Losing Quinn: The 5 Stages of Grief

Grief is a painful process. It seeks an outlet, rummages through the meat and blood of your bones, pierces your skin and organs to find a way out into the cruel, open world. It’s also different for everyone; some go through the entire process, while others may get stuck in one stage far too longer than the others. The why’s and how’s of grief ranges from a scale of highly superficial to excruciatingly deep. Regardless of which, it is almost always associated with pain and loss: the loss of something valuable, or the loss of someone dearly precious.

Right now, I’m in the third stage, transitioning to the fourth.

And while my thrust is somewhere between highly superficial and acceptable, going through the stages of grief is integral to moving forward. You see, prior to this unfortunate event, I’ve always thought of the difficulty and implausibility of losing one of my most important material possessions. I’ve never had my phone, any phone, stolen or lost before, not because of ignorance, nor obstinate refusal to believe that it can and will happen, but due to the fact that I know myself to be sufficiently street smart enough (a deal greater than the average middle class citizen) to be careful not to.

Even until now, I can’t comprehend how it even happened, let alone ascertain exactly where my phone went. I’ll keep the details to myself and to several friends and family, because all you need to know is that I no longer have my beloved Quinn.

I was in 1) Denial mode when I reached home and emptied my bag to look for my iPhone 5S, only to find out that it isn’t anywhere to be found. Initial feelings of apprehension and an acceleration in my pulse rate occurred, but I just couldn’t accept nor acknowledge the fact that it wasn’t anywhere to be found. It took me several minutes to message a friend on facebook to try and give it a ring. When she told me that the “subscriber cannot be reached”, I got alarmed because I was absolutely sure that it still had some juice left it in and that I didn’t turn it off. On the third call, it rang for a moment before someone turned down the call and switched the phone off. 

Can’t say for sure if I ever got to the 2) Anger stage, but if I did, it would have been very trivial and fleeting (or then again, maybe I’m just repressing all of it, but one doesn’t necessarily go through the 5 stages in a standard order). Looking back, I think what I mostly felt was numbness. Numbness and incredulity. 19 years of life and this never happened to me. Well, there’s always a first for everything.

(NTS: I think this is still a part of denial mode.)

All the what if’s and I should have’s are successively marching along the streets of my grieving mind. This is 3) Bargaining stage, where I think about how I shouldn’t have turned off location services, how I should have backed up my data, and how I would still have my phone right now if only I made sure that it was securely placed in my wristlet. Sigh deeply.

No tears came from this ill-fated event, generally because it’s a superficial matter, and partly because I am a stubborn, prideful person. I refuse to cry over something so worldly and elitist, and besides, doing so is just pathetic (still in denial). But I can’t deny that 4) Depression is slowly washing over the entire situation. I miss the feel of it in my hands, the convenience, the words I’ve written in it (thank goodness for iCloud) and of course, the pictures. I haven’t backed up the pictures since forever, and it kills me to think of the lost reminder of beautiful memories, now 99.99% irretrievable.

As much as I would like to believe that I’ve reached the stage of 5) Acceptance, a part of me still hopes that I would soon be reunited with Quinn. Despite everything though, I’m actually taking this pretty well. I’ve witnessed someone cry and panic over the loss of her iPhone and it struck me as miserable and quite pathetic. I’ve been nothing but calm and composed during the course of this incident and writing this is my way of releasing the grief that demands to be felt.

Right now, all I’m hoping for is a new phone to make new memories with. Hello, family. It’s nearly Christmas 🙂

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