When tears can’t come the body takes notice
“ I don’t know how you do it, you didn’t cry once” replied my Aunt when everyone proceeded to wish their farewell to my late sister’s closed casket and give condolences to my mother and I while sitting in reserved front row seats. We had a small, private funeral for my late sister Sacha Charles on Friday November 28, 2025, 22 days after we learned from family liaison detective that my Sister was found dead.
I had suspected when an official missing persons report flooded the media that she was already dead given the circumstances I had already learned from the detectives at the police station. I thought it to be very uncharacteristic of my sister to go incognito and out of touch with her children. That is when that gut wave feeling showered me. Her children were her life and passion. It was truly a beautiful surprise to see her step into motherhood so naturally, a role that I had struggled with and discussed with her often. She dotted on her children, especially her second child whom she had a daughter with a mystery man I had heard about over 20 years ago. As fate had aligned and brought them together, she was madly in love and seemed to do everything and anything for him.
I was often perplexed by her choice in men, in particular her latest partner whom she shared a daughter with. I still had my reservations and I wasn’t sure why. He was descent with my family and we shared several dinners and holidays together. I simply thought she was in love and after over 20 years of friendship they had the opportunity to be together.
When we learned of her alleged murder by her partner on November 6, 2026, my mom and I sat on separate couches in her living room that Thursday late afternoon. We had arranged for the children to be out of the house as with the tragic situation they no longer had a mother or father and slated to live with my mother, their elderly grandmother. “ Sacha was found dead” the detective uttered. My mother and I looked at each other in disbelief, there was too much shock at the time to cry.
Photo by Volker Lauterbach
As the excruciating weeks leading up to her funeral went by, I took the reins on planning her funeral myself which was no easy task. From picking her wig and clothes to creating the playlists, devising the photo tribute slideshow to ordering catering and writing the eulogy it felt like there was no time to breathe. During that entire time I had surprised myself on multiple levels as I was unable to cry. Stuck in a freeze state the world went by normally while I was profusely crying inside. From insomnia to being afraid of the dark, losing my appetite and developing uncontrollable tremors - I still couldn’t cry. Everyday I walked aimlessly around and nothing appeared as it was, everything was dim, lithless and wished to have someone else’s life.
In many ways I felt I couldn’t cry because it seemed beyond grief, unfathomable in fact that my sister, my best friend was not only dead but murdered by her partner was arrested and in jail. My sense of safety and belonging shattered, my insides ripped out from me, I no longer recognized who I was. In an instant my life and my family’s life changed forever.
One of the hardest things to witness is a Mother who has lost their child to murder. This was a major disconnect that we had, she expressed her emotions and tears as a never ending fountain of sadness while I stood still as a stone statue stoic being drenched by it all. It took some time but I eventually realized that my demeanour and disconnect to emotion bode will for supporting my family through this senseless tragedy. Months passed by and with time it still did not get better but we learned to live with crippling grief.
I couldn’t go back to the life I had was the only thing I knew and one day I woke up and recognized one of my greatest strengths became holding space for my family tragedy. I had a thirst to learn as much as possible about death and grief. I knew there was more I could do to be of service and to learn how to communicate and educate. My family felt in a silo and there were many he stopped communicating with me and my sense was that our tragedy was a very uncomfortable situation for most. So thus began my journey in death care, it was certainly a deep rooted calling that took over my being.
The first step in fulfilling my calling was to undergo training as a death doula. I thought it an incredible precursor for beginning my studies months later as a class 1 funeral director and embalmer. I learned quickly that all facets of death care overlapped and discovered that I did not have to reject my part skills but that I could integrate it into a new holistic practice.
Cry.
I was fascinated by how different expressions of grief emerged, so much so that I delved into the cultural and ritual exploration of it. The practice of death wailing is used in funerals from Australia to Ireland. Many countries in fact practice this powerful way of expression in reverence and in honour to the deceased. The wailing is known to reverberate through the entire body and consists of moaning, crying or yelping. Accompanying the sounds they may beat their chests and sway in unison. All these actions in their entirety constitute a theatrical performance meant to ignite others to feel safe and comfortable to join in.
Across the world the wailing is carried out by professional mourners who are almost always women because of rigid gender stereotypes and is said to be the oldest profession. Countries that partake in this tradition include Uganda, aboriginal Australians, Ireland, the Philippines, south india, Egypt, China, Greece and Ghana.
Although this work is seen as taboo, it acts as a release valve for grief enabling mourners to access what is difficult to express. In exploring this ritual tradition and learning more about grief, what I’ve come to understand is there is no defined timeline or manner in which to grieve. It is a complex journey interwoven with life, it transforms us and whether we know it or not, we emerge stronger.
Photo by Volker Lauterbach
