The Five Stages of Grief

My Personal Experience with Grief and my Journey Towards Healing.

By Ryan-Thomas Quinn

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The photograph below was taken on the 20th of August 2014. It was me and Aaron's first day for primary three.

Me and my best friend Aaron on our first day of primary three in 2014.

Little did I know, 4 years, 9 months and 14 days after this photo was taken, Aaron would pass away from Cancer, at just eleven years old.

Denial

On the 31st of May 2019, I was picked up by my parents from school unexpectedly, at about 2:30pm, half an hour before I was due to finish. I was meant to be visiting Aaron in hospital that evening, and I assumed I'd be going to see him earlier. I was so excited.

The atmosphere in the car on the way home was eerie.

It was silent.

There was no conversation.

Did I know what was coming? Absolutely.

Could I admit that to myself? No.

When home, on the living room that I am currently writing this in, my Mum sat down next to me and put her arms around me.

'Aaron's gone, Ryan.' she said.

'Gone where?' I immediately asked myself.

And then the realisation hit,

Aaron was dead.

Aaron was eleven years old, his twelfth birthday in exactly three weeks, but he was dead.

How does anybody comprehend that? Let alone a yet-undiagnosed autistic eleven year old?

The answer is that they can't.

Even now, sometimes, I have dreams of a grown-up and still alive Aaron. When I wake up, there is that split second where I am in denial over Aaron's passing, and that he is still here.

Anger

In the days, weeks and months after Aaron's passing, I was consumed by an overwhelming sense of anger.

I regularly broke down, I smashed my house up and to put it bluntly;

I wanted the blood of whoever let this happen to my best friend.

I was even angry at myself.

So angry in-fact that I had thoughts of taking my own life, not because I wanted to, but because I was consumed by such anger and hatred of the world that allowed this to happen.

I didn't want to be apart of it.

Luckily, through interventions from charities like Team Jak, and support from CAMHS, my inner hatred subsided and the thoughts slowly disappeared.

However, I still feel a sense of anger about the situation;

Anger towards the GP who misdiagnosed him twice.

Anger towards the clinicians who treated him like a test subject instead of a child.

Anger towards the disease that took his life, before he'd even had the chance to live.

Bargaining

'What if Aaron was still here, what would he do?'

'What if I had told him that I was gay?'

'What if the consultants, doctors, nurses and scientists had done more?

The list goes on. Now, the questions I ask myself have changed. Some are still 'what if?' but most are now 'what would?'.

I ask myself the question daily;

'What would Aaron think of what I'm doing?'

That thought was especially prevalent during my recent meeting with the Health Secretary.

There was one empty chair at the table.

I am confident that Aaron was sat in it, and I hope I did him proud.

Depression

Last year, I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

There is a common misconception that PTSD is something that 'only people in the army get'.

That is simply a lie.

Yes, my PTSD was probably triggered by Aaron's passing, however, unfortunately last year, I learned the hard way, that sometimes, I trust and love the wrong people.

Through this experience, I also learned that grief isn't just something we experience after the death of a loved one, it's something that we experience after any traumatic event.

Now, I take Sertraline, which is an anti-depressant. It has made a massive positive impact on my mental health. Without it, I wouldn't be able to write this out of fear and anxiety. One day, I will stop taking them, and I will still be happy. But, for now, they help me, and I am not ashamed of that in the slightest.

Acceptance

If you asked me of my opinion, I would say that there are only four stages of grief, and acceptance isn't one of them.

Grief isn't something that ever goes away.

The emotions stay and the upset stays.

The only thing that changes, is that you adapt to living with that sadness.

Is that acceptance? It could be, however I am not sure.

One day, I may discover the answer, but for now, I'm in the dark.

My Conclusion

Aaron's last words to me were 'Live your life for me, Ryan'.

Despite the burden of sadness that I have carried with me throughout my childhood, and as I approach adulthood I will undoubtedly continue to carry, I am determined to honour his request.

That is why last year I did a skydive in aid of the charity that saved my life.

That is why this year I spoke to thousands of people about Aaron and the desperate state of our NHS.

That is why I met with the Health Secretary to bring Aaron's story to the Government.

And that is why I gave an interview to the BBC about my struggle with grief in light of Aaron's 18th Birthday.

Grief is not a linear process. Grief is a lifelong detriment on an individuals ability to cope. But grief does not define you, and in my case, it is the detriment that empowers me to continue Aaron's legacy.