Grief can last a lifetime. Or a day. It depends on the person. Your grief is as unique as you are.
On this day, August 27, 2016, at the stroke of midnight, my uncle took his last breath as his heart finally gave out. His heart gave out, and my family's and my hearts (I apologize if this is improper grammar) were shattered into so many pieces we all wondered if we would ever recover.
And so, we began to grieve.
I did some research for this post, and I learned that grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It should be noted, though, that grief is not linear; you don't think of it as Level 1: Denial and so on. It's not Candy Crush or one of those other lovely games that you men spend hours playing. In the same way, sometimes grieving persons often report undergoing other stages besides the five stated. But as I said, your grief is as unique as you are.
As I stated earlier, grief has five stages. I'm going to give a brief description of each, along with how I remember passing through them. Though I didn't pass through all of them. But, leggo.
Stage 1: Denial
In this stage, life makes no sense. Did it really happen? Are they really gone?
....dis cya real. No way. No fucking way.
I found out my uncle had died by my mother's WhatsApp message. Four words that altered the course of my life.
"Jo, Uncle Gar gone."
My reaction was...what? What do you mean he's gone? Did he leave the hospital and not tell anyone, or... what do you mean he's gone? Because he couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. He was young and healthy. Young, healthy men aren't supposed to die, especially when they're my uncle and the backbone of the family.
Stage 2: Anger
The anger you feel will have no limits. You'll be angry at yourself, the circumstances of the person's death, God (whoever you perceive that to be), and even the person themselves for dying.
...how the fuck you fi dead lef me? You did fi live forever, you bumbohole, and yuh just up and dead. Pussyole.
Oh, I was angry. At the hospital, at myself, at the God of my family -- as in, "you fool people into thinking you actually exist and then shit like this happens and you don't fix it. You're useless."
I was angry for a long time, too. How dare he up and die the day before I was to have seen him again? How dare the hospital do what hospitals do and ignore him until he collapsed and died right there on the floor? How dare I stay alive after he died?
Stage 3: Bargaining
You try to strike a deal with God (whatever you perceive that to be), the universe, anything that could do the job, in order to get your person back. You'll give half your income to charity. You'll stop being such a vindictive cunt. You'll go to the place of worship as often as possible. You'll be a better person. Just give me my person back. I'll do anything. Just give them back to me.
This is the only stage I believe I skipped. I don't believe in any form of God besides it being an idea, so me bargaining with an idea just seemed weird, and I wasn't too far gone to try. I may have lost pieces of myself, but I sure didn't lose my pride.
Stage 4: Depression
Empty feelings present themselves, and grief manifests in your life on a deeper level than you could possibly imagine. This is the stage believed to last the longest.
NB: The depression stemming from grief is a normal, healthy response and should not be conflated with mental illness.
Considering that I've been struggling with depression since I was around 14, I thought that what I felt during the mourning process was just an extension of that. Maybe it was, I dunno. But I sank back into myself, pulled back from the vast majority of my friends. To be honest, I'm not sure I can properly articulate my journey through this stage, but I did write a few posts on milestone days like his birthday and August 27 last year.
Stage 5: Acceptance
This doesn't mean that you're okay with your person's death. What it means is that you've acknowledged that yes, the person is dead, and you'll have to learn to adjust to a reality without them. I think this is the most difficult stage.
--
I think, after two years, that it's time for me to end this book of grief that I've written. I won't ever publish it, but the fact remains that I've written it. I may go back and revisit sometimes, but I won't ever try to relive moments or edit chapters.
It's time for me to let go. It's what he would have wanted.
I won't forget him. In fact, I'll remember him in happier times and smile.
I'm all cried out, cursed out...I'm just all out.
Yes, he is dead. But I'm not. I need to remember that. He's dead, but I'm still alive.
