I’ve read a lot about the grieving process and the stages of grief. The model developed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross back in the 1960’s is still pretty widespread and accepted in griefology and grief counseling. This is the “Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance” rubric that someone pointed out sounds like a Jewish law firm. (It was a line in the movie “All That Jazz.”)
I’m not sure how to stage my grief according to this model. I don’t think staging my grief is a good idea anyway, as it would be sort of like forcing audiences to sit through a musical version of Sophie’s Choice or something equally depressing. (Not that I’m comparing my sitution to the Holocaust.) Or that documentary that came out a few years ago about Indonesia’s regime from the 1960’s, now grown old, acting out for the camera their mass killings while wearing drag or cowboy outfits. The Act of Killing. A must-see if you missed it, truly one of a kind.
My personal stages of grief, offered up with absolutely no peer review or scientific validity testing whatsoever, would be as follows:
STAGE ONE: You do, and do, and do. In Stage One, you organize the funeral, you notify relatives and friends, you prepare your house for all the company that’s coming, and shop and order platters of food. You write eulogies and give directions. You choose clothes and you get haircuts and manicures. You cancel deliveries of expensive medications and other supports. You have checklists and notes on your phone. You make sure there is something gluten-free and there are no nuts served. People tell you they can’t believe how strong you are.
STAGE TWO: Eating. What the Germans call Kummerspeck. During this stage, you stuff your face with as much food as possible and gain weight. Grieving takes energy, and also, you want to take the edge off and numb down those really bad crying jags with some carby sweets and treats. Your spouse does the same and you compare how big your grief guts are getting. Of course, you could be one of those annoying people who loses your appetite and takes a lot of weight off in the grieving process. If so, I simply have nothing for you.
STAGE THREE: Mental Whiplash. Throughout this stage, you will be ambushed by irrational thoughts popping into your mind, like “When [loved one] comes home, we will [insert activity here],” or “It’s 7:30, time to start [loved one’s] [dinner/toilette/trombone lesson]” before your rational mind instantly whiplashes you back to the cold reality of your loved one’s death and permanent absence. It’s a lot of fun and makes you feel crazy and more depressed than ever.
STAGE FOUR: Crying in the Grocery Store. And the Dog Park. And the Car, and the Dentist, and the Nail Salon, and…you get the picture. Pass the Kleenex. One of the other hallmarks of Stage Four is Waking Up Screaming At People In Your Dreams, which adds to the angst of the experience.
STAGE FIVE: I’m not sure if I’m there yet. Stage Five means some good days where Max and I are excited about our upcoming trip to the UK and I can feel pretty serene, but the bubble can be burst pretty easily. Something will remind us of Sarah and we’ll have a little cry. Last night I had the hiccups and we remembered how funny Sarah always found that, as if I were performing physical comedy just for her. We are very easily triggered. But I tried to remind myself that it had been a pretty okay day up until then, without a lot of crying and “Where-Is-Sarah” perseveration. I slept pretty well last night. That’s good enough. Maybe Stage Five is “some good days?”
The First Year Without Sarah 