Remaining Furious, or the Fury of Remaining
In 1969, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross published what she titled “The Five Stages of Death.” This has morphed over time into “The Five Stages of Grief,” “The Grief Cycle,” the “Kübler-Ross Change Curve,” and so on. Most people are familiar with it by now. If you’ve taken Psych 101, you probably had to memorize it at some point. The gist of the thing is that when people face grief, there are five (or so) stages of emotion that they travel through, including Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, and Acceptance. Even Kübler-Ross herself acknowledged that these phases don’t really occur in any sort of linear fashion, though it’s certainly a common enough belief in the general public that they do.
I think the idea of neat and orderly phases of grieving sounds amazing, but I am also certain that I don’t know anyone who has ever experienced it. As I walk my own path of grief, I’m also noticing periods of time that have included exhaustion, numbness, sarcasm, and the darkest of humor. The most recent experience has been anger, though.
I have not been especially good at the emotion of anger in the course of my life. As a moody, eating disordered teenager, my treatment providers gently suggested that I was burning with rage, an idea I shot down immediately. They were, of course, correct, but it has been hard for me to accept anger and express it in a productive way, not being destructive to myself or my relationships. I have gotten better at managing anger over the years, now that I am a less moody, less eating disordered middle-aged woman. Still, it often catches me by surprise.
When my younger brother died by suicide in 2010, all of my emotions seemed like they were turned up to full blast, including anger. I was angry at him, I was angry at myself, I was angry at the whole universe. In the wake of his death, we were all left picking up the pieces, the way forensic investigators gather every minute piece of an aircraft after a plane crash. During the process, I felt waves of rage overtake me, and I was left baffled and exhausted after they passed.
The death of my father has been a much different experience. For one thing, his death came at the end of a debilitating illness that he found frustrating and depressing. He was able to stay at home, and I was with him when he died. I was grateful for the opportunity to be with him at home, and he had gotten excellent care while he was ill. There seemed to be little to be angry about. And yet, almost a month later the anger seems to working its way into the tiny spaces in my life, subtle but unable to be ignored.
This is not the same rage I’ve felt before. It’s not annoyance or irritation. Anger comes in so many different flavors. I find myself feeling angry at people for things they couldn’t have helped. I’m angry at circumstances. I feel a particular fury at the time-off policies of my job, as they do not include bereavement leave of any sort. (’Merica!) Mostly though, my anger is looking for a target, rather than being driven by actual, rational reasons for frustration.
I am not alone in this experience. Sitting with many grieving people in my work, as well as friends and others in my life who are also on this path, I see the different ways anger can present itself. Someone feels angry at the people who were more interested in her daughter’s funeral than visiting her daughter when she was still alive. Another person feels angry at God for letting their spouse get ill and die at such a young age. Yet a third is angry at his family member who died because she wasn’t able to stop drinking. Their anger is not my anger, but I recognize it and can help my clients gently hold this energy.
What does one do about this sort of anger? In my case, there aren’t any steps I can take to ameliorate the situation. I can’t sit down with my dad and ask him why he decided to get cancer. I am highly unlikely to change major policies at my job to be kinder to people with recent losses, although it’s certainly something to consider trying. It seems that I need to do what I can with the anger, the frustration, the sadness, and that is to sit with the feeling, be kind to myself, and know that emotions never last forever, even if they feel like they will. Anger is a source of energy, and I am hoping to figure out what to do with it. Blow some stuff up? Or maybe try to make a positive change around me? For now, I think I’ll just try to combat the overwhelming fatigue I feel by allowing the energy of my anger to push me forward.