Filled with imperfect thought

I first heard about the purported Five Stages of Grief in March, while watching Scrubs. It was a good episode. John Boy's Mom, who was a patient at Sacred Heart Hospital, was dying. It wasn't really John Boy's Mom, just the actress that played her. I have a hard time thinking of Michael Learned as anyone other than Olivia 'Livie' Walton. I guess I'm in denial, which is the first stage of grief.

As for the other stages, I think for the past six months I've been engaged in what could best be described as a circle jerk with stages two and three. Anger and bargaining if you believe in the Five Stages of Grief. Not to be a contrarian, but I'm not sure that I do. Perhaps because I'm hung up on their chronology? In my head one turns into two, two into three, three into four, four into five. That is not what has happened with me. In fact, when Mom died I coudn't pass GO, instead I went back to stage one. Denial.

I didn't realize I was in denial though, which is why for my money denial is top of the pops in the five stages of grief hit parade? It rocks. You are oblivious.

A week or so ago, my Lovely Bride and I were talking in the kitchen when she told me that she didn't think that I had got the fact that Mom had died. That it hadn't fully hit me yet. Excuse me? I didn't get the fact that Mom had died. Was she nuts? How could I not get that Mom had died. I had been with her those final days. I had seen such terrible things. I had held her hand when she died. I had seen them do all the shit they to a dead body after she died. Hell, I even followed Mom out of the house, and watched them load her into the van that took her body to the funeral home. It was raining. Isn't that a nice touch? Imagine me, standing in the rain, at the edge of my parents driveway, watching my Mom being driven away forever, in the back of a Dodge Caravan. Seriously. A Dodge Caravan. Fuck me.

Then after Mom died, I feel as if I've done nothing but deal with her death in my attempt to try and help those around me. My Dad. Grandma. Boy(s.) Even my Lovely Bride who had the audacity to tell me that I had yet to fully get that Mom had died.

There lies the greatness of stage one. My denial had me denying that I was in denial.

I finally passed GO, on Tuesday, November 7th. Election day. That Monday, November 6th was my parents 47th wedding anniversary. We had seen Dad that weekend. Mom too. Dad was taking her cremated remains with him to Oklahoma.

I was thinking about all of that as I drove back to work from voting that Tuesday afternoon when my iPod shuffled to a song that proved once and for all, that my Lovely Bride had been correct. I had been in denial. I didn't fully get the fact that Mom had died.

Listening to that song in my car, I left stage one, skipping past stage two and three landing smack dab in stage four. Depression.

How do I know? Why else would I cry while listening to what has to be the sappiest song ever recorded. I think it is safe to say, you are depressed when The Living Years by Mike + The Mechanics makes you sob.

Until I BLOG again...It's to late when we die.