Elisabeth Kubler-Ross identified “five stages of grief” in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying. It bears reviewing again. She identified five discrete stages in which people deal with grief and tragedy:
Stage 1: Denial – "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening."
Stage 2: Anger – "Why me? It's not fair!"
Stage 3: Bargaining – "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything for a few more years."
Stage 4: Depression – "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die... What's the point?"
Stage 5: Acceptance – "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
Kubler-Ross originally applied these stages to people suffering from terminal illness, later she applied it to any form of catastrophic personal loss (job, income, freedom) or significant life events such as the death of a loved one, divorce, drug addiction, the onset of a disease or chronic illness. She said these steps do not necessarily come in the order noted above, nor are all steps experienced by all patients, though she stated a person will always experience at least two of them.
My experience with grief is that these feelings/emotions are even more complicated and encompassing and in the instance of a suicide of a loved one, even more so. As I find myself slowing moving forward a variety of feelings come and go. It is like a large wheel going down the road: anger, blame, sadness, relief, avoidance (denial), deep grieving (crying), and (from time to time) a hint of acceptance. Each time one of these emotions “hit the road” they are experienced again -- and these continue, some more, some less, as I move forward.
Feelings (especially among us men) are strange phenomena. We have avoided and suppressed them for most of our life and now as we begin to mature (some of us earlier than others) we are able to identify them, talk about them with our loved ones. From this, we find comfort in not having to stuff/eat them as we have done for so many years.
For the past two years, I have been involved with the powerful “One Year to Live” men’s retreats sponsored by the Lutheran Men in Ministry. It has been a powerful experience for me as I have learned to connect with and give to, and receive strength from, other men.
I remember hearing a story about one men’s group that did what they called “home invasions.” A home invasion is men supporting other men who have suffered loss, tragedy, or other life-shaking events. One story went like this: upon reading in the newspaper that a man in their community had just announced he was a homosexual, his heterosexual male friends showed up at his house -- unannounced. Each man brought a ball with him. Upon receiving permission to come inside, they each presented the man with a ball as a symbol of the fact that to do what this man had done “took a lot of balls!” To me, this was a good example of men supporting other men.
So I have been thinking this week. what did I expect from my male friends? Some called me on the phone to give me love, support and prayers; others sent cards offering to help in any way they could – just call.
On one hand, I was emotionally “raw” after coming back from Los Angeles. All I wanted to do was spend time alone with Sabine and get prepared for the memorial service that was only a few days away. I don’t think I would have wanted a number of my close friends to make a “home invasion,” but did I?
This morning on my walk, I started thinking about this. I shared it with Sabine and she said that if I wanted a bunch of my male friends to come over, talk and pray with me, I should ask them. True. But should I have to ask? One side of me says, yes. If you want something ask for it. Another side says, no, my friends should automatically be there for me without my asking.
So these are some feelings I am processing. I want to be left alone to “lick my wounds” with God (and Sabine) and yet (at the same time?) I expect some continuity from the relationships I have developed with other Christian men over the past two years as a result of those powerful men’s retreats in which I participated.
But maybe this is my learning. I know so much more about loss grief and suicide. If one of my friends went through this, I would act far beyond what I thought was “appropriate” and “Christian” knowing what I know today.
There, I have it. Each one of us has a great capacity to learn -- even when experiencing one of life’s deepest tragedies! It could almost be a “self-giving/self-pouring out” experience – a witness -- in which the power of God is demonstrated to those around us.
Thanks for “listening.” And may God bless your journey, too.
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