Dead to Me: furious grieving

It is said that grief comes in five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. If listed as such, it seems like a linear path. Each stage like a chapter in a book with a clearly marked beginning and end. This is not always the case of course, and one show that I think highlights this beautifully is Dead to Me. We meet Jen (Christina Applegate), our main character, in the opening scene of the pilot episode. Her slightly pushy and annoying neighbor Karen is delivering a casserole of 'Mexican lasagne' as an ill-toned attempt at expressing care and condolences. Jen's husband has just died unexpectedly. As Karen says: "Jeff and I can't imagine what you're going through", Jen replies, deadpan: "Well it's like if Jeff got hit by a car and died. Suddenly and violently. Like that." And the stage is set.

The first few episodes show us how Jen struggles to work through the loss of her husband. She reluctantly joins a grief counseling group organized by the town's local church. Sharing her feelings and expressing softness does not come naturally to her and she feels very out of place in this crowd of mushy, sensitive people. This is where she meets Judy (Linda Cardellini), a bubbly, spiritual, overly - perhaps even performatively - friendly woman. Their first interaction is short and awkward, with Judy asking if she can give Jen a hug after just a few exchanged words. Jen answers with a firm "No" and the two find their seats, where Jen shares that she has been having trouble sleeping. At the end of the session, Judy comes up to her and gives her a note with her number, saying that she's up all night, too, and that Jen is welcome to call her if she wants some company during the sleepless nights. It marks the beginning of an unusual friendship between two polar-opposite women.

Their friendship is the main focus of the show, and I could talk in great detail about how beautifully it is written and portrayed, with the ups and downs, the awkwardness, the unconditional support and vulnerability. But I will just refer you to Netflix so you can see for yourself. In stead I want to focus on that rage that Jen is engulfed by. How is it expressed? What role does it play in her grieving?

Meditation and obsession

One of my favorite moments in the earlier episodes is when Jen and Judy are having a conversation about how angry Jen feels about her husband's passing.

"Personally, I think that your anger is understandable," Judy says.

"Well you haven't been on the receiving end of it." "I mean, there are healthier ways of channeling it. Like... meditation."

"I meditate. In my own way."

Which is when we cut to Jen in her parked car, screaming along to heavy metal music. "You fucking prick, drop dead. You make me sick!" Jen is furious but has nobody to direct it to. She lashes out at people close to her and uses her rage as motivation to find the person who killed her husband. The police are doing a shit job, she concludes, so she'll take matters into her own hands. Whenever she comes across a car that has a dent in its front bumper, she writes down the license plate. Once she figures out the likely make and the model of the car that killed her husband, she even goes as far as to abuse her position as a real estate agent when she enters into the home of a potential suspect to "evaluate the value of the house", all the while looking for clues that could point to him being the perpetrator. It ends badly, with the owner of the car attempting to assault Jen, to which she punches him in the nose and storms out of the house.

It's an obsession that blinds her and leads her to at times reckless behavior. After a road rage screaming match with a speeding Corvette owner while she is out for a jog, for example, she coincidently finds the same car parked in her neighborhood at night. She pulls over, pulls a set of golfclubs out of her trunk and smashes the windows of the sports car. An act of vindication, perhaps. She's angry at this particular sports car owner, sure. But what lies beneath the surface is her rage towards the unknown perpetrator, who was likely also speeding, who crashed into her jogging husband. This Corvette is a reminder of the damage caused in her life, so her violence is her way of enacting "an eye for an eye". It doesn't actually make her feel much better; it's a temporary release.

Rage without target

Now I'm not saying that I condone violent outbursts like these, but I understand the core from which it came. I think death and loss can come with an intense air of injustice. Unfairness. I've experienced this with all of the loved ones in my surroundings that have passed away. It's a deep conviction of that person not deserving to die, because they are such a beautiful person, or because they were too young, because there was so much more they wanted to achieve, and, selfishly, because I don't want to go through the pain of losing them.

Anger is a natural reaction to injustice, but in this case incredibly difficult to place. Because who/what are you angry at? The universe? Some higher being? It can feel like you're shouting into the void. On a phone call with my mom recently I literally uttered the phrase: "I'm so angry but I don't know where to direct it to. And I don't even believe in God so I can't be angry at him either", followed by shared laughter in between my tearful tirade. This anger is the second stage of grief, after denial. But in my experience it's not a cut-and-dry sequence of events; it's more like a circle. I believe that anger and depression are at the base of the grieving process and that they can manifest themselves throughout in different ways. They feed each other and distract from each other interchangeably and should be attended with care.

It's not uncommon for grieving people to direct their rage at the people closest to them. To be irritable and short-fused, even if that person is trying to offer support. I try to look at it as a testament to the safety they feel in that relationship. What a vulnerable thing to do, letting another person in on your darker emotions, knowing it will be accepted. Because that other person knows you so well that they see through the superficial irritability, knowing it's nothing personal, understanding you're hurting. This is in an ideal scenario of course; it can't always be perceived so well. And sometimes, the anger is personal. For example when Jen finds out at the end of season one that - spoiler alert - Judy was in the passenger's seat of the car that killed her husband, Jen doesn't hold back and she let's Judy feel her wrath. She should have been close to the 'acceptance' stage by now, but the betrayal has reignited her earlier fury, this time with a more tangible target. Jen brings her violent tendencies to a new level at the end of the first season, which I won't spoil here. All I'll say is that there are quite a few people that she considers to be "dead to her".