This page began as an exploration of grief, its form, affect and duration. Immediately I realized that I was seeking answers to impossible questions, like, 'How high is up?' I was receiving advice from a number of sources all with the very best of intentions but mostly cliche. Then again, what can people say at that time. The best advice I received was from the geriatric psychiatrist  we had been seeing. He said, don't make any major decisions for a year. I asked if it was okay to shoot myself then and he nodded, saying, after a year . . . at least.

I was curious to know if how I was feeling was considered typical or were there some warning signs with which I should be concerned. This concern took a while to manifest because at the time of the event I didn't care about anything. Confusion, unable to sleep and no interest in eating were my initial reactions, and today still the strongest.

Stumbling through the necessary bureaucracy provided some distraction but also added to the helpless, hopelessness I felt. Sounds stupid but I began to worry about how I was handling everything, should I be exhibiting certain behaviour that spoke to surfacing from my grief? I didn't want my kids to be fretting constantly over the old man. So I looked into what had been considered wisdom for the last 35 odd years, the most universally recognized process ---

The 5 Stages of Grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

I decided, in my opinion, that this formula was little more than a checklist of emotions one might expect to experience when grieving. I do not think it was intended to be a lineal path with stops and timely transfers to the next station where one emotion is discarded and the next assumed.

On the contrary, one may not experience some of them at all, or may well revisit others repeatedly. It is only reasonable that as unique beings our emotional makeup would be equally unique. The grieving process is as personal as the process of love. My own observations and opinions were just that – personal, and only applicable to others in a very general way.

Loss itself is not a restricted emotion. It could stem from a variety of sources, each involving its own level of response. The loss of a spouse or life partner through death is one of the more traumatic losses. For young couples it means they lost both the present and the future. The elderly lose everything they had defining their intimately personal lives. It is a smashing of your natural order and can result in unimaginable pain and confusion. The destruction of a once stable reality.

In addition, statistically, men fare far worse than women do. Depression, more suicides, a decline in both mental and physical health. Bad lifestyle habits, sleeping, eating and such, particularly for caregivers . . . that part I can attest to. Women have the instinct and smarts to network. They form bonds far more easily than men. The male instinct seems to be to 'prove' to the very people supporting him that he can handle it without a lot of help.

No set regimen of 'stages' can force control over these emotions. They are as chaotic and unpredictable as a response could be, and are the mirror reaction to the depth of that person's love. I posed a hypothetical question about that in the first chapter of this book.

Our uniqueness dictates how we will manage, and should be done without the external stress of attaining certain, timely stages. Not following a specific path does not mean grieving has failed. Nor does not moving on within expected times. There is no requirement to race because there is no finish line. Like love, it doesn't end.

Over time, grief will become less apparent but there will always be those moments of sadness, guilt, joy, peace and confusion. Life will carry on accepting those moments as forever companions, because they will always be there.

Like it or not, you change.

A new rhythm will evolve in the flow of life, as it accommodates these passengers, moving ostensibly as before but knowing there is no closure.

So, while my exploration didn't really lead me to some nirvana, I find that I am experiencing versions of those 5 Stages here and there, now and then, off and on. No particular sequence or intensity, they strike like ninjas. Some days upon waking, it is all forgotten for that split second before looking around. Other days are simply extended nights without sleep and unrelenting images.

I expect these shocks will mellow over time, hopefully into the more pleasing memories that preceded the dunning emotions causing the grief.

The one discovery that I made during this exercise, one that speaks to that fifth stage, is that I don't want to forget . . . any of it.