My Grief (Stages) Observed as I Geo-Bach’ once again…

Okay, so I’m ripping off C.S. Lewis’ book title and good ole’ Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ work , but I’ve been grieving like a champ this week. Los going back to Iraq came out of nowhere, which is the worst kind of grief. When people have years or months to process things, a death, a change, whatever- it seems to allow for grace and the space needed to adjust. My neighbor had 18 months with her husband, knowing she’d have to say goodbye for the six months following. Not me, I had two days. NOT EVEN 48 hours! He was supposed to be home for good. Augh… Enter the stages:

1. Denial- this can’t be happening to me! To us! We had plans, my birthday’s coming up, and spring break. And we’ve never been together for our anniversary-isn’t that enough sacrifice for our country?! Dammit…

2. Anger- this is the stage where I said things unfit for a pastor-to-be. But then again, most pastors I know are fans of emoting, whatever that might look (or sound) like. This is also the stage in which I said if I ever met the guy who “had to take leave” and come home (hence, Los replacing him) I would punch him in the throat. In a more sane moment, I decided I would first ask if he had a good reason for coming home before said throat-punching.

3. Bargaining- This is where I scrambled to figure out what we could do before he left and he scrambled to get the latest flight out of CONUS as possible. We had so many “to-do’s” on our “we’ll get around to it eventually” list. Why do we do this? Why don’t we go for what we want, and do what we need to do, rather than put it off for tomorrow? I realize this is an existential question I’m not going to solve now, but people, we need to take Timmy McGraw’s advice and live like we’re dying here!

4. Depression- This is where I’ve been today. I dropped Los off at Sea-Tac wicked early, then ran/walked Burly around Green Lake in the rain, feeling sorry for myself and wondering how it was possible for there to be any joy in the world when I felt like this... I had no hood on, my curls were dripping in my eyes, I didn’t care. By the end I looked pretty pathetic/awesome. Then I went and bought comfort food at the grocery store (Sunmaid Raisin Bread, citrus fruit and Fudgsicles- yeah, random, I know). Then I curled up with my puggybear and we watched chick flicks on the couch all afternoon.

5. Acceptance- getting back on the proverbial horse. I’ve been avoiding my bedroom since this morning. I always do this when Los leaves- I do anything not to go in our bedroom and look at the bed where I will, once again, have to sleep alone. Hearing Carlos’ breath and feeling his heartbeat is just about, if not my favorite thing on earth. Not to have that is devastating; like half of me has been ripped away.
But tomorrow morning will come, the sun will rise, and it will be a new day. I will go to work in Bellingham, and have a good time. This weekend I’ll play Settler’s, go to school, have a meal and laugh with the Kissinger’s. As the days tick away, all will go on and be well. And God will be faithful to carry me, as he has unfailingly to this point. As my friends’ new tattoo says, “Do not fear! For I am with you.” It’s a good promise to cling to when we can’t see what is going on in this thing called life.
(but just for the record, don’t get me wrong, this still sucks, and I’m still pissed that we have to go through it- that’s the great part about these stages, you can be all over the place at once.)