Say Hello to My Sad Little Friends

Despite being misunderstood for many years, we’ve all become well-acquainted with the now classic Kübler-Ross five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. When you add ’em all up, you’ve supposedly learned how to live with the loss of your loved one, that is, the stupid fuckin’ idiot. That was Anger talking, and since I don’t want him to have the last word, it’s time to hear from all of my sad little friends.

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Hi, I’m Denial, but I’d never admit it. I was the first to hear the horrible news and I coined the phrase “shocked but not surprised.” I remember my survival instinct kicking in and then going numb, because that’s what I do best.

From the moment Larry got the call, Rob’s death felt surreal: how could his little boy be gone? Larry woke each morning thinking that he was inside a bad dream. Nothing made any sense to him, and I’m not sure how he made it through each day. I was the first responder—nature’s way of letting in only as much as Larry could handle. Unfortunately, Larry’s nature only allowed me to hang out with him for about a week.

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That’s when I took over the grieving process. I’m Anger. Duh! At first, I couldn’t believe what the little idiot had done—whether it was impulsive, premeditated, who gives a shit?—because any way you slice it, he had to know how much it would fuck us up forever, and that made me boiling mad. How could he be so selfish after all we had done for him, after all we had been through together?

And then I raged against the God machine for allowing this tragedy to happen—I believe my exact words were “vengeful motherfucker”—until I remembered that Larry’s not even sure if he believes in Him.

I tried to stay furious at Rob, I really, really did. I thought it would give us strength. I knew it was a way to keep Rob close, a way to cope with the nothingness of his loss while also expressing the intensity of Larry’s love for the stupid moron. But, damn it, I wasn’t invited to stick around for very long, either. Which royally pissed me off and still does! Ugh!

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Bargaining here. Rob didn’t give me much of a chance to negotiate with him while he was alive, so now I just wheel and deal with Larry’s pain. I’m not as angry as the previous guy or as sad as the guy you’ll hear from next, and I come and go as I please, as most of us do. Grief and mourning offer no discounts or giveaways. As I’m sure you’ve come to realize, everyone must pay the highest price.

I generally work with what some people think is a rather pesky partner named Guilt. All the whys and what-ifs? That’s him! It took a long while until Larry finally showed us the door, and that was after countless confrontations with my irksome colleague, especially late at night, right before Lar fell asleep.

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Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. That’s about the best joke and transition I can muster. Cut me a break! I’m Depression, not Rodney freaking Dangerfield. I’ve been around from time to time, way before Rob died, way before he was even born. I’m the all-encompassing fog of sadness, the emptiness in Larry’s soul, and, as he so expressively puts it, the space in his heart that will never close.

At the same time, I had never felt so necessary in all his life. I was the biggest—and shittiest—stage of the entire grief cryfest, but I was also the most important. That thought would make me happy if I wasn’t so damn sad. I offered no shortcuts in our travels through hell, and the pain was unimaginable. As if that weren’t enough, I demanded to be endured. I was the sorrowful music of his heartbreak (composed and performed by Bill Evans), and Larry and I slow danced alone until the healing finally kicked in. At least that was what the next guy told me, although I’m not sure if I ever really believed him.

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Welcome! My name’s Acceptance, and Tom Hanks would probably play me in the movie version of the Kübler-Ross model. So here’s the thing: I was trying to cheer up Depression. He’s such a sad guy, with all the weeping and gloom and doom, but I meant what I said about healing. I arrived a few months after Larry had been cracked open by Rob’s death, and I’m the true guardian of his soul. I had invited Denial to help ease the pain early on, and then I let Anger take over so Larry could blow off some steam. Bargaining barged in with his annoying partner in crime, and those pests were a bit more difficult to ditch. And let’s just say Depression and I came to an understanding.

When Larry talks about being “forever changed,” he’s talking about me. I helped him cope with Rob not being here and with recognizing the reasons why he’s not. Like many of his past therapists, I’ve encouraged him to learn how to sit with uncomfortable feelings. We mainly talked about Rob no longer struggling with his demons and finally being at peace and how his spirit will live in our hearts for all time.

Some people, maybe even you, are bound to misinterpret my name. I know it sounds kind of hopeful, but the truth is I can’t make anything feel okay for Lar because losing Rob will never feel okay. I can, however, continue to help him heal and live without Rob. I have to. And I will. We don’t have any other choice.

Larry Carlat is the author of A Space in the Heart: A Survival Guide for Grieving Parents.