Mito M. Boy

For Hospice Class
The Harley School

Grieving
The stages of grieving?

I have done a lot of grieving in my life. I have grieved over the loss of my first dog. It was I who decided to put her to sleep. I have grieved over moving from my first home of thirteen years. No, I wasn’t grieving then. I was very excited about moving. Leaving my old life and starting my new life. The new me who would live the new life. But it did not turn out as I had expected, so I grieved over the loss of my first life. I did a lot of grieving from ages 13 to 17. Mostly for myself. Is that grieving? The loss of confidence and optimism and hope?

And I grieved tremendously over the loss of my dad. My champion, who believed in me. What was I grieving? My loss of his presence in my life? My loss of the bond between us? Is grieving all about my losses”? Is grieving about those left behind?

And there were “lesser” deaths—ones that did not diminish me.

“Any man's death diminishes me, because
I am involved in Mankind; And therefore
never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee.”
John Donne

John Donne’s diminishing is for the anticipated loss of our own lives--as we must all leave this life. Leave others behind.

But an individual’s diminishment after death is not the possibility of future pain; it is ever-present punishing pain. It is visceral. It is unplanned, emotional expression and physically exhausting. Grief is a rude visitor arriving at the oddest times with only a hint of invitation or expectation. Yes, he is supposed to show up after death, but often you are in no way prepared for how deeply insidious his presence is. And for how he lingers.

Before Jack died, we both grieved at our cruelly diminished prospects, but we turned our energies into attacking the disease and attending to daily living. It was both sweet and tenuous. Keeping grief at bay.

But as things progressed and we fell behind in our mission and I knew as Jack did not want to believe that our lives were taking another turn down a darker narrower path, then grief was a more frequent shadow hovering nearby. I however had the blessed opportunity to serve. It was not grief. There is no place for grief really at this point as you have a calling to concentrate on giving comfort. Choice is not involved. I was given a gift.

But then it ends. The luxury of time slowed to days, hours, moments, breaths ends.

Here now is the flurry of activity as traditions demands rites and ceremony. In my case it was wonderful. A final chance to make a mark to show that my Jack was a wonderful human being. To honor him.

Then the lonely journey begins. Details swirl around as Mr. Grief shows up routinely to drive you mad. To remind you of what has been ripped out of your heart. Of how fragile you are now. How incomplete. How weak. Practically a brainless shell. Incompetent.

However, life demands forward movement. So, you put one foot in front of the other, you dress, you show up, you look for bright spots around you. You don’t really care. Well, you care, but not in a controlling sort of way. More of a along–for-the-ride sort of way. And if you are lucky, you make fun of grief. You pick on him. You kick him around a bit, banish him for hours at a time. And when he is absent and when you see the daylight and can think all at the same time, you try to plan a little future for yourself.

And then the details of life grab you again and bring you somewhere else. Perhaps it’s forward—plan a party, buy eggs and milk or maybe it’s only sideways for the moment—do some work, did I pay the bills? or even backwards—I think I’ll read all day or run away to Paris.

The stages of grief. I wouldn’t know. They come and go, they paralyze, they squeeze you so hard you think you will die and you know you are alive. I think they get fewer and farther between. And that’s the best you can do. Grieving and leaving.

Respectfully submitted,
Sam