pulp stage, I hope it will bring a small smile to your face. 

Stay melony.