Stage Fright

Thirty plus years ago, I remember diligently studying the Kubler-Ross, Stages of Dying. People seem to like stages. They suggest a distinct time frame for a particular sequence of events and tend to provide an orderly progression that people can understand easily. Lots of things come in stages, like baby food, diapers, dating, marriage, pregnancy, relationships, and life. Somewhere along the way it was discovered that people who are dying go through stages too; and it would follow that those grieving a death would also go through some similar stages as well. The problem with death, dying, loss and grief is it is not orderly or uniform. It is very individual and "stages" do not allow for us to be human. The problem with stages for grieving is people want you to get through them as quickly as possible so discomfiture is limited for all concerned. Another problem with defined stages for grief is if you do not progress through the stages in the proper order and in a timely manner, people began to think something is seriously wrong and perhaps horror of all horrors; you have become "stuck" in your grief. These stages put a lot of pressure on a person to conform to these "expected" mile markers along the way. Fortunately in recent years, new research data and studies on grief and the people who are grieving have been forthcoming. (And I should say that after thirty years, it's about time!) It is now more widely accepted and understood that everyone does not need to go through any or all of these stages and there is certainly no proper order or time frame for a person to work through their grief.

Grief is a journey. There is no finite end point to grief that will result in the old you returning as if nothing ever happened. There is no magical formula that will "heal" a person who is grieving. There is no road map to "get over it" mountain or the "I'm all better now" resort.

Losing Nickolas has been the single most painful and devastating experience of my life. Why wouldn't I be forever changed by something this traumatic and horrible? Why must I work so hard to help people to understand that? This wound is invisible to others, but I am in a world of hurt every day. Can I die of a broken heart? How broken do I have to be? My grief is all I have right now. My grief is a tangible reminder that my sweet boy is gone FOREVER. Don't try to take it away from me. I won't allow my grief to be pigeon-holed into stages so everyone can breathe a sigh of relief when I am "done." I will never stop grieving for my son. So I guess I am stuck in my grief and I don't give a damn. I have all I can do to stay upright and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Call me angry and I'll deny it!

The Five Stages of Grief by Linda Pastan

The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief
Go that way, they said,
it's easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast---
you sat there. I passed
you the paper---you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed so familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in detective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
he died of it.
After a year I am still climbing, though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green is a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance
its name is in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I've ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop that, night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
~Thomas Moore