Stages of Grief

Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat—a little spark of hope in the flatline. Maybe somewhere in him was that faint pulse of willingness to rise again—somewhere the machine couldn’t detect. Perhaps at any moment he will blink awake as if he had never truly been gone.

I’d begged him—his son had begged him—not to go, but he always ran toward the line of fire. Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat: an attempt to get back up again like he’d always been taught and he’d always obeyed. Maybe that adrenaline still ran in his veins, remaining undetected, his patriotism merely suppressed and he was yet to rouse from the mere exhaustion of having deployed on no less than six tours. This monitor was meant to tell a truth that my heart. Just.
         Won’t.
         Accept.

-Denial

Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat—just to taunt me. Just to say “I’m back, but only for a bit.” That little peak on the monitor just rose to say “Goodbye” all over again—to remind me of how many times he left home for the foreign lands overseas. Just to anger me so I get angry for being angry at a dead man. A dead man that left me a widow and our son fatherless.

-Anger

Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat—Dear God, please let it be so. I’d do anything. Anything. Anything to get him back. I don’t even care if it’s just for a little while before he goes back to work as the faithful soldier he’s always been and always will be. I’d trade my own life for his; he’s more valuable. He’s a better believer, a better patriot, a better parent.
—-

-Bargaining

Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat—No. It couldn’t have been his; He’s gone, they’d told me. There was no little blip of a heartbeat. Because that was impossible. His breath had left him hours ago. His eyes had closed hours ago. He had died
         died
         died
         hours ago.

-Depression

Maybe there was a little blip of a heartbeat in my imagination. My own desire for this figment to be true had tricked my eyes into seeing and believing something that was never real, could never be real, will never be real. And grief does that to a person. Grief traps its victims in an overwhelming vortex of emotions that they must endure for a time before all of the sorrow they feel is reduced to a sharp pain that results from the mere mention of the person they’ve lost. Grief is a never-ending journey that one must accept as so or be forever imprisoned by.
So that is why I now let go.
—-

-Acceptance