Five Stages

Wed, 09/25/2013 - 14:39 -- NaomiKW

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Do the dying know that they are the dying?

I mean those who aren’t terminally ill

with ‘best before’ dates stamped on their bodies.

Those who can’t schedule their own funerals,

choose their own coffins. Do the unknowing ones still go through the

 five stages of grief?

Denial.

 They know subconsciously that they are dying,

                    that their soul is leaving their body and leaving it broken,

unable able to compute. But maybe their conscious self argues that no!

they can and will go on soulless.

Anger.

 Mustn’t they be frustrated?

How dare their souls be leaving them for dust!

Is the uncontrollable controlling part of life

(the part titled “existence”)

unaware of the importance of being alive at this moment and the next?

What about the hugs they haven’t given yet?

The ‘I love yous”

that were spoken a little too softly, or rarely.

The phone calls to far away places, recalling home and where the heart is said to be.

How could they miss these?

Is it anger at themselves, at the who they are,

                 or anger at the fact that they are dying?

The difference I suppose, of anger and regret.

Bargaining.

Do the dying make peace offerings? Or threaten--if I die I will kill myself!

Do they bargain at death’s door like a scout selling chocolate to the neighbours?

             “I will trade you one chocolate bar for 2 dollars,” say the scouts.

             “I will trade you my happiness for my life to be longer.

             My love, my money, my ability and intelligence.

              I will trade it all to be brain dead in a hospital

              knowing without knowing that those who I need are there for me still,

  crying around my bed as I try so hard to explain that all is well:

  I made a bargain at death’s door,” say the dying. 

Depression.

Does it ever reach suicidal extremes? Do the dying think of ending it even earlier

than the ‘too soon’ that they were chosen for?

Perhaps the most troubling thought is that for the rest of life, life isn’t over yet.

It will go on, it will always goes on, it goes on without the dead.

Mustn’t that be horrible to know? -- that there will be more love in the world, laughter,

          riches, delicious meals and cozy beds, that the dying will miss,

and while they are also missed,

the ones missing them have, at least, the comfort of life to get them through.

Acceptance.

I wonder if it is at this point that a person dies.

Is it at this point that the soul finally unhooks the tightly gripping fingers of the body,

and the mind accepts defeat,

            because what else is there to do?

I suppose if defeat were not accepted gallantly in the end, than the dead would be in hell.

Their own fiery cocoon of grief.

 

 

 

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