Are there really only five stages of grief?

One of the last pictures taken of this precious boy...nine years ago tonight.

So tomorrow is the day.  The day that we had to let him go.  The day we told God that we would be ok if He took our Luke.  The day that he was taken to paradise. 


I think it was a few weeks after his death before I was introduced to the Five Stages of Grief, developed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  Here I was...a post-natal mom, still "feeling pregnant", still lactating, still physically needing my baby in order to fulfill my motherly duties.  And I was introduced to this idea that grief was supposed to be universal.  That each of us who grieves goes through these stages.  Sure, we may go through them at different times or we may stay at a stage longer than someone else.  But the idea is that we will all face these stages. 


And I have. 


But these aren't the only stages that I have faced.  They aren't the only stages that Tommy has experienced.  We all grieve differently.  Tommy and I have grieved our son in very different ways.  A few stages that I could add:


*  Catatonia:  this stage happened in the days and week after we lost Luke.  I could barely move.  I couldn't go outside.  I could speak and talk, but I just wasn't "there".  Tommy and my father took care of all of the funeral arrangements, but I just couldn't bring myself to go.  They did a wonderful job and I can't imagine that it was an easy thing to do.  I was present at the wake and the funeral (and I can tell you everyone who was there).  But at home, I was catatonic.  I have read that catatonia can be brought on by PTSD, which is definitely something that many people who have witnessed traumatic events can develop.  It all makes sense.
*  Thankfulness:  This stage took a bit longer to reach.  It took me a long time to realize that Luke was spared from a very difficult life.  He wouldn't have to endure more hospitalizations, more surgeries, and an eventual heart transplant.  God welcomed him to heaven at an early age to save him from an unknown future.  And then we were given the gift of James--thanks to Luke's life, we were blessed with a new one.
*  Bitterness:  this stage kind of lingers.  I first experienced it when some very important people didn't attend Luke's funeral.  I realize that bitterness is not something that a newly grieving mother should feel, but it was involuntary.  Bitterness still rears its ugly head every now and then.  I hate it. 
*  Disappointment:  it's cliché, but it's true that people show their true colors when others are faced with adversity.  All of a sudden, I was part of a really crummy club:  The Grieving Mom Club.  It sucks and no one wants to be a member.  And unfortunately, some people pulled away.  In all honesty, I also pulled away a bit.  But shouldn't I have been given a pass?  I mean, I had just buried our son.  A little bit of compassion and empathy goes a long way.  And patience.  Lots of patience.  Disappointment  is something that I still feel.  Just today, I was disappointed.  I have prayed so hard for a sign from Luke.  But none came this year.  I haven't felt him near.  I haven't felt his presence.  Thankfully, I have received some really amazing signs in the past here and here.  But not this year.  And my heart is hurting.
*   Fear:  what if something else happens to another loved one?  What if someone else gets sick and dies?  What if we have to witness what we saw that night?  I realize that it's not good to worry.  But no one knows what Tommy and I saw that night.  It rocked us to our very core.  The fear creeps up more often than I would like to admit. 


I'm sure that this post probably seems a little negative, but when I started the blog almost nine years ago, I wanted to be transparent.  To show the good and bad sides of grief.  The easy and the hard.  The pretty and the ugly.  It is my hope that someone will read it and realize that they are not grieving the wrong way and that what they are feeling is ok. 


Let's stop trying to put everyone in a pretty little box and send them on their way.  Let us be present in their grief.  Let us tell them that they are doing the best that can be expected.  Let us be patient and kind.  Let us not leave them behind because they can't "get over it".  Let us not judge those whose shoes we would never want to fill. 


Let us be good. 


So on this night before the ninth anniversary of our baby boy's entrance to heaven, please be present in our grief.  Please tell us that we are doing the best that can be expected.  Please be patient and kind.  Please don't leave us behind because we can't "get over it".  Please don't judge these shoes that we wear, because you would never want to fill them.


Please be good.

In the Thick of Things...

Each year when his birthday rolls around, I pray and ask for guidance in what I should write on this blog.  It becomes increasingly difficult to find something new to write about.  I told Tommy the other day that I had no idea what I would write.  And I'm still not really sure. 
I tend to write in stream of consciousness...I guess I'll continue that trend. 
We are in the thick of things here at the Haberhouse.  I used to think that the toddler days were difficult.  And they were.  But these years.  These years are hard.  Perhaps more difficult than when the kids were little and dependent on us for everything. 
Don't get me wrong, I love this time in our lives.  I love the conversations that we share with the kids, the girls' days with Em, watching them play their sports, seeing them achieve goals.  But these years are hard.
And with that difficulty comes the constant reminder that we are missing one.  That beautiful boy with wise eyes and great hair.  That voice that I long to hear.  That hand that I wish to hold.  That face that I will never kiss again.  We are missing one.
And that makes these years even harder.  We won't see him play sports.  We won't see him drive.  We won't see him graduate from high school.  We won't see him grow up.
I don't think I will ever understand why Luke was taken at such a young age.  I can truly appreciate those who say that they don't ask "why?" after a tragedy.  But I still ask "why?".  I guess I am not strong enough to understand the whole picture.
Why?
Why Luke? 
In these times when we are in the thick of things, I can't help but wonder if God thought that I wasn't strong enough to mother four teenagers at once?  That I didn't have enough patience?  That I would not be able to handle the difficult times?
That I wasn't enough. 
Because y'all, sometimes I'm just not enough.  And I want to be enough because I would give anything to have that sweet soul back with us.  I want to be enough so that I would be able to see him play sports.  To see him drive.  To see him graduate.  To see him grow up. 
Oh, I miss him more than you could ever imagine.  It is such a deep hole.  A gaping hole.  A huge part of me is missing and each day, it hits me like a ton of bricks:  I wake up, oblivious to everything but my alarm clock.  Life is perfect.  And then I remember.  And the hole makes it's presence known.  It's a nasty cycle.
There are so many feelings that occur on Luke's birthday.  Feelings of thankfulness, sadness, joy, and despair.  Feelings of weakness and frustration.  Feelings of love.
Because...boy, did we love him. 
I pray that he knows this.  I hope that he can hear me when I ask him to pray for me.  When I ask him to pray for strength to get through a difficult time.  When I beg him for a sign that he is near. 
And although we are in the thick of things, and sometimes I feel that Em will never stop arguing.  That Matthew will never smile for a picture.  Or that James will never stop talking (seriously y'all, he talks incessantly 😂).  I know that I love them with the part of my heart that still exists.  I know that they are precious miracles.  Gifts from God.  And although I may not always be enough, I pray that they grow up to know that their mother loved them with every inch of her being and that she would do anything for them. 
I love you, beautiful Luke.  Happy 9th birthday, precious boy.  And please pray for me.  That I can be enough.  And that Daddy and I can guide your brothers and sister through the thick of things.