Emotional Roller-Coaster
The last week or so I’ve been in a strange emotional space. I think I’m in a phase of “acceptance”, as in, the well-known stages of grief and loss. 1) Denial and isolation; 2) Anger; 3) Bargaining; 4) Depression and 5) Acceptance. Those.
Except I don’t think my journey is really all that linear, I’m not done with depression. It feels more like an emotional roller-coaster.
Okay, only some days does it feel like the car is on fire. Or some hours. Each day, it’s a new ride.
On a more serious note, here’s another interpretation of the stages of grief that resonates more strongly with me:
You can almost imagine the rollercoaster car running up and down the curve. I find myself most recently vacillating from fear to hope:
Fear: I can’t imagine a life without my dad, I don’t know how I’ll get on.
Disorganization: Let’s just say there’s been some issues with me staying on top of my car insurance...
Depression: Some days, some hours, I can’t face the world, I don’t want to leave my bed.
“Re-entry” Troubles: At times I find it hard to engage with people in a day-to-day capacity. Some things just seem so trivial now.
New Patterns: I’ve been taking a lot of time for self care: working out, writing, therapy.
Hope: This period has been unequivocally the most agonizing time I’ve ever gone through, but I’ve been taking the time to evaluate who and what is important to me, and what my values are (vs. what I think they are). I feel like I’ve been gifted a chance to figure out what I want my life to look like going forward - and I’m excited, which feels really strange to admit. Amid this awful time of loss and sadness, I’m somehow moving towards something good. I actually hold a lot of gratitude for this opportunity.
I think I’ve gotten to this place in the past few weeks because I’ve spent so much time thinking about death and loss, wrestling with hard subjects, and living in my grief when it comes up.
I read this collection of essays called “Western Attitudes Toward Death: From the Middle Ages to the Present” by Philippe Ariès. The essays trace, from a sociological perspective, the attitudes of western society towards death through time from the Middle Ages to present day. In short, there used to be a familiarity with death, and a public, collective, grieving experience that strikes a stark contrast to today “where death is so frightful that we dare not utter its name”. We grieve in solitude.
The familiarity with death makes sense - people died all the time at younger ages, and you would be lucky to make it to age 50. Side note: This may be why, at the age of 34, doctors now refer to my eggs as geriatric, although that does not lessen the sting of the label.
The more I thought about it, I realized people still die all the time. My list of people I know who have lost parents “too soon”, or at an early age, continues to grow - the list isn’t short. But my list has expanded, I’ve started to also take note of all the people in my life who have lost siblings, children, other family and friends. It’s everyone. While it sounds cold, I find that the Middle Ages attitude of familiarity and openness about death resonates as I try to prepare myself for the loss of my father - this is part of the circle of life, parents die, everyone dies. I’ve found peace in the inevitable, for what my dad’s prognosis means.
As I review my list of people who have lost loved ones, I’ve taken note that everyone is okay; they are fine, if not thriving. So I know I will be fine, and I know I will be better than fine.
Sheryl Sandberg covers this excellently in her book, Option B, where there are people who have suffered can bounce forward. She calls this evolution Post Traumatic Growth, and it takes a variety of forms: new sense of perspective, new appreciation for things/gratitude, stronger connections with people, greater meaning in life, and seeing new possibilities. I’m starting to see pieces of all of these as I’ve been evaluating relationships, my values, and starting to better prioritize those that are important to me.
Aside from hope for the future, this acceptance stage (I know, I’m using both models of the stages of grief) has helped me navigate some things that we’ll face in the next few months. My father will receive in home hospice care, and this calmness has allowed me to interview a variety of care providers, and in a rational and level manner. One woman I spoke to was even concerned that my dad wasn’t actually terminal and not pursuing treatment based on my demeanor - she was impressed with my composure. Side note 2: this is something I’ve been wanting to to be able to do my whole life: remove the emotion from hard conversations!
Life is carrying on. I still have moments where in hindsight it seems like I’ve lost my mind (bawling at the dog groomers because Bleecker didn’t have an appointment, or racing down I-25 to the office when I thought my hard drive had failed, crying “why God, why!?!”), but I don’t feel like I’m “on pause” as much as I did a few weeks ago. I’m moving forward, just in a different way than I’m used to.
I have to be ready for the next phase, too. My dad’s liver could fail, and we could be then talking about weeks, not months, and that will be a new roller-coaster ride Side note 3: I don’t really even like roller-coasters, if I’m being honest.
In the meantime, though, I’m thankful for this period when I’m able to rest emotionally, for the most part, and can take care of things that we will need to deal with in the future.
By the way - as an update, I wanted to share with you the new grass on the side of my house! I have never been so happy to work on a home improvement project, but I think it was because I had the help of both of my parents - it was certainly a day I never want to forget.
