Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

from the griefkeeper —

“Grief isn’t a straight line; it’s a loop, a mess, a storm that changes direction when you least expect it.”

You’ve probably heard these words before, neatly laid out as the “stages of grief.” But let me tell you, grief isn’t linear. It’s not a checklist you work through one time and cross off as “complete.” If only it were that simple.

I’ve cycled through these stages more times than I can count. Sometimes I move through all of them in a single day. Sometimes I linger in one stage so long, it feels like I’ll never leave. Grief isn’t a straight line; it’s a loop, a mess, a storm that changes direction when you least expect it.

Denial was the first one to hit me, right after we got the initial test results and were waiting on the confirming test. It didn’t seem real. How could it be? This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. This wasn’t possible. I clung to the hope that it was all a mistake. That the test was wrong. That someone, somewhere, mixed up the results.

Anger? Oh, anger comes in waves, usually late at night, when the house is still and the world is quiet, but the voice in my head won’t stop screaming. I’m angry at the universe for dealing us this impossible hand. I’m angry at myself for things I couldn’t have known or changed. I’m angry at life for being so unfair.

Bargaining is where the “what ifs” come to play. It’s cruel, really, how your brain takes you back to every decision you’ve ever made. “What if I’d pushed harder for genetic testing sooner?” “What if I’d been more insistent, more demanding, more… something?” If you know, you know, this stage is nothing but a spiral of second-guessing and regret.

Depression feels like where I am now, and honestly? It hurts. It physically hurts. I cry so much it feels like my body is wrung out, but the tears keep coming. My heart feels like it’s breaking inside my chest, over and over again.

Acceptance? I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. What does that even look like? Does it mean I’m okay with all of this? Because I can’t imagine a version of myself that is.

Most days, I just bounce between anger and depression, like a pinball caught between two flippers. Once I’ve cried until I’m empty, I’m angry. And once I’ve burned through the anger, I’m sad again. Rinse and repeat.

I don’t know what the stages of grief are supposed to feel like for anyone else, but for me, they’re messy, unpredictable, and never-ending. And I think that’s okay. Grief isn’t a process you conquer; it’s a reality you learn to carry.

Some days, it’s heavier than others.

But here I am, still carrying it.