Stages

I thought that the 'stages of grief' were like train stations: you approach, you spend time there, then you pull away and leave it behind. Turns out these stages are not nearly so predictably or sequentially arranged, and like anything, the experience is entirely personal.

Though there are different models, the general understanding of grief is that we pass through: denial; anger; bargaining; depression; acceptance. These are met not necessarily in order, and not necessarily only once. I find myself cycling through them randomly and varyingly depending on my own mental state and the latest news. Denial is a frequent companion...he and I have become very close. I know that my dad is very sick; I feel it with my hands when I touch his poor, frail body. But I hope for healing - I hear in his voice that he doesn't want to leave us, though he is preparing us, the house, the car, and himself for him not being here anymore. I love him so for being so concerned for us - particularly mom - that even now he is concerned about details like water filters.

And that leads me to anger. Such a man, such a fighter, a worrier, a provider...he has so much to give us - his wife, his daughters, grandchildren and friends... why does he have to go now? What will we do without him? I'm angry at God. It doesn't make sense, because at the same time I am a person of faith. I know that God loves us, that He loves my dad, and even though we are losing my dad's physical presence, he will be waiting for us in heaven, and there he will be without pain. He will once again be the strong and vibrant, funny man I now mourn, and more than that, he will be glorified. That is God's promise, that is what the Cross paid for.

I haven't done any bargaining, but I do feel guilt. I am guilty of wanting my dad here with me, of not wanting to let him go, of being willing to forfeit his eternal rest now, for my own sake. I am guilty of not surrendering my own desire, of not trusting God's mercy enough to be at peace. I am guilty of fear. What will become of me without my dad to look out for me? Horribly, I am also guilty of having days when I forget to be sad, and I act as if life is normal again.

Depression? Yes, there is that, too. Days of fatigue, of inability to think clearly or make decisions. It can feel like nothing matters. Then it lifts like a fog and I get my bearings, and am able to navigate life for a while. It's a glimplse of the other side, when we're in a place we can say "remember...?" and that after-time is normal.

There hasn't been a great deal of acceptance yet. Not deep down and lasting, anyway. I have the occasional mental ability to accept that Pop's death is a reality but I have developed the knack of keeping it in the realm of Frodo leaving Middle Earth for the Undying Lands: it's unbearably sad, but as much as it hurts, it isn't really true. And isn't that strange, considering everything I've written above? It must be real to me on some level, or I wouldn't be grieving. Not even I cry everyday over poor Frodo.

So, I'm not on a train: I'm grieving. It's not logical, it doesn't really make sense. If it manifested physically, what I'm experiencing would look like Pig Pen's cloud: it's always with me, and it's a confused tangle. I pray that God's grace and mercy will carry us through this. I pray for my dad to have a holy death. I pray for Jesus to guide him safely home, and I ask for the gift of one day being with him in eternal life.