Monica and the Five Stages of Grief -- A Different Take on the Meaning of "Stage"

MONICA AND THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF — A DIFFERENT TAKE ON THE MEANING OF “STAGE”

Monica looked down at the gravestone with her husband’s name on it. She was feeling okay. Not great, considering, but a whole heck of a lot better than she had been the day Seth had announced that their marriage was over. That had been the worst day — Day One of a new life; not a life Monica sought for herself, but one foisted on her by Seth.

Stage 1: Denial

“I want a divorce.”

Monica looked at her husband, shock showing on her face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, ‘I want a divorce.’”

Monica continued to look at him. She didn’t know what to say. Actually, she couldn’t physically say anything. She was frozen in that moment of time.  

Seth just looked at her looking at him. When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head, turned on his heel, and left the house.

Monica sat at the kitchen table in stunned disbelief. She hadn’t moved since Seth made his declaration. Only when it became too dark to see, did she stir. She walked up to their — no check that — her bedroom, and fell asleep on top of the covers, still wearing her clothes.

The next morning, for a split second, she forgot that life as she knew it was over. She rolled over to touch Seth, and he wasn’t there. Then she remembered, and her heart started hammering in her chest.

Damn she thought, I did not see that coming. What am I going to do?

As she got ready to start her day, Monica thought about it. Seth had been acting, well, hinky, the last little while. Add to that his new interest in personal fitness, and, oddly, flower arranging.  

But Monica reassured herself that she had always supported Seth in everything he did. He knew that. When he wanted to take up biking, she bought them bikes and planned a cycling trip across France. When he wanted to invest the money in new tools for woodworking, she cleared out her gardening shed so that he could have his own workshop. When he wanted to take up kayaking, she had booked a trip to the west coast to for sea kayaking with the whales. She had tried flower arranging for all of two classes, but she found the smell of all the flowers cloying, and her allergies had kicked up, so she had graciously backed out of that commitment. As for going to the gym — well, at her age, if she really wanted to go to the gym, she would be doing it by now. It was smelly, and competitive — not what Monica was looking for. She was more of a yoga and meditation type of woman. But she pondered her decisions nonetheless — had they been the right ones?

After all this time, Seth had found the two things that Monica did not want to participate in. Was the fact that she didn’t participate in his two latest “passions” the reason for his unhappiness? No, couldn’t be. Their marriage was stronger than that, wasn’t it?

Seth couldn’t really be leaving, right? They were happy, right? Their life was the envy of all their friends — travel, hobbies, fun. She always tried the things that interested Seth — not that it was reciprocated. But that was alright, too, Monica reminded herself, because people who had been together as long as they had shared the same interests, right?

He wasn’t leaving. This was just a phase. He’d be back. Their history together was just too long. They’d shared so much. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t. They loved each other, right?

Stage 2: Anger

“Mother-fucker!”  

Monica looked at the phone in her hand. She considered smashing it against the wall, but realized that she’d just have to buy a new one, and she did not need that level of the aggravation right now.

How dare he demand that she leave the house so he could collect his belongings! He didn’t want to see her.  

How dare he! Coward!  

She didn’t want to see him, either, but there was no way in hell that he was going to chase her out of her own home.

“Rat bastard!” she said out loud.  

There is NO WAY I’m leaving! This is my house now, and I will not be bullied out of my own home!”

Monica picked up the phone and texted Seth back.

Monica: I will not leave my house. I will put your belongings on the porch. They will be out there in three hours.

Seth: Fine. Three hours.

Monica got to work. She emptied Seth’s closets and drawers, and piled up all his clothing into a huge pile in the middle of the bedroom floor. She looked at the mound of clothes.

Since when had he become such a clothes horse?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this peacock was ready to fly.

Monica took her very sharp sewing sheers and cut off the middle button from every shirt and jacket, slit the back seam on every pair of pants and shorts, snipped one strand of wool on every sweater, and using Seth’s own needle-nose pliers, pulled one tooth out of the middle of every zipper. She took his shoes, cut the laces on tie ups. She used a small pry bar to detach the sole from the front of every shoe — just a bit, not enough to flap immediately, but to eventually work pull away. She took a long, sturdy needle that she had for sewing canvas, and put a hole in the bottom of all his waterproof boots. 

He had taken his toiletries with him when he left two weeks ago, so there was no opportunity to put depilatory in his shampoo, or nick up the edges of his razor blades, or pee on his toothbrush. She would have to be happy sabotaging his clothes.

She considered throwing all his clothes out the bedroom window onto the driveway, but nixed that idea. That would only piss him off all at once. She wanted to piss him off slowly, one piece of clothing at a time. She loaded all his clothes into garbage bags and hauled them downstairs and outside to the porch to await their pickup.  

He texted her the next day. 

Seth: You are such a child.

Monica did not reply. She did smile, though.

Stage 3: Bargaining

By the one-month mark, Monica was tired. All the negotiations with the lawyers. Trying to figure out who gets what, how much everything was worth. Going through their possessions on a spreadsheet, and assigning a value to each and every article. It was exhausting. Monica just wanted everything to go back the way it was.  

She had started therapy. It seemed like the smart thing to do.  

“If I’d only gone with Seth to flower arranging class, none of this would have happened,” she lamented to Dr. Pinto.

The doctor took a moment to let Monica consider her statement, then said, “Do you really think that by continuing to go to flower arranging class, even though you experienced an allergic reaction, would have prevented Seth’s leaving?”

“I should have shown more interest in the things he was interested in.” She paused. “I should have gone to the gym with him. We would have been together, and he wouldn’t have left me.”

Dr. Pinto looked at Monica, again allowing her to consider her words.

“Do you really believe that participating more in Seth’s interests would have prevented this?” Dr. Pinto paused. “Didn’t you say that you felt that the two of you had been growing apart over the years, and that Seth seemed restless for at least the last seven or eight months before he left?”

“I did say that. But if I’d only paid more attention, and did more things with him, maybe he wouldn’t have been restless, and I could have avoided all this.” She sighed, “We should have gone to couples counselling.” Monica looked up to the ceiling, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s all my fault. I let down my guard, and Seth got away from me.” The tears spilled down her cheeks.  

Dr. Pinto handed her the Kleenex box. Monica took a tissue, and mopped up her tears.

“Do you really believe that, Monica? Do you believe that your increased vigilance would have prevented Seth from leaving?”

“Yes!” She started to cry in earnest. “I just want another chance to make it work,” she sobbed.

She continued crying, remembering all the lost opportunities. Finally she snuffled up her tears.

“Maybe if I try harder now, he’ll come home. I could, you know, be better.”

Dr. Pinto recognized the hope in Monica’s eyes. “Monica,”she said gently, “you can’t force Seth to come back. He’s made his decision, and it’s clear that the relationship and marriage are over for him.”

“Okay, but if I do better — you know, become the perfect wife — then he’ll come back, right?”

Dr. Pinto looked at Monica. “Do you really believe that?”

“I could.”

Stage 4: Depression

Monica looked at her glass of wine. It was almost empty. So was the bottle. But that wasn’t a problem — there was more where that came from.  

This would be her first Christmas without Seth, and she was not looking forward to it. She did not have the energy to bring the decorations up from the basement, or get a tree, or go shopping.  

Instead, she took another sip of wine.

Besides, who was she decorating for now?

She sighed, and looked around the family room. It was a mess. Actually, if she was honest with herself the entire house was a bit of a sty. But she just didn’t feel like doing anything. 

Maybe tomorrow, she promised herself. She just didn’t have the energy right now. 

She grabbed the collar of her shirt and sniffed. 

This could do with a bit of a wash.  

She sniffed her armpits.  

Eww. Me too.

It past time to have a shower and wash her hair — she knew she was bordering on grimy. She ran her fingers through her hair, her fingers getting caught in the tangled mess on her head.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” 

But instead of getting up and actually having that long overdue shower, she finished her wine.

Maybe tomorrow, she thought.

She got out of her chair, and schlepped into the kitchen. She poured the rest of the wine into her glass, and put the empty bottle on the counter with all the other dead soldiers.

I should really recycle these, she thought, but didn’t move to gather up her army of empties.  

Maybe tomorrow.

She took a sip of wine, and spilled it down the front of her top.

Damn! Now I’m gong to have to change my shirt. She looked down at the mess on her shirt.  

Maybe tomorrow.

Stage 5: Acceptance

Monica accepted the condolences from all their friends and family. She stood by the casket, welcoming everyone, graciously listening to their words of sympathy.

She considered the turn of fate that had brought her here.  

Four days ago, Seth had been behind schedule, running late, going from flower arranging class to the gym. Apparently he had an appointment with a personal trainer, and he needed to get a move on because he had spent too much time on his current flower arrangement. So, instead of taking the time to put all his flower arranging equipment away properly, he had just grabbed them in his hands, believing that he would put them in their proper holders later, after the workout with his personal trainer. He had undone the laces on his hiking boots so that he could slip his feet into his trainers once he got to the car. But while jogging out to his vehicle with all his paraphernalia in his arms willy-nilly, he tripped over his own shoelaces, fell forward, and impaled himself on his bonsai twig shears. Right in the chest. He had bled to death before the paramedics arrived.

And now Monica was an unexpected widow, instead of a divorcee. Seth had never changed his will, and since they were not legally divorced, Monica had inherited all his property, as she was still his sole beneficiary.  

Karma? she thought. Maybe.