Grief is not a straight line, nor is it a process that moves forward in predictable steps. Rather, it’s more like a wave—rising and falling with its own rhythm, sometimes calm and sometimes crashing down unexpectedly.

Many of us have been led to believe in the concept of “closure,” as if there’s a point where we finish grieving and move on. But closure, in the context of loss, is more of a myth than a reality. Grief isn’t a business deal you can close, nor a journey with a clear destination. It’s a part of life that ebbs and flows, often when we least expect it.

Selmor Mtukudzi, daughter of the legendary Zimbabwean musician Oliver Mtukudzi, embodies this truth. Her experience of grief highlights the complexity and depth of mourning a loved one, particularly when the grief is tied to unresolved family dynamics and public expectations.

When Selmor took the stage at the Oliver Mtukudzi International Festival of the Arts, performing at the Pakare Paye Arts Centre—a stage built by her father—it was the first time in seven years that she had been allowed to perform there.

Those seven years were filled with bottled-up grief, emotions held back, and perhaps a yearning for resolution that never came.
Grief isn’t just about missing someone; it’s also about the unresolved feelings that linger long after the loved one has passed.

For Selmor, it wasn’t just about mourning her father; it was about mourning the loss of connection, of opportunities denied, and of relationships left broken.

Performing her father’s soul-searching song Changu Chii was more than a tribute—it was a plea, an outpouring of all the unspoken emotions she had buried for years.
As she stood on that stage, Selmor reflected on her father’s legacy, thanking him for creating a platform like Pakare Paye, but also lamenting that the dreams he had for his family weren’t being realized. In front of a large audience, she asked, “Kusvika rinhi muchindirwira? Ndosvika rinhi ndisingakwanise kuita semwana waMtukudzi?” (“Until when will I be hindered? Until when will I not be able to live as Mtukudzi’s child?”) It was a public acknowledgment of the deep familial rift that had overshadowed her grief—an open wound in her heart.

Grief, like the sea, can appear calm on the surface, but underneath there are strong undercurrents, ready to surge up with the slightest change in emotional winds.

For Selmor, performing on that stage was like navigating the rough waters of her grief. On the outside, she had carried on for years, but standing in the place her father built, the emotions she had repressed for so long came rushing to the surface. The stage became a place not only of performance but also of catharsis—a place where she could no longer suppress the tidal wave of pain that had been building inside her.

When we lose a loved one, especially someone who played a central role in our lives, the grief can become intertwined with other unresolved issues—things left unsaid, conflicts never resolved. For Selmor, the situation was even more complex because her stepmother, Daisy Mtukudzi, had barred her from the very place that represented her father’s legacy. These family dynamics, full of tension and exclusion, only deepened her grief. It wasn’t just her father she was mourning; it was also the relationship she might have had with him if things had been different.

Social media buzzed with reactions to Selmor’s emotional breakdown on stage. People had their own interpretations, opinions, and judgments about her public display of vulnerability. But what many failed to understand is that grief is not something that can be controlled or timed. It can come crashing in at the most unexpected moments—just like a wave that appears out of nowhere on a calm sea.

Grief is a deeply personal experience, and it often resurfaces in the places and moments we least anticipate. For Selmor, it was standing on the stage her father built—a place that should have been full of joyful memories but had instead become a symbol of her exclusion and pain.

Her performance that day was not just an act of artistic expression; it was a release of the emotional weight she had carried for so long.
At its core, grief is not something that can be resolved or “fixed.” It is something we carry with us, and though time may soften its edges, it never fully disappears.

There may be days when the sea of grief is calm, and other days when the waves come crashing in. For Selmor, standing on that stage, the wave of grief crashed down hard, reminding us all that grieving is a continuous process—not a linear one, but one filled with moments of quiet reflection and unexpected emotional storms.

We may think we have crossed the mythical line of closure, but the reality is that grief never truly ends. It becomes part of who we are, shaping us, challenging us, and sometimes catching us off guard.

Like Selmor, we all have moments when the emotions we thought we had buried rise up, reminding us that grief is a journey without a final destination—an ocean of memories, pain, and love that we will continue to navigate for the rest of our lives.

Brilliant Pongo has written on Grief one of his books that addresses the topic of closure in grief is available on Amazon

“Closure” in grief a mythical finish line.