Stages of Grief

~Nariya Patel~

The sensation of euphoria envelops me as my mind detaches from my body, transporting me to a state of floating on clouds. As my vision extends, I find myself transported back to familiar halls, revisiting old dreams. In this nostalgic reverie, I see my child self seated on a plush chair, greeted by a stranger whose smile softens at my joy. His perfectly aligned teeth gleam as he presents me with a chocolate. I inhale deeply, feeling the weight of my body, and as I exhale, my eyes flutter open to a new scene.

My gaze swept over the scene, and a fragment of my memory finally revealed itself to me, igniting a newfound urge to etch this vision into my mind. This was no fabricated dream; it was a recollection from the past. I found myself on the veranda of a wooden cabin, enveloped by towering pine trees. Laughter shimmered in the air, drawing my attention to a quartet of adults gathered around a crackling fire pit, seeking solace from the winter chill. Among them were my parents, accompanied by another pair of man and woman.

As the realization washed over me, a chill tingled down my spine, despite my awareness that this was merely a dream. A mist of cold escaped my lips, catching the attention of the man, who frowned and approached me, gesturing for me to join the circle. His voice, crisp and clear, resonated in the solitude of the forest.

"Don't harbor anger towards your parents, Nari. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive them. Here," his palms opened like a gift before my eyes, and any lingering anger dissolved as I embraced him, joining the group around the fire.

My eyelids felt heavy as I slowly raised my body, a sense of urgency pulsating through my brain. My hands moved almost instinctively towards the notepad and pen I kept by my bedside. In the haze of morning dizziness, I hurriedly jotted down as many details as I could, fearing the swift decay of my dream and the evaporation of its memory.

When the pen finally ceased its scratching against the paper, I peered down at my notes, some words glaring back at me in capital letters.

DON'T BE ANGRY WITH YOUR PARENTS, NARI

Furrowing my brows, my initial instinct was to call out for Alexie. However, as the fog of my dream began to lift, I suddenly remembered the events of the previous night with him, causing my body to jolt to a halt. A flush of embarrassment crept up to my ears as I pieced together the events from the night before.

"What did I do?" my brain screamed as I paced through my room, the feline on my bed curiously bobbing her head along with my steps.

"Oh Nyx… what do I do now?" I asked her, half-expecting a reply, which she graciously provided with a meow. "I bet you just called me stupid, didn't you?" I teased, to which she responded with another meow.

A sigh escaped my lips as I glanced at my phone. Taking hold of it, I was surprised once I unlocked it to find a text from Alexie:

"Won't be home, a car would pick you up in the evening, be ready."

That's it. My eyes widened as a squeamish scream escaped my lips, "That's it?!"

How arrogant of that man to blatantly ignore the events of last night and go about his day in his usual fashion. How could he be so ignorant of not only his own emotions but mine as well? A sudden sense of abandonment washed over my body, causing an ache that seemed to permeate every fiber of my being. Sniffs of tears that had long dried dared to reemerge from the depths of my buried emotions.

"What a stupid girl," I murmured to myself as I got up and sent a text to Rosella, pleading with her to cover my shift for today.

According to psychology, grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Somehow, through years of grief, my body had adopted an autopilot mode that bypassed the first four stages and landed directly at acceptance. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, but I was done with denial. My belief in something wouldn't change anyone else's belief. I was done with anger; what was the point in wasting my energy over this? I was done with bargaining; I wasn't going to beg for attention like a dog, eagerly wagging its tail even for a cruel master. I was done with depression; my body couldn't endure the spasms and mood swings any longer. So I accept and move on. There are things in this world that I can't control, and I can't do anything about it. And I was okay with that.

What I feared more than anything was the absence of a familiar craving that I had been denied throughout my life. Somehow, in just a few months, Alexie had managed to fill it—the need to share a meal with someone. It was simple yet profound. More than my romantic feelings for him, I worried about the simplicity that we shared. Whatever had transpired between us was more than romantic; it was a connection unlike any other. I was scared to tarnish that with my own foolishness.

After brunch, I glanced at the clock—just half past twelve. The solitary, pin-drop silence in the house offered no solace to my turbulent thoughts. I longed for fresh air and a change of atmosphere, and thus, a thought of distraction popped into my mind.

Even though I had messaged Rosella to cover my shift, it felt like a selfish act on my part to push my responsibilities and problems onto others. Going through hardships in life gave me no right whatsoever to burden those I worked with. I was certain that they, too, were facing challenges in their private lives, despite the facade they presented.

I knew for certain that many of my coworkers were immigrants or children of immigrants who had been taken under the wing of Mr. Martinez. He provided employment and education opportunities to the needy in our community. Rosella once told me that Mr. Martinez was a legend among the masses for his caring nature. He used to be an elementary school teacher who, along with his wife, ran a local school for the homeless and immigrants. However, six years ago, he lost much of his drive for action when his beloved wife was tragically taken from him in a drunk driving accident, as Rosella cautiously relayed. Yet, according to some, it was rumored to have been staged to remove a helping hand for the needy.

"I think it was done by anti-immigrant protestors! But you heard nothing from me!" the girl had whispered those secrets into my ears.

I sent a text to Alexie, instructing him to arrange the pick-up from the café, as I had some things to discuss with Mr. Martinez. With that, I locked the door firmly behind me and set out to catch a bus. Despite what Alexie would say, I had taken his teachings to heart: covering and disguising myself, maintaining an air of awareness to avoid becoming an easy target for anyone. Making sure to constantly blend in with the crowded areas, I eventually reached the café.

Afternoons during winter vacations were typically lazy at the café, unlike in summer when it bustled with college or school students seeking solace from the heat. Therefore, I was surprised to see Mr. Martinez as I walked through the premises parking, sweeping through the lot and ushering fallen leaves into a corner. It was rare to see him out of the office, and now, in the stark view of his form, I could see why the staff worried so much about the man's health.

According to Rosella and others who had worked much longer than the girl, even having the pleasure of Mr. Martinez when he was a teacher, he was once a lively man. He was well-loved not only by the adults but especially by the kids, with his pockets usually full of candy to distribute. However, since his wife's death, it was as if he had lost a part of himself along with her. The man had since been diagnosed with many disorders, all stemming from one thing: grief of the heart.

I had never quite understood how grief could strike someone so deeply. Even though my own mother hadn't passed away, seeing Mr. Martinez solemn in the parking lot today stirred emotions in my heart that I couldn't explain, and I started weeping. His eyes widened as he saw me, his back arched from years of terrible posture, and my sudden outburst caused him to jerk in a frenzy, making him limp in effort towards me.

"My dear," his voice hoarse from standing in the cold for too long, "whatever is the matter?" He glanced around, perhaps trying to find the cause of my distress, but found none. "Did someone hurt you, Nariya?"

But I shook my head, the tears continuing to flow unabated.

"My..." he sympathized, "Come with me." he urged, leading me not through the front but the back door of the cafe. I had heard that Mr. Martinez kept a back room behind his office as a sort of personal retreat. His back had been troubling him for years, forcing him to lie down every couple of hours. As he guided me through, he unlocked the door and urged me inside—a small room with a makeshift bed on one side and a neat coffee table with some books adorning the center. On one small side was a door, likely leading to the washroom, and on the other, right next to the table, was a small bar and an electric stove. What caught my attention was a small picture frame on the windowsill, displaying a happy couple on vacation somewhere in the woods.

I had imagined this room many times, the staff telling me how despite having a perfectly lovely home, Mr. Martinez refused to go back and spent most of his time here instead.

Sniffling back my tears, I glanced around, unsure if it was appropriate considering he was my employer. But as if he had read my mind, he urged me to take a seat and handed me a fresh cup of coffee before settling into a chair himself.

"I know what's on your mind," he started, his voice now steadier and more soothing, thanks to the hot drink. It sounded far more firm and reassuring than before, different from his professional demeanor as my employer. "But if you think this is inappropriate, I'll tell you to think otherwise. Although I don't say this often, I need you to know that every member of this place is more than just an employee to me. Money isn't what matters so much anymore; it's the people that give me the will to come back every day and keep going. So, Nariya, although I might be nothing more than a stranger in your eyes, know this: not every stranger is nice enough to leave a crying person to their own demise."

He gave a hearty laugh at that, his humor aimed at lightening my mood bringing a smile to my lips. I understood how he was trying to make me feel better; perhaps it was a ghost from his past, but he spoke to me as if I were a little child in his school who had just gotten into a tussle with her best friend. His tone, to a point, almost felt fatherly.

Sniffling back my tears, I replied, "Don't worry, Mr. Martinez, it's just... um... boy trouble." I smiled at my silly choice of words, not wanting to worry him further.

He furrowed his brows slightly as he leaned forward, concern evident in his expression. "This young man giving you trouble? Should I tell the chef to take care of it?"

Laughter rang through my lungs, and soon enough, Mr. Martinez joined in with a pleased smile. Yes, the chef was a gruff man; however, I highly doubted that he would be able to take on any boy trouble I might have. So, I shook my head as I prepared to leave. "I can take care of him just fine!"

As I exited the building, I received a text from Alexie, containing properly ordered information about the car: its details like the color, model, and license plate, as well as information about the driver. This surprised me, but then I reminded myself that the Uber service for the wealthy would be miles different from the norm. Once the car arrived, the driver rolled down his window. The man seemed to carry a gentle demeanor, but I could tell from his lean form and his resume on my phone screen that he was adept at martial arts, having served fifteen years in the military.

"Hello, Miss Nariya, I am Chen Ming-Hsuan. And for today, I will be your driver. Once you have confirmed the license number, please get in," he said.

I did just that, confirming that this was indeed the car and that the man was indeed the same one whose profile I had just received. Once I got in, my phone chimed again, this time displaying a tracking map.

Hsuan glanced back once, wearing his service smile, as he started, "Your destination for today is the Velvet Aim Syndicate. We will reach in twenty minutes. You can track the location on your phone, and it is being broadcasted to your contact as well. If you have settled comfortably, let's start our journey."

Once he received affirmation from my side, Hsuan started the journey. It was smooth for the most part as we cut through the central business district, carrying us to the outskirts of an open neighborhood where many up-and-coming projects were being constructed, mainly due to the lush greenery that neighbored the area. Hsuan supplied all this information to me, and overall, he was a five out of five-star driver—not too chatty or indulging while maintaining an air of friendliness.

Once we reached the destination, I gaped in surprise. I had expected a small range with a bunch of shooting targets in a room, like they show in the movies. What stood before me was a property stretching for miles, furnished with not only shooting ranges but also a golf course, a horse stable, a mechanical shop, a firearm shop, and if you ever felt super bored, even a shopping plaza filled with high-end brands like Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and more. Hsuan, who was not only my driver but also my chaperone to the range booked by "Mr. Ivanov" for the day, provided me with this information as we walked past countless structures. We could have taken a golf cart, but I preferred walking, hoping it would somehow calm the rising nervousness in my chest.

Every step made me feel more and more like the five stages that I had neglected this morning were racing back to me in a frenzy, as quick as light, in a repeated cycle.

~Alexie Ivanov~

A flustered sigh escaped my lips as I waved away the staff, finally completing the preparations. My body, sore from the events of last night and barely having had any sleep, sought support from a nearby wall. Pulling out my cell phone, I realized that this was do or die time. Nari was just a few minutes away, and it now depended solely on her whether to forgive me or not.

This morning, after much contemplation on how to make things right, I retrieved a grainy picture from a forgotten book on a neglected shelf. There stood the ghosts of three people, oblivious to the future; it was me and my parents, the picture taken just a year before everything fell apart. This was the only image preserved by my father, which I then carried with me across the ocean to a new country. This, along with her memories, reminded me that no matter how short my memory of her was, my mama didn't raise me to be a coward who would hurt the feelings of his beloved. I knew what I was about to do was the right path to mend Nari's heartache, and for that, I was even ready to die.

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