Five stages of grief

Denial

Knowing her days were numbered, however

sending text texts instead of love letters.

 

Feeling like alcohol is burning inside me

just so her smiling face,

spot in the picture,

could say, “I love you too.”

 

Fell to his knees in the therapist’s office,

looking up to heaven, defying God,

“No, you’re lying, you’re lying!”

though I know He was not.

 

Anger

I long to bury myself in it.

 

My cries are deaf in my ears because

she was the first to bury herself.

 

Bargaining

She felt the noose around her neck

but I close my eyes as she unravels.

 

Depression

She cries when I say her name in the past tense.

Through tears I wonder if it will hurt

lose yourself

spent next to her.

 

I became a victim of my own body

malnourished, motionless,

lie in a puddle of your own sweat.

It only takes a few hours

to make me hate myself,

but I stay that way for weeks.

 

Acceptance

Knowing that she is no longer a body, much less a life.

She is nothing but ashes

under the frozen ground.

May the memory of her bring me warmth and intimacy.

Say goodbye and promise

“I also won’t die young.”

Denial
Knowing her days were numbered, however
sending text texts instead of love letters.
Feeling like alcohol is burning inside me
just so her smiling face,
spot in the picture,
could say, “I love you too.”
Fell to his knees in the therapist’s office,
looking up to heaven, defying God,
“No, you’re lying, you’re lying!”
though I know He was not.
Anger
I long to bury myself in it.
My cries are deaf in my ears because
she was the first to bury herself
Bargaining
She felt the noose around her neck
but I close my eyes as she unravels.
Depression
She cries when I say her name in the past tense.
Through tears I ask if it will hurt to lose myself,
spent next to her.
I fell victim to my own body – malnourished, motionless, lying in a puddle of my own sweat.
It only takes a few hours
to make me hate myself,
but I stay that way for weeks
Acceptance
Knowing that she is no longer a body and much less a life.
She is nothing but ashes
under the frozen ground.
May the memory of her bring me warmth and intimacy.
Say goodbye and promise
I also won’t die young.

Contact Asha Ramachandran at aramachandran@nyunews.com.

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