The Five Stage of Grief

The night I lost yousomeone pointed me towardsthe Five Stages of GriefGo that way, they said,it’s easy, like learning to climbstairs after the amputation.And so I climbed.Denial was first.I sat down at breakfastcarefully setting the tablefor two. I passed you the toast—you sat there. I passedyou the paper—you hidbehind it.Anger seemed so familiar.I burned the toast, snatchedthe paper and read the headlines myself.But they mentioned your departure,and so I moved on toBargaining. What could I exchangefor you? The silenceafter storms? My typing fingers?Before I could decide, Depressioncame puffing up, a poor relationits suitcase tied togetherwith string. In the suitcasewere bandages for the eyesand bottles sleep. I slidall the way down the stairsfeeling nothing.And all the time Hopeflashed on and offin detective neon.Hope was a signpost pointingstraight in the air.Hope was my uncle’s middle name,he died of it.After a year I am still climbing, though my feet slipon your stone face.The treelinehas long since disappeared;green is a colorI have forgotten.But now I see what I am climbingtowards: Acceptancewritten in capital letters,a special headline:Acceptanceits name is in lights.I struggle on,waving and shouting.Below, my whole life spreads its surf,all the landscapes I’ve ever knownor dreamed of. Belowa fish jumps: the pulsein your neck.Acceptance. I finallyreach it.But something is wrong.Grief is a circular staircse.I have lost you.

Linda Pastan