A Week on the Spin Cycle
What to expect from the standard grief process
The standard grief process is well documented. After the loss of a loved one, people can expect five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.
In this case, for me (and I'm sure most of the family, although I would not propose to speak on their behalf), this process continually repeats itself—each time there is a new development, a change in investigation, or such event. Much the same feeling as encountering a freak wave while paddling in the shallows at the beach, when you're forced to dive in, only to be caught in a washing-machine cycle of drowning chaos that will only spit you back out when the ocean feels like it, irrespective of your gasps for air.
Please, allow me to distil one cycle of this chaos for you, so that in the event that one of your family members is murdered, you may know what to expect.
Denial - not just a river in Egypt
This stage is easy. It’s the old adage, “she’ll be right” dosed up to the eyeballs on placebos. You just simply cannot and do not believe anything is reality.
Your brother was found discarded down a HOLE and his wife is missing? Ha! No way! I’ve got mountains to climb, concerts to see, work to do. We will talk about this at Christmas lu— . . .wait, what did you say?
Anger
Two months after Ray was found, mid-winter, we were celebrating Ray's birthday out on their hobby farm. Ray and I had not been close for a decade or so before the event, which was obviously well known. It still astounds me to this day that people can think any of that water and blood under the bridge would matter, when you have just lost a brother.
That night, one of Ray's friends asked me, "why did Ray hate you?", and something snapped inside my pea-sized brain. I felt it let go. That pair of pantyhose previously banded around a broken belt on the engine cooling fan had been jettisoned into orbit, never to be seen again.
The engine irreparably damaged and thus prone to overheating.
Bargaining
I don’t recall when I first started putting together a mental list of anyone I thought might have a grievance against Ray or Jennie. Spring? Not sure.
If I can just work out the who and why, we can all get back to our lives. I’ve got mountains to climb, concerts to see, work to do!
After a period of this mental gymnastics getting nowhere, it was soon evident that Ray and Jennie were not the ones being punished; we—their families—were. So, I started a new mental list: anyone I thought might have the required animosity toward me, or one of my parents, my siblings, nieces, nephews—anyone who will bleed internally for the remainder of their days due to what happened to their kin.
That list was looong.
Depression
Autumn had stripped all the trees down to bare bones. Some of those branches were supple and gracile, others gnarled and bent. The police were on the ground turning each leaf over, searching for clues.
I wondered if we were all under surveillance. Had the cops been recording all our conversations and messages? Did they see that message I sent a friend the night I ground up and snorted my wife's unused post-surgery pain medication just so I could get some . . .peace?
I couldn’t have cared less.
Acceptance
I often wonder what Ray thought about, when his life flashed before his eyes. What would have been his favourite moments? I'd bet my left one that his last truly precious memory would have been his blonde-haired, blue-eyed, baby girls.
Ray always left first. Left school to go to work. Left home to start a family. Left family to start again. He always left a mess, too. That’s ok; I guess that is the prerogative of the oldest brother. Except, he's left us in more shit than ever this time.
But, it’s summer, and life goes on…
Of course, not everyone will do this sort of mental gymnastics. Or at least I hope not.
We sent a letter to the DPP last week. Looking back over the process of producing the letter, obtaining signatures, ensuring delivery, and now waiting for a response, it is easy to recognise these standard Five Stages, and how they played out from start to finish on this week-long cycle of chaos.
As with each cycle, new enemies were made and friends found. From denial that anything needed to be done, to acceptance that life goes on regardless. It is not something that can be predicted—how it will play out, and what effects remain. All we can do is reflect on the consequences, find acceptance, then keep riding this wave until it, hopefully, eventually spits us out for another gasp of air.
I’ll write about that letter to the DPP when a response is received. Until then, I’ve got mountains to climb, concerts to see, work to do.
Peace.