‘Alone in sadness’: MasterChef’s Mel Leong on ‘coping with loss’

Notoriously private MasterChef judge Melissa Leong has opened up about grief, following the shock death of her co-star Jock Zonfrillo.

I’ve been struggling to find the words to write this instalment of my column, and not because I don’t have thousands of thoughts constantly running through my head, especially and frustratingly, at 3am. It’s that the only way I know how to write this thing is to draw from my life – and to be unflinchingly honest with you in my observation of it.

By now you’ll have heard of the unexpected passing of my friend and MasterChef colleague Jock Zonfrillo.

I’m going to be clear and say that this piece will not be about him; it’s too soon, too private and too raw to address publicly right now – nor is it my place. Having said that, this piece is about grief. Whether that’s the end of a marriage, a friendship or a life.

In my life, I have had the unfortunate courtesy of being old friends with this most enveloping of emotions. I’m versed in being caught in its rip-tide, engulfed by waves, feeling unable to find the surface or the ground, to come up for air.

Melissa Leong, centre, with the late Jock Zonfrillo (far left) and MasterChef Australia co-star Andy Allen, far right. Picture: Supplied

I have sat with grief alone in cold Tasmanian fields surrounded by the sound of whipping wind and distant sheep; on planes, where there is nowhere to turn; and shivering on the linoleum floors of clinical environments feeling utterly helpless.

Sitting alone in my house and in sadness as I attempt to articulate some of my thoughts, I can tell you it is indeed a strange experience for someone who usually writes from the crystal-clear perspective of hindsight, but here goes …

Firstly, we all deal with loss differently, and we need to honour that. People talk about the various stages of shock, disbelief, anger, bargaining and acceptance, and while that much is probably true, everyone deals with these exceptional times differently, and at different speeds. As you navigate reaching out to someone who’s grieving, know that a message of support left unread isn’t the recipient rejecting you – sometimes the deluge of support can be more than one can bear. And what people bear can be a lot, because grief often stirs up remnants of other loss, compounding it into something that feels insurmountable.

While some go to pieces, others go to work, finding momentum to cope. This isn’t because they aren’t feeling, it’s because sometimes focusing on tasks is a way to find purpose in an impossible situation.

Read Melissa Leong’s full column in Stellar. Picture: Stellar

Some people need to talk in order to process emotions, while others take more time to find the words, if they can at all. Some people need to be with people, while others need time alone to stare at a wall, clean incessantly or sleep.

There is no right or wrong way to be in these moments, just what is true to you. And whether you’re the person going through it, or the friend on the sidelines feeling helpless, be kind and try not to take things personally.

The passing of someone from life is a powerfully shared experience. Even more so when that person lived a huge life and touched the lives of many.

In their passing, a community struggles to come to terms with saying goodbye. Outside of immediate family and “framily” (friends who are like family) members, whose privacy and consideration are paramount, grief is beautifully democratic.

We must look outwards as well as inwards when it comes to our experience, checking in on the people in our lives who are also coping with loss.

This can help to alleviate a little personal pain, reminding ourselves that no human is an island. You know I’m a feeder by nature, so this one should come as no surprise to you. Whether it’s you or someone you’re caring for, you need to eat and hydrate. Shock does many things to the body; we ostensibly go into fight or flight mode, which means that nourishment is the last thing on our minds. But comfort food is called that for a reason, and it does help. For me, it’s congee, chicken soup, a bowl of pasta. Simple soul food helps soothe the nerves and allows us to continue to function, which is crucial.

And if you’re struggling to find a way to support a friend, cooking or bringing food can often be a welcome act of love.

Once, many years ago, as I sat catatonic in bed, a chef mate came over with a curry and rice, all vacuum-sealed in bags (because, chef). Each bag had a piece of masking tape with instructions written in a Sharpie pen. On the rice bag, the words read: Swallow your Asian pride and microwave me.

It was the first smile I cracked in a week, and the nourishment of that meal on all fronts will never be forgotten. A friend who lost her father recently reminded me that we must sit in grief and joy at the same time.

To feel grief is to know that the one we lost meant something important to us. This emotion is maligned as negative because something sad has happened to open the door to it. But what we feel in grief is proportionate to the joy and light that person gave you – a bittersweet reminder that in life, as we connect to each other, the more that’s given, the greater the loss is felt.

In its own way, grief is a poignant tugging at the heart to remind us that we are alive, that we are human – and to be human is to feel. I’m no expert on the meaning of life, but surely part of it lives in this.

Melissa Leong is a judge on MasterChef Australia on Network 10. Read Melissa Leong’s full column in Stellar, out today.

For more from Stellar listen to the podcast, Something To Talk About, below or wherever you get your podcasts.

Originally published as ‘Alone in sadness’: MasterChef’s Mel Leong on ‘coping with loss’