I never read “On Death and Dying.” I actually learned about the five stages of grief from Bob Fosse’s film “All That Jazz.” Roy Scheider’s character literally flirts with death and keeps envisioning some bad standup comedian doing a riff on the five stages of grief–denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I haven’t thought about it till today but the first words out of my mouth when my stepfather called me a week ago yesterday to tell me he thought my mother was dead was, “No, she isn’t.” They might have been my second words too, I don’t remember. I never understood the bargaining piece–I mean, bargain with who? With God? God and I don’t have that kind of relationship, and while I’m a decent haggler, at flea markets and such, I don’t think I’d dare. Anger? I don’t have the energy, frankly. Because I’m depressed.
Depression isn’t drowning in one’s sorrows–in fact, it’s barely feeling them. Depression isn’t misery. I’ve got to be honest here–having much experience with it in the past, it’s almost a relief. Familiar ground. I can operate on automatic pilot in my depression. I can take care of business. I can smile at you clear-eyed while you offer your sincere condolences and it’s getting easier to feel nothing while I do it.
She very specifically wanted me not to suffer over her. She brought it up many times–she had a good life, she was accepting of how it was ending and she wanted me to remember everything good and not hurt unnecessarily. I kept looking at her like she was crazy. What? You mean don’t cry over you? Anyone who knew my mother knew she enjoyed drama. No, she would say. You will cry, but don’t mourn. What she was saying was something I’ve told many a student over the years–pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
Yesterday I shed not one tear. I felt a bit guilty until Charlie reminded me I’ve been mourning my mother’s loss for months–I’m further through the process than I think. In depression, I can face this gray day and do what I have to do, my senses dulled, but functioning. I’m not suffering, Mom. But it still hurts.
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