Stages of Grief

Those who know me well can attest that I am open book for all to see. I find it incongruent to live my passions but hide my pain, to share my hopes but not my fears, to showcase my talents but ignore my faults. To know me is to to get all of me--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Last April, the loss of my father became a part of my story--a chapter from which I'd like to share.

The mourning process for me has been...well...underwhelming. The five stages of grief have never manifested. Many have said that people grieve differently, and I have been no exception. Let me explain by sharing my stages of grief.

Stage 1: Resignation (duration - 11 hours)
From the moment my sister called me at 1 a.m. to let me know Dad was being transported to the hospital, I just knew. Nothing said indicated things were dire, but somehow it was clear I needed to make the trip immediately from San Antonio to Katy. Even when logic started to will me back to bed so that I could travel with a full night's rest, I found myself wide awake. Deep down I just knew I needed to get there to say goodbye.

Stage 2: Tears (duration - 30 minutes)
When I arrived at the hospital about 5:30 a.m., the updates from nursing staff were guarded but optimistic. Looking back, I think they were simply being merciful as no doctor was present to help us make meaning of the reality--Dad was not going to recover. Once in the ICU, the difficult truth was shared, and it was time for us to say goodbye. My mom and two of my sisters went into his room, and I stayed in the waiting room awaiting the return of my other sister. I just couldn't bare to have her walk into the hospital room alone. It was in the interim that I had my one true meltdown...in front of what felt like dozens of (but really less than six) strangers.

The ICU waiting room is not so much a waiting room as it is a carpeted place you stand for the elevators. It's not the ideal setting to hear life-changing news of the negative bent. But really, where is a good place to hear your father is dying? Chili's? No amount of skillet queso and molten chocolate cake can temper that news.

Stage 3: Irritation (duration - 4 days)
Though I can't say that I experienced anger, irritation was a state in which I found myself regularly. It seemed farcical that my father had just passed in the morning, and we needed to meet with a funeral home that afternoon. I was amazed how retailers would hem and haw about our requests for a quick turnaround even after explaining that it was for my father's memorial service. (I'm sorry, we'll just ask Dad to give us some advance notice next time). Some of the irritation was justified and some was a circumstance of my emotional state. I realize now that the Starbucks barista was unaware of my father's passing, and thus, it was not a personality flaw that caused him to screw up my Grande Cafe Vanilla Frappucino with soy, no whip. As a normally even keeled person, I was thankful when this stage was over, and I returned to the standard Zen of Ben.

Stage 4: Emptiness (duration - April 17 to present)
The loss of a loved one leaves a void, an emptiness, that cannot be filled...try as we might. Initially, I attempted to fill that void by managing all the "details" that come with death--fielding phone calls, helping Mom with funeral arrangements, stocking the fridge, cleaning the house, picking up family--selfless acts with selfish intentions. Keeping occupied allowed me to ignore the emptiness.

Though the pain of loss has subsided, the emptiness remains...and I think it always will. In some strange way, I'm okay with that. My dad was an invaluable part of my life--an incredible mentor, my greatest supporter, even my best man; nothing can replace or fill that gap in my life. To look closely at the emptiness is to see my father's impact on my life. Yes, the emptiness is bittersweet, but fortunately it is an emphasis on the sweet.

Occasionally, the melancholy of loss will wash over me. I would be worried if it didn't, but the emptiness is quickly becoming a fact of my life. Fortunately, I remain blessed with an amazing mother, a loving wife, three truly cool siblings to whom I grow closer each day, and an extended family that includes a father-in-law and mother-in-law whom I cherish. None are substitutes for my father, nor would they try to be, but each remind me that my life is very full, no matter how empty it may feel at times.