Distance in Death

Dr. Elizabeth Kubler Ross did the pioneering work on "Death and Dying."  I remember hearing a sermon at a Catholic Mass about her research, and being fascinated, and having to read the book.  It was one of the events in my life that steered me into social work.

Dr. Kubler Ross identified 5 stages or phases of grief:  denial, bargaining, depression, anger and acceptance.   Over the years, I have used her information to help clients deal with death, in my social work profession. 

Some years ago, I was stricken by the suicidal death of a coworker, not even a close acquaintence.  I called our Employee Assistance Program, and was connected to a very empathic counselor, who almost word for word, gave me the speech I was used to giving to clients who were dealing with death and dying issues.  Before the counselor gave me the speech, he had enough information about me to know who I was and what I did.  When he finished the speech, I was smiling and he could tell, when I said to him "You gave me the speech I give to my clients."

He acknowledged that, and, the fact that when, we as human beings, not counselors, deal with death and dying, we need to hear the same speech. 

I was reminded of this tonight, when I was speaking to a dear friend going through her own issues at the loss of a dear pet.  I hope she does not find distress in the comments I will make, but comfort in the awareness that there are so many lessons to be learned from our lives and our sorrows.

I had an epiphany of sorts tonight:  This has nothing to do with diminishing my cherished friend's very deep grief and loss.  I am so sorry for her loss, and having known her pet, miss him myself, although we barely knew each other.

The epiphany for me, however, has to do with my life.  My ex-husband and I had a nice house with an interesting back yard that my beloved Mack enjoyed.  Before our divorce, my ex-husband and I sold the house and moved into a duplex with a postage stamp of a yard that was so boring. 

I did a few things to make it better:  plant a honeysuckle and feed the birds.  But, eventually, I bought a house. I looked at the house on a Sunday with the realtor, and took Mack to look at it on a Monday.  He did not want to get back in the car: it was his house.   And so, it was.  I bought the house, and put in a doggie door for Mack, which provided him free access to the back yard.

I called the house Mack's house; I even called one bathroom Mack's bathroom because he liked to lay on the floor, and I kept a water dish in there.

Life became convoluted, and I was in a strange relationship and Mack and I lived in his house and in the country.  After many years, Mack's life gave out, and he was put to rest.  I continued in the relationship that had me living in the country.  I truly, sorely, sorrily mourned for Mack, but realize that the relationship that had me living in the country took the edge off, so I would not "go off the deep end."

The relationship ended, and when I returned to the house in town, it was no longer "Mack's house" and "Mack's bathroom" in my mind.  What a life saving that relationship was, to give me the distance I needed to deal with Mack's death.

When I was in it, and when I was in the pain of breaking up, I could not see it.  But painfully, clearly tonight, I could recognize how important that relationship was to me, to allow me to deal with the loss of my dear friend, Mack.