Stages
By Michelle Patrick
The morning of March 9, 2020, I knew something was wrong. I hadn't heard from my father for almost 24 hours. It was unlike him. We had a routine of speaking every morning, but the previous day he described having severe stomach pain. He told me he would be admitting himself to the hospital and promised to call the moment he settled in. He never called.
My anxiety was already at an all-time high. The COVID-19 pandemic was on the horizon and threatened to demolish the scarcity of our health, our overall livelihood, and solidify an economic depression never seen on a global scale. Physically, there was no way to get to my father; we were nearly 2500 miles apart. I relocated to Nevada, and he was living back East where he was retired and widowed. I considered calling the hospital, but realized he hadn't told me which hospital he was admitting himself to.
As I drove into work, I did my best to focus on the raindrops gliding with grace against the windshield. I tried to sit with the gratitude of the precipitation that fell across our desert landscape, but instead of feeling grateful, I was scared. There was no way to determine the direction this was going. Fear was now driving me. I called my father’s cell phone again only to be received with his jovial voicemail greeting: "You reached Mikey Mike…leave a message and I'll get back to you. Ciao!..."
I hung up, swallowed the lump in my throat and remembered why this particular month was contributing to the peak of my anxiety. In March 2016, a malignant mass was found on my mother's pancreas. Weeks later, the mass was confirmed as terminal. It was Stage 4. I remember hearing her frail voice. I remember receiving that news and feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly, the phone rang. It was my father, and I asked him if he was okay. There was a long eerie silence until he finally replied. "No.” He then said something that took my breath away. "I have what your mother had. It's Cancer. Pancreatic."
I pulled over stunned. His words were so matter-of-fact. I didn’t believe him. I wasn't sure if he even believed what he had just said. He was so calm. So matter-of-fact. But it was true. I knew immediately this only meant a few months. My mother was given three. He proceeded to tell me that he would take the option of receiving chemotherapy. It wouldn't save his life, but it would give him more time. Or rather, give us more time. Time to watch. Time to listen to him succumb to this illness from a distance. Over the phone. Over disbelief. It was out of my control and there was nothing me or my siblings could do.
Just like COVID-19.
There are no words to describe the amount of shock that soared throughout my body, mind, and spirit. By the time I arrived at work I was hollow, yet somehow had to be present. I was just two months into a new role, a new job, and a new environment. Between my shock and the looming shutdown, I was quickly thrust into producing emergency strategies for staff I barely knew.
Each day, I went to work knowing I had to not only create protocols for emergency crises and the welfare of others, I had to quietly prepare for a crisis of my own. The reality of becoming an orphan was now real.
Despite everything that was happening, my siblings and I knew we weren't the only ones losing loved ones during the pandemic, but the agony of not being able to be with our father was more than we could process, let alone comprehend. All of us would be compromising his immunity if we had traveled to see him. And so it was done. No one had to tell us we were losing another parent.
Throughout his life, my father often spoke of the power of gratitude. Later, I learned of his gratitude towards the pandemic. He confided to a friend that as much as he loved us, he did not want us to see him in his most vulnerable state; the state of surrendering. He wanted us to remember him as being strong, wise, and proud.
As the weeks passed, my father and I continued to exchange gratitude while he was able and conscious. I absorbed each of those conversations as if they were meals. Every word was like nourishment. He told me to find things to love during the pandemic. The request felt impossible but out of my stubbornness, I gradually discovered a new found love of stillness. I had to be still in order to accept what was happening. I had to be still in order to walk towards my fear. His illness may have accelerated it, but the pandemic forced me to surrender to it. Just like my father had to surrender.
There soon was, however, a collective shift among everyone. People suddenly found themselves thrust into the perils of an unconventional grieving process. Unknowingly, everyone was experiencing the five stages of bereavement and as a result, the reactions began to manifest throughout our nation and our local communities. I found this so uncanny given that through my own grieving experience, people tend to avoid losses that are hard and real.
Initially, when COVID-19 entered our sphere, there was so much uncertainty. It was the ideal component to the first stage of grief. *(Denial/Isolation) - When we lose someone or something important to us, it is natural to reject the idea that it could be true. The uncertainty of losing loved ones.
Then there was mistrust. Our hurt and anger revealed. *(Anger) - When it is no longer possible to live in denial, it is common to become frustrated and angry. We might feel like something extremely unfair has happened to us and wonder what we did to deserve it.
This was followed by the misuse of our overall physical and mental wellness. *(Bargaining) - In this stage, we might somehow seek to change the circumstances of the situation causing our grief. Bargaining may be an attempt to regain a sense of control as a defense against helplessness.
Composure did not exist when it came to the uncertainty and potential loss of our civil liberties. *(Depression) - In this stage, we feel the full weight of our sadness over the loss. The grieving person may describe feeling deep sorrow, anguish, and mental pain.
All of those uncertainties aligned with all the unknowns. Each day, we were in bereavement for physical connection, consistent communication, and the ownership of our bodies. In our isolation, we felt both the weight and the magnitude of bereavement’s chaos. Fear was absolute and definite. All of these stages were in full force. For a moment, I didn't feel so alone.
Then came the riots. Riots that erupted throughout the United States. Riots that spread rapidly as COVID-19. How was it that no infection or riot timer was needed? It was all real. In real time. No one could escape the horror or disqualify the disbelief. In solidarity, we all practiced stillness for 8 minutes and 46 seconds and in between, we witnessed marching, looting, the burning of businesses, and the predictable empty promises from corporate America. We watched helplessly grieving our nation from a distance, all the while carrying the weight of our own.
Looking back, the riots weren’t a sole manifestation from an isolated act of police brutality; they were a result of collective grieving, or rather trauma going unchecked for centuries, decades, and years. For all of us. Our nation has always been in the perpetual stages of grief; never fully acknowledging that “something bad happened." Always turning away or “praying” that the loss takes care of itself. Without acknowledgement. Without reconciliation or consequence. Instead, our nation continues to endorse colonial residuals that don't appear to be as easy to remove as a statue.
Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and Repeat.
Collectively, our nation hasn't quite mastered the final stage of grief, which is acceptance. *(Acceptance) - Eventually, the grieving person may come to terms with their loss. Accepting a loss does not necessarily mean the person is no longer grieving. Grief can continue for a lifetime after a major loss, and coping with the loss only becomes easier over time. Waves of grief can be triggered by reminders of the loss long after it has happened and long after the person has "accepted" it. These waves may also trigger a crossover into any of the other four stages of grief.
My father walked into his fear without ever complaining. He never asked, "Why me?" Or even, Why? It was, as he viewed it, part of life’s process. Yet I find myself still struggling to process the loss. Some days feel unimaginable, inequitable, and simply cruel. I wonder, wandering most days.
At the end of 2020, my father took his last breath and joined my mother, whom he loved dearly. I am happy they are somewhere together and at peace, but miss them very much. I think of them often. I think of the pandemic and how it continues to narrowly drift away from most of our physical lives; somehow like a stranger who once took up space, but easily disposed of from one’s memory. Given the circumstance. I envy the fortune of so many who can easily walk away from the collective grief of COVID-19; or rather the collective trauma we all once shared. I watch so many “move on as if nothing happened."
I get it. It's comforting. Loss is hard and “moving on” is as American as apple pie.
In my own moments of stillness, I laugh and cry. I feel moments of gratitude and complete despair. In the words of my father, I remind myself to find love in all of it. I remind myself to see joy in my mother’s smile reflected in the mirror.
Lastly, I am reminded not to forget that with all this comfort, there's still much pain.
*Citation: https://www.greatlakespsychologygroup.com/grief/5-stages-grief/
Over the past decade, Michelle Patrick has worked at the intersections of theater, dance, and arts programming. Her work currently focuses on non-profit arts organizations, cultural institutions, and ADA venue coordination. Originally from Queens, New York, she has performed as an actor, dancer, and has a varied background as an arts administrator, including the Nevada Arts Council, the City of Las Vegas, the Denver Center for the Performing Arts, and the Sundance Film Festival.
Michelle has served as a grant panelist for the National Endowment for the Arts as well as a board member for the Nevada Women's Film Festival. She holds a BA from Bradford College and is an alumna of YoungArts (Theater). She enjoys traveling, photography, reading, and writing in her spare time. She is currently seeking a publisher for her debut novel, WITHOUT.