I feel uncomfortable. As I examine the "5 stages of grief," attempting to make sense of the way I feel, I can't help but think that it's a little presumptuous that this Kubler-Ross person claims to understand MY feelings/reactions after losing MY friend - and then boldly outlines MY feelings in such a simple, easy to learn model. The 5 stages of grief are even accompanied by a helpful acronym (DABDA - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance). Today I feel "Uncomfortable." Where's that one, Kubler-Ross? Sure, I definitely felt DABDA after Holowaty's death. I am starting to feel acceptance, from time-to-time, especially with the latest news that his best friend, Kyle, is a new father to a healthy baby boy! It's comforting to know that new life is being created. Life does go on. But today, I feel extreme discomfort. As we pack up the cabin and prepare to leave Candle Lake behind for another summer, I can't help but feel that we're leaving Holowaty behind as well.
Our friendship with Holowaty was unique. Although we didn't necessarily see him regularly, he always had a way of keeping in touch, letting us know that he was thinking of us. Whether it was via text, "Werkin today r u serfin?" or e-mail - my personal fav, "IN F'N BALI. IT'S F'N AWESOME. U SHOULD F'N BE HERE!"(He loved his f-bombs!) He always had a way of making you feel like you were an important part of his life. Holowaty's visits were also always memorable. Like a summer storm, Holowaty would blow in and blow out, sometimes on his skateboard, sometimes on his boat, sometimes on his unicycle (my fav - wearing a speedo whilst on his unicycle). He'd come in with such a force, tell us some fantastic story, and blow out again, leaving Ev and I grinning from ear to ear, wondering what the h just happened. Man, do we ever miss those visits. Since Ryan's death, I feel somewhat comforted by his "presence" here at Candle Lake. Although I'm not a particularly spiritual person, I can feel him with us all the time - whether it's while we're sitting around the campfire, marvelling at the northern lights (you should have SEEN the lights "dance" the night before his funeral!), ALMOST landing a 360 on the wakesurf (I can hear his high-pitched excited girly squeal!), or watching one of his best friends, Jamie Chester perform Pearl Jam at the lounge (Holowaty LOVED LOVED LOVED watching/participating while Jamie performed!), he's here. I can feel him. So...I don't want to leave. I don't want summer to be over. I'm not ready to say goodbye. It makes me uncomfortable. The practical side of me says that Holowaty is no longer physically present at Candle Lake. Although I can look out my window, see the islands, and feel comforted knowing that his ashes are now resting in his favorite place, the reality is that he's not wakesurfing in front of our house. That's not the sound of his unicycle on our driveway. That's not his curly fro seated front row center at Jamie's concert. He's now a "presence" and his "presence" can follow me wherever I go. So, I guess I'll take comfort in that. What else can I do? Maybe he'll want to join me longboarding tomorrow. I'm lacking a little speed - in true Holowaty style, maybe he'll blow in and blow out and give me a little push along the way.
I remember thinking about the kubler-ross stuff after my brother died, thinking the same thing. I think it gives those who have no experience with death a model to help others experience their grief. It's a tool that's better than nothing, but at the same time, it's a two-dimensional solution to a three-dimensional (or, if you're up on your Einstein, a four-dimensional) problem.
ReplyDeleteWhat made sense to me was thinking of grief as the process of getting used to somebody who used to be a part of your life no longer being there. It starts off sucking ultra large, because you're so used to them being there. As the years go on, gradually, you get more used to them not being there, and it starts to suck less.
I felt somewhat confused too, about this myth that one day I'll have completely processed his death and be "over" his death. Like, one day it won't suck anymore. That's exactly what I said it is -- a myth. It'll never not suck. Some days it'll suck more than others. Yesterday was the anniversary of his death, and I found myself reliving things. Other days it might never occur to me that I don't have a brother anymore, and it sucks less on those days.
I think the one thing that kubler-ross gets right is that we have to give ourselves permission to experience our grief, in whatever form it takes. Fighting it won't make it go away, it just means there's gonna be more to deal with later when it comes up again. It's been years now since I've lost my brother and I still get misty sometimes. Pretending it's allergies doesn't make me stronger. When my grief controls my life by making my own emotions my enemy, that makes me weaker. Allowing myself to feel, to keep my memories, to reserve those days on my calendar when I know things are going to suck, that makes me stronger, because it teaches me that I really am able to handle this.