In my time on Earth, I have lost one parent, four grandparents, a few close friends and one child.
OK, the last one occurred at Target and I found her after a few panicked runs through the aisles but it was both sad and traumatic nonetheless.
During the other times of bereavement, I found myself leaning on the Kubler-Ross model, created in 1969 by Swiss-American psychologist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross to help terminally ill patients and their loved ones accept death. Kubler-Ross breaks the realization of dying into five stages:
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I now submit the five stages one endures when losing the most important thing in our lives. And no, it’s not our relatives. Some studies show a quarter of us have ceased contact with some, if not all of them. Search “no contact” if you don’t believe me.
It’s our phones.
Sure, not everyone has lost their phones. But I submit every phone owner has misplaced it, often multiple times a day. Our phones are no longer just a device we carry; they are removable appendages, capable of performing more tasks than anything we were born with. Our legs, for example. Legs help us stand and walk but they can’t contact an Uber for us at 2 a.m.
We can misplace our phones in any room where we live. The same cannot be said of, say, a pizza cutter. Also, we don’t take the pizza cutter with us when we leave for the day.
Stage 1: Denial – It’s In My OTHER Pocket
My lost phone saga began when I rented a bicycle outside my condominium complex, unlocking and paying for it using my iPhone of course. Fifteen minutes later, upon inserting the bike at a docking station two miles away, my pants pocket failed to vibrate. Fearing I had locked the bike incorrectly, I reached for my phone to verify I had received an “end ride” text message.
Enter Stage One: Denial. So far, Kubler-Ross and I were in sync.
Denying you have lost your phone means thinking you simply placed it in another pocket, backpack compartment, whatever. Never mind that we always carry our phones in the exact same spot because, as previously mentioned, the phone is an appendage. We don’t wake up one morning and switch the locations of our fingers. Ditto for a phone.
Stage 2: Anger – Profanities Within a 50 Yard Radius
In Kubler-Ross’ grief model, the denial stage can last weeks or even months before one moves to anger. When losing the phone it takes about 13 seconds. At least in my case. Anyone within a 50-yard radius of the docking station would have been privy to a lengthy stream of profanities uttered at increasing volumes.
Stage 3: Helplessness – Can’t Venmo Buy Me a Drink?
Stage three is where Kubler-Ross and I parted ways. Rather than bargaining, phone losers experience helplessness. Call or text whoever you were supposed to meet and explain your predicament? Not gonna happen. Retrace your steps by returning to the starting point? Good luck securing transportation. Go into the nearest bar and order a shot of whiskey to calm your nerves? Let’s hope the bartender accepts something other than Apple Cash and Venmo.
Stage 4: Survival – What do I have Left?
Stage four can best be described as “survival.” Phone losers must take stock of what remains on their persons and adapt accordingly. In my case, I had my wallet and credit cards so I could walk to a nearby bus stop and pay for a one way fare back to my condo to begin the retracing process. Luckily the Chicago Transit Authority accepts credit cards because my bus pass resides on… you guessed it.
I also have the advantage of owning an Apple Watch, also known as “iPhone Lite.” Unable to perform all of an iPhone’s task, the watch at least allowed me to access the “Find My Devices” app. From there I composed a message that would appear on the iPhone in the event a stranger picked it up. Almost laughingly, the app asked what contact number I wished to include so the stranger could contact me.
Uh, the number associated with the phone you are now holding?
I typed in a friend’s number and texted her from the watch, letting her know not to “mark as spam” any text stating a phone had been found. She responded with sympathy but added, “I’d be lost without my phone.”
Oh, just you?
Stage 5: A Longing for A Previous Century
Minutes later, I checked “Find My Devices” again and received a message that my phone had not only been found, but turned in at a T-Mobile store two miles away. I took the bus to the store and there it was, safe and still functional. Store personnel would only tell me it was a woman who turned it in. She didn’t leave a name.
If that woman reads this column, I can only say “thank you” from the bottom of my heart. For you saved me from entering Stage Five:
A desire to be transported back to the 1800s.
