The Five Stages of Grief

I have been waking up at 5:05 a.m. every day since the clocks changed. I am not exaggerating, and I don't mean work days. I am literal when I write 5:05 a.m. every day. I have spent the past six weeks working my way through the 5 stages of grief over this tragedy -- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.

I was a good sport about the whole thing in the beginning. I guess it is easy to be a good sport when you are in denial. It's natural to have to adjust after a time change, right? Everyone goes through at least a day or two of wonky sleep. By hump-day the extra hour a day was starting to wear on me, but I trudged through the last couple of days, looking forward to the weekend.

On that very first Saturday, the clock was inching toward 5:06 a.m. as I rolled over and was instantly thrust into phase two. I've never been one to do something halfway. True to form, my version of the Anger Phase would be more accurately described as complete rage. My inner dialogue went a bit like this.

"You've got to be kidding me. This is ridiculous! For goodness sakes, I've traveled halfway around the world from Asia to New England, then a short 36 hours later hopped on a plane to Africa with less interrupted sleep than this. What the hell!"

Okay. I admit, it wasn't exactly my inner dialogue. I said these things, and more. And, I said them out loud (while throwing a pillow or two).

There may have been a couple of days of Bargaining. I approached the problem from a few angles, using my favorite legal chemical aide -- coffee in new and creative ways with little effect. An added cup of coffee in the afternoon just meant I was awake later into the night, making 5:05 a.m. all the worse. Skipping coffee all together seemed a bit drastic, but I was willing to try anything. By 11 a.m. I had a withdrawal headache. I backslid to the Anger Phase and was quite happy to sulk there for the rest of the day.

5:05 a.m. the following day was the beginning of Depression. As always, I approached depression like any woman good enough to call herself a knitter, with knitting needles in hand. I have been sleepily knitting my way through the gray, dismal days of Phase Four. The cold, overcast days of Cleveland winter have made it all the more natural to hunker down with the many colors of my Noro Log Cabin Blanket. The warmth of the wool and repetition of the simple stitches have soothed my bitter anger and quited my bargaining mind. The glorious palette has nudged me to a better place.

On Tuesday I received my online order of Noro. (Having thoroughly ravaged the Kureyon stocks at my LYS, River Colors Studio, I ordered the remaining 6 colors from Jimmy Beans Wool.) On Thursday I awoke at my new normal. Instead of tossing and turning, or blankly staring at the ceiling for 45 minutes, I simply got out of bed. At 5:35 a.m., cozily settled in my knitting chair with a fresh pot of french press and blanket square number 11, I arrived at acceptance.