In line with my love of stories and reading, I wanted to share a post that I wrote about grief on another blog. It shares a stronger glimpse into me and my passion for books.
The Kubler-Ross Model, commonly known as the Five Stages of Grief, breaks down feelings into five precise categories after someone suffers a loss. I know there are many more documents and articles on this subject that give acknowledgement to even seven different stages, but the five most commonly reported stages include:
Denial: “I feel fine,” “This can’t be happening, not to me.”
Anger: “Why me? It’s not fair!” “Who is to blame?”
Bargaining: “I’ll do anything for a few more years.”
Depression: “I’m so sad, why bother with anything.” “I miss my loved one, why go on?”
Acceptance: “It’s going to be okay.”
I have been feeling the words to this post for many months. My mother passed away four months ago and I have been wanting to put into words the way that I have truly felt. For some people, these five steps may be what they truly feel, and they may go in that very precise and organized fashion, but for me, I feel many feelings, in waves, like a cyclone. There is nothing organized from day-to-day for me, and I don’t feel that I will ever reach a stage of acceptance-at least not as is stated here.
My mother was ill and I knew that I would one day lose her, but I truly felt like I had a lot more time. I didn’t, it came unexpectedly and unfairly for me; and this is how I truly feel, did feel, and still feel. The adult in me, does realize that it is a blessing for her. Her blessing, not mine. I know she is no longer in pain and I know that for many years she made decisions to stay for her family, for me, for my daughter. I know this, and understand, but I am not the blessed one.
I find myself spending most of my time in the anger stage. Who is to blame, oddly enough, I don’t blame God or someone else, I feel anger toward my mother. Knowing she did nothing wrong, but I still need her. I need her to help me bring my unborn child into the world. I need her to make my daughter laugh, and I need to be able to call her, whenever, and receive her sound pieces of advice. Miranda Lambert has a song right now, that says, “But you went away, How dare you? I miss you. They say I’ll be okay. But I’m not going to, ever get over you.” That is my heart song to my mother. I love her deeply, but I was 29, pregnant, and I still needed my mom.
I don’t think I do much bargaining. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time, to see her, or do things that I wish I would have done. But in my adult heart, I do realize her blessing, and because I love her so much, I never would ask that she have to return to a life of pain. Somewhere in my soul I know that my mother is suffering in a new way now, because I feel that she misses me too. I think she misses my daughter. How could she not. There has to be some longing on her part as well, to be able to make me know things she also wished she could say. If there were anyway I feel she would bargain herself to be there for me to bring my son into the world. I know she is around, and I will share stories as they come, but I know she would bargain, so I will let her do that for me-knowing, neither one of us, would ever get it right. This does not make me a saint, or unselfish. Refer to the song No More Pain by Point of Grace. I just had some understanding of what she went through.
I do feel depression, and this like everything else comes in waves. Mothers Day was the hardest for me, because it was also her birthday. I find that I confine myself to the depths of a book or novel when I am really sad. If I do this I don’t have to think about her, and miss her. I know it isn’t fair to me, or to my family, but I would sometimes rather just hide for a while. It also creeps up on me out of nowhere. When I hear a song, or see something that reminds me of her, or when I am filled with the need to pick up the phone and call her. It is a deep and overwhelming depression, but mostly I just feel sad. I am not sure in these five stages, where the “sadness” is. I feel this more than anything. I just miss her. I’m sad for the memories I will never make, and that I miss the ones I have. I took a lot of pictures, and for that I am very grateful, but they still aren’t the same is being able to smell her exotic tea tree oil, or the smell of E6000 glue when she would craft. I have her hats that she made for me and my daughter, but I miss the feel of her hands when she hugged me, or held my face to tell me I was loved. Maybe for me, depression is sadness and it floats around me like a cloud. I miss her everyday, I love her, and I still sometimes find myself wondering if it is real. When I pick up the phone to call and tell her something, and realize there is nobody on the other end of the line, I feel sad, I long for her, and I love her.
I am not sure about this whole acceptance piece. I guess sure, I realize she isn’t coming back, but it doesn’t mean I like it so I get stuck in the other areas over and over again. In the book To Heaven and Back by Mary Neal she says, (much more eloquently I am sure) that when a person suffers a true loss, it is not something that they will ever “work through” or “get over. Instead, you just learn to work the new pain into your life and your future. Maybe that is where the sadness kicks in. In my personal cyclone it would be here.
These feelings swirl about me sometimes daily, sometimes weekly and I find myself realizing that is my new world. My mother is gone. Her memory remains but the tangible piece that is her, that I need in my life, will never be there again. It isn’t fair to me, but because I love my mom so much, I am happy for her blessing. As an adult I feel that, but the child inside me still screams, “I want my mommy.”
