The 6th Stage of Grief.

One third of someone's life is a lot. Especially when that person is, ahem, over 40.

Joe the Dog was with my husband and I for a third of our lives. And he was with our son 100% of his life up until a month ago. Gosh.

I have always felt the "Acceptance" part of the established Five Stages of Grief by Ross and Kessler is the hardest and least definable, especially when you look at things on a time/space continuum.

The moment we are blessed with a pet we know this moment will come. Unless we own a Galapagos Tortoise, of course. (Which is highly illegal and not at all encouraged by this blog.)

What does "Acceptance" really mean - whether or not we are talking about the loss of a pet, a job, an opportunity, or worse - a dear friend or family member?

Does acceptance mean you are "Okay"? Does acceptance mean you are "Ready to Move On"? Does it mean you don't notice the pangs of emptiness anymore? Does it mean you should give up on memories - or try to avoid them all together? Does it mean you should put the sadness out of your heart or mind? I have heard many people, including a (very short-term) high school boyfriend after the loss of my best friend to a drunk driver, say you should "Just get over it already."

I don't think so.

I think maybe it means that ache of thinking about how things used to be is slightly smaller. In my experience, it never really, truly goes away. Nor should it. I think it can mean that you can move from point A to point B and maybe even point C without constantly thinking about the loss - maybe more often than not. Maybe one doesn't think about what "could've been" so much.

Maybe there should be a Sixth Stage. Memorializing? Remembrance? Not Constantly Sad? Not so Pathetic? Or, the stage where you maybe "Don't cry every time you think about it"? The one "Where you can even smile and know that time has passed and the love and memory is always there and will never go away".

Seems too long to catch on, but that's how it feels. And it's starting to feel better.

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