The Stages of Grief

I was in Ohio when Philip died, had the privilege of being able to say goodbye to my heart.  And, because I was in Ohio, before I returned to California, I went to see Lynn, another piece of my heart.  

Philip has been my friend since I was 14; Lynn has been my friend since I was 19.  It was to Lynn I turned, in an effort to process the huge loss.  She's been through this, come out the other side intact.  

Intact.  That was something I didn't think I'd ever have again.

So I read the Stages of Grief, we talked, and I got on the plane to return to California.  Wrote about Philip; several things about Philip.  Found him everywhere, pieces and parts I thought gone.  And I thought I was okay.

Sure, I had a few bad nights, but for the most part, I was fine.

Liar, me.

I was anything BUT fine.  However, so long as I didn't cry every night, could sleep at last, all was well and all manner of things was well.  And then came Friday night ... dinner with a friend, a man I've known for about three years now.  Great cook, smart man, fabulous house.  Everything earmarked for enjoyment ... even down to the sparkling fireworks show offered by the park outside his neighborhood.

Except that something triggered me, and I felt the need to talk about Philip.  Before I knew what was happening, tears were slipping down my cheeks.  All the weeks I'd judiciously not talked about Philip disappeared, and the pain was fresh, raw.  Waiting, just for me.

Like the bandaid that gets ripped off before the wound is healed, the damage in the tearing seems worse than when the hurt was first incurred.

Having conveniently blocked out the depth of my pain when my dad died in 1990, I was unprepared for the sheer weight of this grief.  Unprepared to become undone.


For three nights, I sat up and cried.  No, I sat up and keened - where my very soul itself seemed to be wailing.  I finally understood the grief so huge it causes one to harm themselves, simply to purge one's system, get the poison out.


This morning, when I woke up, it was as if the world had shifted, and the poles were once again in alignment.  


As with my father, not a day will pass that Philip isn't a part of, in one fashion or another.  But, as with my father, the grief is quiet, calm.


For now.


And that's good enough for me.