Sound

A high school friend (thank you, Kim) sent me a column about the falsity of the “Five Stages of Grief” – Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. We’ve all heard of them and as things go when something becomes popular in society…they’ve been misinterpreted in multiple ways. First, they weren’t developed to describe the grief of losing a loved one. They were actually intended for people who were facing their own imminent mortality. And even more confusing is that in our group (mis)understanding, they have been interpreted to arrive in our hearts in a linear fashion. Grief is much more chaotic than linear.

The author of the column, Mari Andrew explains her thinking about grief. She notes that words are cerebral and really don’t adequately describe grieving because loss is not something that occurs in our head. It occurs much more gutterally – in our belly, in our gut.

AND she goes on to say that it is SOUND that better describes the “stages” of grief. Sounds that emanate from our very center. From our core. Sounds that bubble or burst to our surface unbidden.

Sounds, not words.

This rings so very true. When I think of my current state of being, I think…What sound is rising from my soul?

When I wake up in the morning – what sounds do I make? Do I sigh? Do I whimper? Do I cry softly? Do I hum a familiar, favorite tune?

When I open the door to his condo – do I gulp before entering? Do I clear my throat and get to work? Do I cry softly as I pick up his hairbrush full of his long curly hair?

When I hear the happy voices of the kids on the block, do I sigh remembering those early years on our street? When I see the F1 race on tv does the gut punch of remembering how he loved following his team cause me to burst into a sob?

That evening at 9:09 when I heard the doorbell ring, paused the DNC on tv and opened the front door to the two WCPD officers…When they asked if I was NT’s mom and if they could come in, when I screamed down the hallway to Glen, when I looked at the terror in B’s eyes as she stood in the kitchen doorway, when the female officer nodded at me knowingly, what sound did I make?

I only remember seeing the dining room buffet as I looked from B back to the officers. That cabinet is full of so many family heirlooms – Lenox gifts from my dad, a vase from Glen’s grandma, teacups from Aunt Janet, photos of family trips…so many tender memories of people we have loved – all contained behind those three glass cabinet doors. And all I wanted to do was to open those cabinet doors and throw all of those memories to the ground. I wanted to hear them shatter.

Because…what sound does one make when their life has been shattered?