It's been 40 years since I lost my brother in the Air India bombing. Here's what I've learned about grief

Ours is a high society focussed on chasing felicity. We escort it on the billboards that assure us joy in a beer bottle, faster car or better cell phone plan. We hear it on the radio in the light banter between songs.

Because grief has shaped my life, I've observed that to grieve for longer than what is considered "normal" is taboo in this environment.

I had a happy childhood as the middle child between my older sister, Sudha, and younger brother, Sharad. Sharad was my sidekick and partner in crime, always ready for a bike ride, a trip to the pool or to hang out and watch after-school specials on TV. We were the best of friends — more so after we immigrated from India to Canada in 1980.

On June 23, 1985, Sharad was flying to India for the summer holidays. He never made it. The plane he was on — Air India Flight 182 — was blown out of the sky when a bomb hidden in a suitcase exploded, killing all the passengers on board. He was just 16.

We never recovered Sharad's remains or any evidence of him being on the plane. He vanished into the sea, making his death feel like a cruel joke. 

Rationally we knew he was gone and adapted our Hindu death rituals as best we could. But emotionally we rode a turbulent wave.

Over the summer of 1985, we were held in the warm embrace of friends and family in India who offered us their condolences and shoulders to cry on. Two months later, we were back in Canada to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives.

The happy cocoon of my family no longer existed. My parents became shells of their former selves. Sharad's absence permeated everything. There were daily reminders that he should be with us but wasn't. Like the five enormous boxes of cornflakes that he would have consumed in a couple of weeks that stared back at us from the pantry for almost a year. 

My sister and I focused on helping our parents cope and made an unspoken pact never to cause them any further pain.

My plans to go away to university changed. Instead I'd go to school close to home;  the idea of separating from our parents was too hard. My sister and I got degrees and went to work. She took it upon herself to support my parents financially as my mother was never able to return to full-time employment.

To look at us from the outside, my sister and I were "succeeding in life," but I felt our hearts were broken and minds numbed with pain.

In the early days we had many friends and family offer us their support. Over the years it became harder to share how our grief was compounded by the lack of justice in the bombing of Air India Flight 182 — the botched investigation, the court case that only convicted the least important person in the criminal scheme and the subsequent inquiry that revealed how this was allowed to happen. To top it off there was almost total collective amnesia that the Air India bombing — the deadliest terror attack in Canada —  ever happened.

Two suitcases: Anatomy of the Air India bombing | FULL DOCUMENTARY

Popular culture says there are stages of grief and ultimately there is closure. In my experience, that is a fallacy. I had to learn to accommodate my grief in an ongoing way.

In the first 15 years, I compartmentalized it, but it would trip me up like a bump in the carpet that I kept forgetting was there. I coped until I couldn't and was diagnosed with depression. Only then did I start therapy to unpack my grief and make a truce with it.

Now I know grief lives within me and always will. I recognize when it takes hold of me and I allow it the grace to do so. It has days when it unexpectedly hits me like a gut punch and other days when it breathes quietly in the background.

As I go through life I often recognize other people who are also grieving, even if they are not aware of it. Grief is agnostic about the source. It could be the death of a loved one that triggers it, or it could be the loss of something else you were attached to — a pet or a job or a friendship.

I've learned that grief cannot be rushed. Watching someone succumb to a long period of grieving is difficult to witness. But if you want to support them, then let them know they are not alone in small gestures with big impact

Share a cup of tea or a walk. Reminisce about the person they lost. Sit in silence if that's what they need. I have deep gratitude for the many acts of kindness and empathy that pierced through my anguish. Without the friends and family who stood by me for the last 40 years, I wouldn't be here with the fortitude to share my story. 

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Producer

Sujata Berry is a radio producer based in Toronto. She has more than 25 years of broadcasting experience in news and current affairs with expertise in radio and television storytelling.

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