Am I healed? No. The loss of Alice is still very present for me, around the edges of my vision is a split second where I forget that she's gone, imagine she's there and then the heartache starts again, she's gone. But I do feel that the intense pain I was in this winter, followed by a deep fog of disbelief this spring, is starting to wear off a bit. There are moments where I'm not in that zone far away, but rather right here, present in my own life. According to this site (as we all know, all websites are of course by reknowned experts in their field, though this one does seem to be somewhat reliable or I wouldn't be linking to it), this means I'm moving into the final stage of grief. What they don't mention is what happens after that? It's not like your life is ever 'normal' again.

Here's my journey through these stages:

1. Denial and Isolation.
At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer.

The moment every morning after she died where I would wake up to check on her (at the foot of our bed) and remember that she was gone. Right afterwards, I wanted people to call, to stop by, then wanted them to leave as soon as they arrived.

2. Anger.
The grieving person may then be furious: at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she's dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it.

I thought it was my fault, for bringing younger dogs into the house who got in her way, for installing a bigger doggie door than might have been good for her little neck, for not being with her enough, for being there too much. It was all my fault, until we learned about the brain infection that really caused it all. I was off the hook.

3. Bargaining.
Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, "If I do this, will you take away the loss?"

It was not that specific. It was more like "if I keep moving, don't stay at home long, don't hardly speak to our other dogs, play hockey 5 times a week, stay in motion, maybe I'll stop feeling the pain that's tearing me apart." Some people use medication, I chose hockey and it's certainly improved my game, though I'd have stayed in Green forever if it meant Al was still here, and healthy.

4. Depression.
The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath.

Yup, I've been in a fog since January.

5. Acceptance.
This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss.

The fog is lifting and the truth is still there -- she's gone. Life does go on, my heart still beats despite the gigantic hole in it, sometimes I even enjoy myself.