It is typical of the human mind, especially when faced with an adversity such as grief, to yearn for order amidst chaos. To search for understanding through organization. To comprehend the intangible through logic. So it is unsurprising that humans took an emotional process as complex and deeply personal as grief and broke it up into five neat stages, to be studied and memorized. If grief were a five-step program it would be easy to navigate. But it is not, on either front.

The original five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance – were first proposed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book On Death and Dying and were intended as a general observation of the grieving process seen in hospice patients coming to terms with their own mortality. It was a rough guideline; a presentation of common experiences one might encounter in the process of grief, and was in no way meant to be the prescribed “correct” way to grieve. But over time this guideline of common experiences morphed into a checklist of required milestones. The assertion that a set of specific moods occurs in a specific order settled into public consciousness, and anything that deviated was eyed as abnormal.

In the last hundred years, grief (and here I am specifically referring to Western culture) has become more and more sanitized, and the Kubler-Ross model exemplifies this way of thinking. Grief is kept behind closed doors – aside from the day of the funeral, when the family has leave to bear their bereavement in public, it is expected to be a private affair. We no longer adorn our doors with crepe to announce we are a house in mourning. We don’t simplify our dress in dark colors to signify and explain our somber attitude without need of verbal explanation. No, we have one day to gather our loved ones near, mourn our loss with them, and then return to work and move on with our lives, according to the accepted time table. And that is simply not enough.

The Kubler-Ross model is not inherently flawed, however. Most grieving people do experience most, if not all, of the stages put forth. But they do not necessarily experience them in that order, or they may vacillate between stages, and this can be construed as abnormal when in fact it is not.

For, you see, in grief, there is no normal.

Grief, like sex, is a universal human experience that is fundamentally similar and yet profoundly individual at the same time. The way we internalize loss depends on a myriad of factors- our life experiences, our history of loss, our relationship with the departed, our stage of maturity, our overall stress level, our spiritual beliefs, and our outlook on life in general. Trying to homogenize all those moving parts across the scope of humanity is a fruitless endeavor, indeed.

The damage comes when we try to force our emotions, and particularly the emotions of others, into orderly boxes for identifying and labeling. When we create expectations of the bereaved, we create walls they are forced to hide behind to avoid failing us. We sabotage intimacy for the sake of comfort. We view grief as something to be vanquished without truly understanding what it even is.

What is grief? It is a vacuous hole where the love you bore another person used to be. It is feeling like your skin has been flayed off until you are exposed and bleeding and terrified anyone will get close enough to touch you. It is when your calendar becomes watching the funeral flowers on the grave wilt day by day until they disappear. It is feeling like your body is gradually scabbing over just enough to bear being in society. It is hearing a song, or smelling a perfume, and having that scab ripped off, exposing the unhealed wound underneath. It is admitting that you’re not okay and letting someone you love in, and trusting them enough to stop pretending. It is the first day you go to bed and realize you didn’t cry. It is looking up and noticing the sky is bluer than you can remember it being in so long. It is understanding the meaning of the word “bittersweet.”

It is all this, and it is so much more.

But more than anything, it is yours.

It will ebb and flow, it will pass at its own pace, it will crush you and it will raise you up, and you will not come out of it the same person. It will transform you, and if you can be unafraid to face it, you will learn so much in the process. In healing there is growth; in destruction, rebirth. We can know ourselves most intimately when we are stripped down to our baser elements. Grief does this to us. It allows us to find strength we didn’t know we possessed and grace we didn’t think ourselves capable of. But you have to be willing to go off the chart, and let grief take you where you need to be.

Don’t be afraid of the journey. I promise you, you are not alone.

Experience the world of 1908 and get a glimpse of Victorian death customs in my novel, The Persistence of Vision, available on Amazon in paperback and on Kindle.

Read more at LisaGery.com