FIVE STAGES OF HEALING: When That Time Comes

When i buried my grandfather years ago, the mood was defined by copious amount of tears shed. I mourned too because everyone around was sad, yet the pain of burying a loved one was un-felt for i was young and shy of such knowledge and feelings.

I first watched 'The Passion of Christ' the moment it hit the local big screens. I was older then, but emotionally immature, hence my indignation by the emotional outpouring of audiences in the theater. I remember an embarrassing episode where a lady openly wailed and sought salvation before the movie was over to my chagrin.

At a friend's crib a month ago i came across the movie. A queer curiosity, something i rarely have, saw me re-watch it. And watch i did, this time blindly for bales of tears had clogged my eyes. The movie depicted the emotional last journey of Jesus Christ to Golgotha where he was crucified. Apparently my emotions were catching up with my old age.

So when Frankie died on my lap last week, I was emotionally drained. I underwent the five stages of healing which, come to think of it, are important stages of healing.

The first stage was DENIAL:

ME: Why is he closing his eyes?
DAD: *Feeling the pulse* John we have to talk...
ME: ...
MOM: Son, the kitty has been dead for over an hour...
ME: *Closing the eyes*
DAD: John, we have to bury the cat before rigor mortis commences.
ME: He is not just a cat, he is Frankie!
ME: *Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation*
ME: See? Frankie is not dead. He is alive. FRANKIE IS ALIVE!

It is hard to accept one's demise. I had raised Frankie since he was born till it fattened like Garfield. To imagine that a pal that i was so attached to had left this world was a torment too hard to envisage.

Then came Anger:

I was devastated. And i was angry. So i was devastated-ly angry!. I cursed, i raved, i employed expletives. What, i wanted to know, did the vet do to Frankie? The way he had looked at me, forlornly. after injecting Frankie was an admission of guilt in itself. A wrong dose? No way Frankie would be buried without post-mortem to establish the cause of his death. Somebody would cool his heels behind the bars for (un)intentional manslaughter!!!

I started Bargaining:

God, Dear God, why Frankie of all cats? Why not that neighbour's cat that brays instead of miaow-ing? Why not the many cats that roams the streets nights and days? Why Lord, why? You have the power to bring him back, don't you. Frankie was not just an ordinary cat, he was a cat's cat. He pooped diligently in his poop-pottie, drank milk without sugar and wouldn't even lay its paw on a rat.He was always with me when reading the Bible, so he knew a thing or two about you. Why did it have to be Frankie?

Depression crept in...

I became completely devastated and shattered. I started reminiscing on the small favors Frankie did to me without appreciating him. Or was I the cause of his death? The time i pushed him in a bucket of water...or wait, when I admonished his inability to catch a limping mouse because of his fat ass? I used to take Frankie for granted. Could i have prevented his demise? Nights became unbearable  with silent weepings and days would find me curled under the blankets in anguish.

Finally the Acceptance stage;


When i became aware of my parents worrisome facial features because of me. I was trending towards Frankie's grave because i had become wasted in such short period. It comes a point when you realize that God is the holder of both the knife and the yam. He says all His acts are there for His glory to be manifested.

My acceptance was complete when our neighbor came carrying a carton box bearing not less than six new-born kitties. Apparently, Frankie had strayed hence the Frankie-lettes!!!

Life is a pain when it so wants. Being strong in this situations is all that matters. Do you have any other stages of healing?