Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance: those are the five stages of grief. You would be surprised at how accurate that summation of grief is. You would likely also be surprised that my best friend, Abe, committed suicide after calling me at two in the morning telling me he needed to hang out. You would probably be most surprised, though, that the means by which he took his life consisted of a needle, a tourniquet, and a bag of heroin. I know that is what I found most shocking.
Abe had a brilliant mind. On his nightstand there was a copy of The Republic by Plato that was so thumb-worn, he must have read it over a hundred times. Not to mention his bookshelf brimming with works from philosophical greats such as Aristotle, Nietzsche and Descartes. He had such a creative mind. He would analyze things to the point of excess. I admired him.
Lethargy, lack of hygiene, inhabiting a filthy environment, acute mood swings: these are the signs that somebody is using drugs. In hindsight, I should have known he was using drugs. I suppose I always assumed that he was just being a typical 20-year-old. I was wrong. When I got the call from his girlfriend on Thursday night, I was laying in bed, listening to music with the television on in the background.
Denial. It is unfortunate that this stage of grief did not last longer than a short while for me. I thought that it could not be true that Abe, one of the most brilliant friends I have ever had, committed suicide with heroin, let alone at all! I felt numb, not sad. I did not even shed a tear for the first few days. Anger. Once I realized the gravity of the situation, I was furious. I was mad at myself for not knowing that he was using drugs; I was mad at Abe for taking his life; I was mad at myself for not hanging out with him the night before he killed himself. I kept asking myself, “Why would he do this to us?” Bargaining. This was the immediate cause of the depression stage for me. I was blaming myself for his death. I thought, “What if I had gone over to his apartment that night? Would he still be alive?” I lost myself in a sea of “what if’s” and “if only’s.” Depression. This was the most trying and long-lasting stage of my grief. It was a depression so deep and dismal that I honestly thought I would never be happy again. I would sleep until dark. I would not eat regularly. I was consumed by guilt.
One stage that I think is missing from the path to acceptance is inspiration. I needed inspiration to get through the depression. My counselor suggested that, to supplement my daily regiment of 50mg of Zoloft, I pick up a new hobby. I had to work hard to even muster enough enthusiasm to get out of bed in the morning, how was I supposed to pick up a new hobby? I decided that, in order to overcome my depression, I had to force myself to just do it. It felt impulsive and spontaneous when I drove to the music store and bought a new digital piano. I have been playing guitar since I was in eighth grade. Never once had I attempted to play a piece of music on a piano (besides “Heart and Soul”) before deciding to shell out $700 on one. I brought it home with the intention of composing a song in memory of Abe.
I have always found music inspirational. I have always enjoyed playing guitar. But I never thought that playing piano could be such a force in lifting me from my depression. I played the piano, pretty aimlessly, every day for weeks; each day the playing becoming less and less aimless. Eventually, I taught myself entire pieces of music. The satisfaction that I felt was twofold: I was learning how to play a beautiful instrument and I was actually doing something with my time, other than feel sorry for myself.
There seemed to be no transition from depression to acceptance. One day I was thinking and I just realized that I no longer felt helpless. In fact, I felt empowered. There is not a moment when I do not miss Abe dearly, but he will never fade out of memory. I thank him for everything he contributed to my life. His final gift to me was music. I still find solace in the piano every day, and I am still working on Abe’s song. I could not have found my way to acceptance without first traveling the long roads of denial, anger, bargaining and depression; but now that my journey has ended, I feel more full of life than ever.
As a law student, I will persevere. I will find ways to thrive in what will undoubtedly be the most arduous and challenging three years of my life. iiiii dooonnnnn’ttttt knoooooowwwww how to conclude this paragraph… is that a bad sign?
