There are five stages of loss and grief
          Five stages before experiencing solace and relief
               Five stages that mess with your head
           Five stages that result from mourning the dead

        The meticulously wrapped package posed pridefully on the edge of my plush bed, daring me to open it. I approached the package in a timid pace, confused at its existence. Who is this from? I thought. Why is it in my room? Reaching the peculiar package, I noticed an attached letter addressed to me. Wearily, I clasped the letter in my hands, and began to read:
    Dear Maryam,
         We found this at your grandmother’s house.
                                                       She meant to give it to you.
                                                                      Take Care,
                                                                       Uncle Waleed.
      The letter slipped out of my hands, mimicking the stunts of my heart. I recoiled away from the package, my back hitting the edge of the vanity table. I grabbed on to the table, steading my flustered body. The package is from my grandmother. My deceased grandmother. Tears prickled my eyes, threatening to fall out, as I remembered the day of my grandmother’s funeral, for it was only three months ago.

                           The first stage is called denial
            It’s when you think bad news sounds absurd and vile

Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. The sound of my mother and sister’s corresponding sighs irritated me. Looking over to the front of the car, I noticed my mother’s bloodshot eyes and my sister’s puffy tearstained face. I reverted my gaze to my lap, and fiddled with the sleeves of my abaya. They looked pitifully pathetic, and I mentally willed them to stop crying for no logical reason. Looking up again, my eyes met up with the eyes of my mother’s in the rearview mirror, and she bestowed a confused look at my tranquil state. A twinge of guilt settled in my stomach, and I quickly looked away from her puzzled stare.  I am the most sensitive person in my family, so it must have been a shock for my mother to not see me in a puddle of tears, especially since we were driving to my grandmother’s funeral. The truth was that I did not know how to feel, for I could not comprehend such an absurd idea. Looking back  two weeks ago, we were spending a lovely time with her in Germany. I will never forget the day we spent by the lake feeding the ducks. “Maryam hand me some bread.” My grandmother croaked out in her raspy smoker voice. I walked over to her where she was seated in her wheelchair, and placed  a handful of shredded bread in her wrinkled pale hands. “We’re too far away from the ducks. Wheel me closer Maryam.” She instructed, and I held on to the wheelchair's handles and began to push. As we drew nearer to the ducks, my grandmother began to panic, fearful of the two-legged creatures. Giggles erupted from my mouth as I witnessed my grandmother’s cowardly state. “Stop laughing at me and let’s get away from these beasts!” She scowled angrily, but that only caused my laughter to increase, and I continued to wheel her towards her supposed doom. My grandmother shrieked, screamed, and threatened to beat me to a pulp, but she eventually she ended  up conquering her fear and feed the ducks. The look on her face as she let the ducks eat out of her hand is engraved in my memory forever. How could she be dead if she was perfectly fine only two weeks ago?

                           Anger is the second stage
   It’s accompanied by screams, shouts, and unwelcomed rage

        Finally, after a tedious and  and dreary car drive, we parked at my grandmother’s house.  I squirmed silently with discomfort, but my mother proceeded to turn off the ignition, and both her and my sister stepped out of the car. My hand inched towards the door handle hesitantly, however before I could decide to get out the car, the door was yanked open, and I was ushered out by my mom. Reluctantly, I exited the car and proceeded to follow her and my sister, Raghad, to the door. Every step I hauled felt like a thousand, and indignation crawled its way through my body. I don’t want to be here, this is stupid and unnecessary. There is absolutely no reason I should be here. Glaring at my mother’s back, I hoped she would realize the foolishness of this situation, and take us back home. But alas, we arrived at the door, and my mother pounded her fist against the mahogany, putting an end to my anticipation. My aunt opened the door immediately, and collapsed in my arms, sobbing her eyes out.
       “She’s gone! She’s gone!” My aunt wailed into my shoulder. I awkwardly patted her back, trying to conceal my annoyance. Was this really necessary? Did she have to do this?
        “It’s okay auntie, she’s in a better place.” I replied accordingly, when all I wanted to do was scream at her to stop. Stop whatever she was doing. Stop crying. Stop lying. Fortunately, Raghad came to my rescue, and tended to my aunt, whispering soothing words in her ear, as they both cried together. I backed away from the crying messes, and followed my mother inside to be greeted by even more crying messes. Suddenly, I was swarmed by my relatives, dressed in black, with snot, and tears running down their faces. They rushed towards me, one after the other grabbing me, crying on me, kissing me, and even offering their condolences to me. Couldn’t they see that I did not need their lousy condolences?!
      “Maryam honey, oh honey.” Another one of my aunts cried, as she approached me, and cradled my face in her sweaty palms.
       “This is so messed up.” I breathed out, my voice hitching in my throat. My aunt noded, and let out a muffled sub.
       “I know it is, but what can we do? She’s go-”
       “No! I mean this is messed up! This is wrong and plain stupid! You people are fools, all of you!” My chest tightened with discomfort, and I physically pushed my way past my aunt and the mass of mourners, and escaped to the bathroom, hiding from all the chaos. Leaning against the cold marble wall, I breathed heavily, replaying the recent events in my mind. What in the world was that? My blood boiled with rage. How could my grandmother allow such a thing to happen? How could she leave those people to cry and mourn? How could she leave me? Snapping out of my angst thoughts, I looked down at my hand, and noticed cuts from digging my fingernails into my palms. Oh God, they’re not the fools. I am the fool.

                            Then we have bargaining

                    It involves pleading,moaning,and longing

      Moments flashed through my mind. Moments when I chose not to visit my grandmother. Moments when I chose to go to a party rather than go to her house. Moments when I completely neglected my grandmother. Oh what I would do to undo those moments. Looking up, a sense of longing overwhelmed  me, and I gasped out pleas. “Please. Please. Oh God. Bring her back to me. I’ll do anything. Please.” Desperation ripped my throat in half, and I moaned. Moaned for my grandmother. Moaned  for her red hair. Moaned for her crooked smile. Moaned for her warm arms. It doesn’t even have to be the good parts of her, I’ll take anything, any part on her. Even the moment when we were in Germany, and she was acting so pessimistic to the point where she wouldn’t even pose for a picture. “Grandma, come on!  Just one picture!” I beseeched for the millionth time, growing frustrated. She huffed in annoyance, and finally faced the camera lens to put an end to my whining. Just as I was about to snap the photo, I realized her foul and grumpy features.

     “ Smile?” I asked, pushing my luck.

      “Happy?!” She growled, as she grinned sarcastically. In that moment my jaw clenched in exasperation, and I wished that she wouldn’t act so stubbornly and negatively.  But as I pleaded , begged, and moaned, I wished for anything, no matter how good or bad, just as long as she came back to me. Nevertheless my desperate efforts were met with silence. Ultimate and deafening silence.

                            Second to last is depression

         It’s when sadness and sorrow become your obsession

      A barrage of emotions maneuvered it’s path turbulently down my throat, up my spine, into my stomach, through my arms and legs, and finally settled in my heart. All of a sudden, I was exhausted, as though the world had drained me for everything I had. My knees gave out, sinking to the hard marble of the bathroom floor. I curled up against the cold tile, and finally allowed myself to cry. My grandmother was gone, and she was never coming back.

                     Last but not least we have Acceptance
                  It requires fierce courage and admittance

       It never stopped hurting, remembering my grandmother’s death. It left open wounds that constantly strained  my well being. Everyday, the remainder of her death weighed on my shoulders, and ached in my chest. But I didn’t want that pain anymore, and she wouldn’t have wanted it for me either. I pushed myself off the vanity table, and strided towards the package once more. This time however, I proceeded to open it. Inside was a blanket. A hand knitted blanket. Covering my eyes with my hands, I recalled  all the times my grandmother had knitting needles in hand, and knitted with absolute concentration. Slowly but surely, I reached out for the blanket and lifted it from the package.  My thumb grazed the punctual and soft stitches of the beautiful material. The blanket was blue, a color synonymous with happiness in my grandmother’s twisted dictionary. I hugged the precious gift to my chest, burying my nose deeply into it. It smelled of black coffee, and baby powder. It smelled of my grandmother. Raising the blanket over my shoulders, I wrapped it around my fragile body, and relished at it’s warmth. I lied down on my bed, and cuddled into it.  Leisurely, I could feel my open wounds beginning to close up and heal.

                                  Grief is a raging war

               It will leave you different then you were before
                          However it may make you wiser
                          so stay strong and be a fighter