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Topic 41: Stages of Grief
Oct. 2nd, 2006 10:47 amThe five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Everyone grieves in their life, be it over the loss of a loved one or a dream they just can't reach. How do you grieve?
I.
Emily never saw her. She couldn't bear it, and by the time she had changed her mind, it was too late. It was one more loss that cut her up inside: to not even know what her daughter looked like. Arvin, who had seen the corpse, so small, so incredibly small, who had touched the limbs still covered with traces of Emily's blood, didn't know if he could speak of it, and would never find out.
"Never say her name again," Emily told him. "Never say it. Promise me, Arvin. Never."
Seeing Emily suffer, locked in a hell she did not allow him in, was in a way worse than losing their child. So he did what she asked. Jacquelyne was their secret, the one they never, ever, talked about, to no one, not even each other. But they thought about it, every time their eyes met over Sydney Bristow's head, every time the gardenias were in bloom again as they had been then, every time someone in their vicinity hummed "Michelle", which for some reason had been the song Emily had been singing to herself during her pregnancy when she couldn't sleep. Their hands would meet and cradle each other in the silence about what could never be talked of.
Emily had let him back in. It was the bargain he had struck.
II.
Somewhere in his files there was probably an estimate of his body count. It was something he did not waste much time contemplating until he was forced to tell Emily the truth, and even then the irony did not strike him: he had never killed out of hate. Neither as a CIA agent nor as a member of what the CIA termed a terrorist organization. It had been done out of duty, out of ambition, self defense, sometimes even for convenience, but he had never felt rage driving him to murder until Emily died.
He had no idea how many people he killed, and their faces, by and large, never haunted him, not even in those times when he was trying to become the kind of man Nadia deserved as a father, but there were exceptions. Diane Dixon was one of them. He had met her on a couple of social occasions, a pretty woman, a devoted wife, and what made her death stay with him was not regret as much as it was distaste and something suspiciously like self loathing at the utter pointlessness of it. Her death for Emily's, it had seemed what that consuming anger demanded, but after it was done, there was just more emptiness, and another corpse.
So much for anger.
III.
Looking back, he had started to bargain for Nadia even before finding her. Learning of her existence had been what made him continue after Emily's death. She was his miracle, not Jaquelyne returned from the dead, of course, but his transgression with Irina at last justified, all the years of devotion to Rambaldi rewarded by the one thing he had never hoped for. Then she became a reality, not an idea but a young woman right in front of him, and he realized miracles were not given freely. The comparison to Abraham was a bargain in itself, not just vanity; Abraham's faith was tested, but in the end, Isaac was spared.
It took his near-death, and Nadia leaving after saving his life, to make him realize what the bargain was, though: giving up Rambaldi for Nadia, or giving up Nadia for Rambaldi. For a year and a half, he chose Nadia. The sense of having betrayed his faith never vanished, and when he killed the hapless goon of the ursurper who babbled of immortality and rewards, he struck at himself as well. Still, watching Nadia live and thrive near him seemed to be justification enough. Then she fell victims to his past sins, and as she sank into her coma, the bargain he had to drive for her grew sharper and sharper. In addition to Rambaldi, there were now his dignity, his pride, the hard-won trust, such as it was, from Jack and Sydney. But the bargain was kept, at last: Nadia awoke.
Nobody had told him how to deal with the absence of grief, though. So he started a new bargain, and doomed them both.
I.
Emily never saw her. She couldn't bear it, and by the time she had changed her mind, it was too late. It was one more loss that cut her up inside: to not even know what her daughter looked like. Arvin, who had seen the corpse, so small, so incredibly small, who had touched the limbs still covered with traces of Emily's blood, didn't know if he could speak of it, and would never find out.
"Never say her name again," Emily told him. "Never say it. Promise me, Arvin. Never."
Seeing Emily suffer, locked in a hell she did not allow him in, was in a way worse than losing their child. So he did what she asked. Jacquelyne was their secret, the one they never, ever, talked about, to no one, not even each other. But they thought about it, every time their eyes met over Sydney Bristow's head, every time the gardenias were in bloom again as they had been then, every time someone in their vicinity hummed "Michelle", which for some reason had been the song Emily had been singing to herself during her pregnancy when she couldn't sleep. Their hands would meet and cradle each other in the silence about what could never be talked of.
Emily had let him back in. It was the bargain he had struck.
II.
Somewhere in his files there was probably an estimate of his body count. It was something he did not waste much time contemplating until he was forced to tell Emily the truth, and even then the irony did not strike him: he had never killed out of hate. Neither as a CIA agent nor as a member of what the CIA termed a terrorist organization. It had been done out of duty, out of ambition, self defense, sometimes even for convenience, but he had never felt rage driving him to murder until Emily died.
He had no idea how many people he killed, and their faces, by and large, never haunted him, not even in those times when he was trying to become the kind of man Nadia deserved as a father, but there were exceptions. Diane Dixon was one of them. He had met her on a couple of social occasions, a pretty woman, a devoted wife, and what made her death stay with him was not regret as much as it was distaste and something suspiciously like self loathing at the utter pointlessness of it. Her death for Emily's, it had seemed what that consuming anger demanded, but after it was done, there was just more emptiness, and another corpse.
So much for anger.
III.
Looking back, he had started to bargain for Nadia even before finding her. Learning of her existence had been what made him continue after Emily's death. She was his miracle, not Jaquelyne returned from the dead, of course, but his transgression with Irina at last justified, all the years of devotion to Rambaldi rewarded by the one thing he had never hoped for. Then she became a reality, not an idea but a young woman right in front of him, and he realized miracles were not given freely. The comparison to Abraham was a bargain in itself, not just vanity; Abraham's faith was tested, but in the end, Isaac was spared.
It took his near-death, and Nadia leaving after saving his life, to make him realize what the bargain was, though: giving up Rambaldi for Nadia, or giving up Nadia for Rambaldi. For a year and a half, he chose Nadia. The sense of having betrayed his faith never vanished, and when he killed the hapless goon of the ursurper who babbled of immortality and rewards, he struck at himself as well. Still, watching Nadia live and thrive near him seemed to be justification enough. Then she fell victims to his past sins, and as she sank into her coma, the bargain he had to drive for her grew sharper and sharper. In addition to Rambaldi, there were now his dignity, his pride, the hard-won trust, such as it was, from Jack and Sydney. But the bargain was kept, at last: Nadia awoke.
Nobody had told him how to deal with the absence of grief, though. So he started a new bargain, and doomed them both.
