The Grief Cycle

There is a formula for grief, it is called the Kubler-Ross Grief Cycle.  The idea is that the person grieving goes through seven stages: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and finally acceptance.  When I first heard of the Grief Cycle, I asked, "how does this work?  One stage every month or so?"  Much to my chagrin, I was told it would take three to five years for me to fully process and go through all the stages of grief.....THREE to FIVE YEARS!


In my personal experience, I don't think a person cycles through all stages of grief in order.  I personally went straight from shock to anger, then maybe back to denial.  Most days were just a muddled mess of all the stages, and I never knew where I stood.

My therapist wrote down the stages on a post-it which I  posted on our bathroom mirror.  Being such a concrete person, I wanted to know which stage I was experiencing and track my "progress".  But I could never identify exactly which stage I was in, nor tell when a new stage was coming to sweep me away.  For me it was like a tornado of stages.  Just when I felt I had a firm grasp on one stage I was experiencing, I would be slammed by two or three others, all at once!  I was constantly swirling around in the tornado's column, never quite knowing where it would land and do destruction next.

Denial, anger, and bargaining came as a box set.  I would start my day denying that Patrick and Olivia were dead.  By lunch I was in a complete rage that I was still alive.  Then, I would spend the afternoon and evening bargaining.  "If I promise to listen....if I work harder.....if I give up all my material things, will You bring Patrick and Olivia back?"   I would ask why them and not me?  Or if they were gone, how could I get to where they were?

After a while, I realized asking for their return wasn't going to work.  I didn't grow up practicing any one religion, so praying to God felt uncomfortable and my untreated anger began to get in the way of believing something greater existed at all.

My friend, Jody came to live with me for the summer after the accident.  To this day, I am indebted to her for her kind, selfless act of embedding herself in my life when the DAB box set were playing their loudest.  I was moody, difficult to get along with, unable to make any decisions, and determined not to fall victim to the tragedy that had just been bestowed upon my life.  Looking back, I am certain I could have done much more harm those three months if she had not been present.  Even though it was difficult to do, Jody knew me so well, she was able to ground me and hold me accountable.

When school let out for the summer, I made myself extremely busy.  I signed up for graduate classes at the University of Oregon and decided to train for my first ever, half-ironman triathlon.   I thought, "heck, if I am too busy, the denial, anger and bargaining will go away, right?"  Wrong!  The grief tornado just turned up a notch from strong to violent.

One night in mid July, Jody and I were having dinner on our deck, a beautiful night to be outside, enjoying food and company.  Out of nowhere, I turned to her said, "Next time we get in our car, I am going to be sure that I sit in back next to Olivia so I get hit by the truck axle too."  My new form of bargaining: just blurting out shocking statements to anyone in earshot.

Denial took the form of uncontrollable crying.  I had inherited a dresser from my grandfather when he died.  It is a beautiful, old mahogany piece that has a barrel chest of drawers with detailed finish and iron drawer-pulls.  It sat in Patrick's and my bedroom full of Patrick's clothes.  Each day, at least twice a day, I would go through the drawers looking at his clothes.  Then I would  grab the corners of the dresser top, hanging on for dear life as I sob, wept, moaned, howled and cried until I had nothing left in my body.  Oftentimes I found myself in a heap on the floor in front of the dresser.

I think the worse was my anger.  It was quick and biting and I truly had no control over it.  It became a familiar friend who guided me down the path of darkness.  Often, I tried to leave it's lair only to find myself wrapped tighter in it's chains.

Anger took control of my life.  Nothing was safe from my anger.  I screamed at friends.  I raged at strangers.  My anger even found a way to make me believe I was a victim of life.  The very thing I swore I would not do.   I found myself closing off from the world, using the excuses: No one understands.  They haven't experienced what I have.  Their problems are little and petty.


Deep inside my conscience, I knew this anger was going to be my demise, yet it was so cunning, powerful and manipulative I couldn't break free.  All the grace and poise I demonstrated early after the accident was gone.  I was now the empty, hollow, angry shell of a person I had sworn I would never be. I needed help!