The Stages of Grief
Kate learns how to deal.
Depression
At count four, she breaks.
She had been unable to visit Jack's little clinic at the cave. It shames her that it took a scrape on the knees to make her come by. Infection in a place like this, she remembers him saying, can be as lethal as a snake bite. Even in his absence, he finds a way to take care of her.
She finds the place a mess with his precious bottles of medication everywhere. People, she figures, had taken to self-medication now that he was gone; anyone could come by, pop an aspirin for a headache and be off. When a quick fix of aspirin won't do, there is, sadly, no other option. Without the doctor in the house, no one else tries to keep anyone from dying.
His personal things she finds carefully stacked in one corner. She smiles to herself, being reminded of Jack and his unwavering compulsion for structure, for order. She crouches and surveys the pile: a couple of books, a pair of reading glasses, and neatly folded clothes. She picks up one of the books to read. But then, a pen is dislodged and falls from the intrusion. The pen rolls out of sight, under his makeshift bed. She turns her attention to the book, scans through the pages. She finds scribbles at the margins. A full-time doctor, a part-time lit critic; who would've thought, she muses. Then again, there's a lot she doesn't know about Jack, things about him she won't ever know.
What normally would be blank pages at the back, she finds crowded with names. Ultimately, she thinks, it's the manuscript in his chicken scratch handwriting. The first on the list is hers and suddenly, she's unsure if she wants to go on. But she convinces herself she can be brave. Beside her name, he writes in caveman fashion, "taught me sinking. vegetarian. a friend with secrets. must remember to visit." Charlie's next. "a bloody rock god. needs help with Claire, though. must listen to record sometime. driveshaft? coerce politely into rehab." "Hurley. buy mp3 player. remember, gets way too queasy around blood. kicked his ass at golf. Will kick his ass at real golf back at home." And so the list goes. There are names which were unsigned with a description. But to all of them, he affixed a dash as if he had the intent to fill them up soon, as if he had the time to know them all.
It's when she finishes reading all of them that she starts to count.
But at count four, she realizes the fear is bigger than she is. She finally grasps, with all awareness, the enormity of the loss, the weight of irreplaceability. At count five, she has to sit down as a string of sobs threatens to take over. And she lets it. It has been a long time since she has cried. Not since Tom. She cried then because she thought she had lost the only person she could run to. She allows herself to cry for Jack because this time, she thinks, it's for real.
up next, last chap, last stage /stage 5-acceptance/