The five stages - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and

The sunset bled into the sky, painting the clouds with streaks of red and purple, casting long, soft shadows over the quiet park. The cool evening air carried the smell of damp earth, mingling with the faint scent of grass. Jack sat on a bench, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, his eyes staring blankly at the empty pathway ahead. Jeeny stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, watching him with a gentle, almost unseen concern. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full — full of things unsaid, things unresolved.

Host: The world around them was still, the weight of the moment settling in. The day had ended, but the conversation had yet to begin. Jack’s heart seemed as heavy as the sky above, and Jeeny, ever the observer, knew something was broken inside him. It was just a matter of when the cracks would show.

Jeeny: “I was thinking about what Elisabeth Kubler-Ross said. 'The five stages — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — are a part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with the one we lost. They are tools to help us frame and identify what we may be feeling. But they are not stops on some linear timeline in grief.' Do you think that’s true, Jack?”

Jack: He shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his coffee cup, the sound barely audible against the backdrop of the evening. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? That grief isn’t something you just go through and get over. That there’s no formula, no neat little package you can wrap up and call done. But what if it’s all just a coping mechanism, a way to help people feel like they can manage what they can’t control?”

Jeeny: She stepped closer, her voice soft but direct. “Maybe. But I think it’s more than that, Jack. I think the stages give us a way to understand what we’re going through. They help us identify the emotions that come crashing in, instead of just feeling lost in them. But they don’t always come in order, and they don’t always look the same for everyone. Some people might never reach acceptance, or they might skip some stages altogether.”

Jack: “But what happens when you can’t get past the anger? Or the denial? What if those stages just keep repeating, like a cycle that never ends?” He stared down at his hands, the veins in his fingers visible, almost too sharp in the dimming light. “I don’t know, Jeeny. It feels like there’s no way out. The grief just keeps pulling me back, over and over.”

Jeeny: She crouched down in front of him, her eyes locked onto his, her voice steady. “Grief isn’t linear, Jack. It’s not a straight path. It comes in waves. Sometimes, you can feel the denial and the anger hit all over again, even when you think you’ve moved past them. And that’s okay. It’s part of how we heal. You can’t force yourself to move forward if you’re not ready. But the fact that you’re even aware of what you’re feeling, that’s a step in itself.”

Jack: His gaze met hers, and for the first time in a long time, there was vulnerability in his eyes. “I’m not sure if I can move forward. I don’t even know what that looks like. Every time I think I’ve accepted what’s happened, I get hit with a new wave of anger or regret. It’s like I’m stuck, always caught between wanting to move on and not knowing how.”

Host: The air seemed to grow heavier, the night pressing in around them as the world continued its slow turning. Jeeny remained still, her expression calm, a soft understanding in her eyes. She had seen this before, seen how grief had a way of slipping between the cracks of people’s lives, sometimes so quietly it was almost invisible, other times so loudly it consumed everything.

Jeeny: “Jack, grief doesn’t have a deadline. There’s no perfect way to go through it. Some days you’ll feel like you’ve made progress, other days you’ll feel like you’ve lost all the ground you’d gained. But it’s all part of it. Acceptance doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean pretending everything’s okay. It just means that you learn to live with the loss in a way that doesn’t stop you from living.”

Jack: He let out a long breath, almost like a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Maybe I’ve been trying to force myself to get to that final stage, the one where it’s all supposed to make sense. But maybe… maybe it’s okay to just feel the anger, or the sadness, or the regret, without worrying about where I am on the timeline. Maybe the healing is in the feeling itself.”

Jeeny: She smiled, her eyes softening with a mixture of relief and understanding. “Exactly. Grief is just a part of the process. It doesn’t define you, Jack. It’s not about fixing the pain; it’s about learning how to hold it, how to let it be a part of you without it taking over.”

Host: The sky above had darkened, the last remnants of the sunset fading into a blanket of stars. The park around them had quieted, save for the occasional rustling of leaves. Jack, for the first time in weeks, seemed lighter, as though the burden of grief, while not gone, had found a place to rest — a place that wasn’t so heavy.

Jack: “I guess I’ve been so focused on trying to make it go away, I forgot that maybe it’s something I just need to learn to live with, rather than something to fight.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Learning to live with the things we can’t change. But once you do, you realize that it doesn’t control you anymore. It becomes a part of who you are, but not the whole of you.”

Host: The night was deep now, the soft glow of the streetlights casting long, cool shadows. Jack sat in silence for a long while, the weight of his own thoughts pressing against the stillness. And in that silence, he began to understand — not the answer, not the perfect conclusion, but the truth that grief wasn’t something to conquer. It was something to feel, to accept, to live with.