The Five Stages of Grief: How Life Fell Apart Before Coming Back Together

TW: Self-harm, Mental Health, and Death

May 1st, 2022: the day the world stopped and a year since you’ve died. Even now, home doesn’t feel like home and your glaring absence haunts the rooms of this house. Your voice echoes in the living room, like a ghostly call, while your shadows lurk in every corner; your smell, too, somehow still permeates the air of this place. To feel closer to you I sit in the place you used to, cycling through memories of the aftermath of your death. This is my retelling of how the world began to spin slowly, day by day; but let’s first go back to the beginning when everything fell apart.

1. First, it begins with denial.
2. When I held your hand, frigid and stiff, while the doctor reported the time of death the only thing that floated in my mind was: he’s going to wake up. His eyelid twitched almost as though he was about to open his eyes and I held my breath. Now? No, not yet; he likes shock value, so he’s probably going to wait until the last minute before surprising everyone: his favourite hobby was getting a reaction out of people. How about now? But his chest isn’t moving—is he holding his breath? That’s going too far, I stressed as I gripped his waxy hand. I shook him lightly; hey, you’re starting to scare me. Why aren’t you opening your eyes? Please, please open your eyes.
3. With denial comes anger, like a rolling storm building in the clouds.
4. Minutes passed and you never opened your eyes. I kissed your cheek and whispered, “I love you,” and you don’t say it back. I stared at your pale lips, waiting for a response; a “I love you, too,” a “shut up,” or even a “leave me alone,” but nothing came out—no words left that ever so quiet mouth. 
5. This is the first time you haven’t said “I love you” back to me; every other time before this horrid, twisted event you’ve always said it: angrily, affectionately, fondly, and so on. Today was the last time I could say it to you and the last time you could say it to me, but you didn’t wait for me…why didn’t you wait for me? You held on 6 total times before this, all with the help of the doctors, and when I finally got here, you let go? My mind darkened and fury burned within my veins. How dare you leave me alone like this? What happened to “I promise to always be there for you,” huh? Hot tears fell down my cheeks and dripped onto the crisp blue blanket that eerily matched the colour of your thin lips. What happened to all the plans we’ve made: going to Japan, seeing me graduate, going back to the Marshall Islands? Were those all a lie, I seethed as I held tightly on his limp arm. My nails dug into his flaxen skin as I chanted in my head: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I hate that you selfishly died, but what I hate most of all was that you abandoned me. The wheels of his bed squeaked as the staff rolled him towards the morgue, where all the dead bodies are kept. A sharp heat licked up my chest as I heaved for breath, trying and failing to accept the reality around me.
6. As suddenly as the anger came, it extinguished just as quick—like a fire being blown out by a strong wind. The red that had hazed my vision bled out slowly, and all it left behind was desperation. That is when the bargaining started. 
7. It’s been a few days—three, maybe four—since you’ve died. I sat in front of the toilet as I stared up at the ceiling, counting the amount of mould and dewy water drops until I physically couldn’t see them anymore. That day, the day you were rolled into a dead man’s cave, the sky was crying; grey clouds covered the blue hue of the Hawai’i skies and with every raindrop that fell matched the amount of tears shed in that very room. Your emotionless face and slack body—once a vibrant brown, healthy and alive— kept flashing behind my eyes whenever I closed them. It’s like I’m still in that godforsaken room, listening to your shallow breathing that slowed, and slowed, and slowed until it stopped. It made for a gut-wrenching scene as a long, loud beep rang in the horrifically silent boxed room; I held my head between my knees and squeezed my eyes shut. Please, I cried, please stop it. I don’t want to remember!
8. More days passed and I spent the majority of my time in the bathroom sitting in front of the toilet. Today, though, was different; I positioned myself towards the door with my legs folded underneath my thighs, my hands clasped before me, and closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I began to pray; I don’t remember to whom I prayed to—God, Buddha, Vishnu, fucking Hades—, but I do know that I prayed for the Gods to bring you back. My knees began to throb and the knocks on the door began to get louder; I ignored them all and pleaded with every deity I knew to make a deal with me: to trade my life for his. There was no answer.
9. Weeks passed as I prayed relentlessly, hoping that someone somewhere would grant my wish. However, as weeks turned to months and none of my fervent prayers were answered: I fell into a deep depression.
10. This was the hardest time of my life. Every single day I woke up, I only ever wanted to go back to sleep; like a tidal wave crashing over me, I drowned in my own feelings and couldn’t find my way up to catch my breath. I sank deeper and deeper, helpless as the “sea” pulled me into its black abyss— I thought that my life would be like that forever: endless suffering and pain without ever knowing the sweet relief of peace. 
11. During those turbulent months, I never knew any semblance of stability. The ground beneath my feet was so unsteady, there was no way for me to ground myself in one spot before I got overturned by the waves again and drowned. Most of my days, when I wasn’t fighting with myself, I spent on the bathroom floor holding a razor blade to my wrist, arms, and thighs. With every drag of the blade, the stinging of my flesh opening up made me groan as I cut even deeper and then cut into my arm again on a clean patch. Admittedly, I found a sick and distorted sense of comfort in slitting my arms open just to watch myself bleed as it dripped down to my fingertips, staining my nails. 
12. Time and time again, I reopened every wound as I chased the sharp pain; I just wanted to chase away the feeling of the numbness and the tears. 
13. Just as the mountains have highs and lows, the depression eventually gives away to something more: acceptance. 
14. The memories of you hurt whenever I stare at your pictures for too long, so I try not to; and yet, thinking about the good times we had feels like a balm on a fiery burn. There are days where I turn to my side, expecting you to be there, but only empty air greets me; I’m starting to get used to being without you, slowly but surely. I’m learning to carry the love I have for you with me each and everyday, even if you’re not here to receive it—especially on the days where life seems impossible.