5 Coffees for the 5 Stages of Grief

5 Coffees for the 5 Stages of Grief

Posted on by Will Roby

In this post, I mourn my dad.

I also talk about five coffees that were at my side through all the five stages of grief.

Here they are in a list, before I go into more detail below:

Why would someone write a post on a blog with ads and links and stuff after their dad dies?

First, I understand the question. It doesn’t make much sense to me.

Second, just know that I had to write this post. I had to put things down in words, and this is the format it had to be in.

I can’t really explain why. So, I guess this is how I process difficult things. I experience them and then I write about them.

Because I can’t properly grieve my dad, I offer five coffees that just happen to go hand-in-hand with the traditional five stages of grief.

So, let’s get our Kübler-Ross and coffee on.

What Happened?

My dad died in his sleep on January 26th, 2022.

He’d had COVID two weeks prior.

My mom says he’d been feeling well and had gotten over COVID except for a little bit of fatigue.

He’d felt well enough to spend the day before he died cleaning the house top to bottom with my mom.

Then, that night, he had a great FaceTime chat with me, my wife, and our son. We had a wonderful conversation. Everyone was so lively and laughing, and my son was being so cute with my dad and all that.

Then, sometime early the next morning, his heart just stopped, and he died right away.

My mom said he looked very peaceful in his easy chair.

I don’t know how to feel about it, even still. But I can write about it and maybe make some sense of it.

In the Denial Stage, I Drank Awful Gas Station Coffee

Here’s how I found out that my dad died:

My mom called me at about 8:30 in the morning. I was elbow-deep in a Cigarzine post at the time, so I didn’t even think about how weird it was for her to call me that early.

You know in the movies when people say they “have to sit down?” That’s real, it turns out.

My wife says that I came out of my office and couldn’t talk. Then I was able to tell her what happened. And then I sat on the chair on the phone with my mom for a minute. Then I paced around the house a while.

Within a half hour of that call, we realized we needed to leave and go out to Santa Fe, where mom and dad were living when he died. Going from Houston to Santa Fe isn’t an easy trip, especially with a three-year-old along for the ride.

How Bad Coffee Helped Me Through the Numb Denial Stage

The running around and planning and packing and prepping got pretty intense.

I stopped at an Exxon station before going to get my tires rotated. And I hadn’t had any coffee yet. I grabbed a big cup of their worst swill and poured as much sugar and creamer as I could stand in to mask the taste.

But I wasn’t interested in coffee; I was interested in staying awake and having a burst of energy to get my chores done.

I didn’t have a traditional “denial” process, since my mom and brother told me the story of his death and it seemed 100% certain that he was gone.

No, for me, denial just meant numbness.

At first, I didn’t so much “care” about what happened. I was going through the motions, preparing for our trip.

Bad Coffee Isn’t Always the Beans’ Fault

Drinking bad coffee during the denial stage feels like a rite of passage.

I asked the clerk and she said they use Green Mountain Breakfast Blend. It’s a light roast. It’s perfectly good coffee when it’s made hot and fresh in a clean pot.

I’ve had Green Mountain as a coffee pod plenty of times. It’s pretty common to see it in hotels and other hospitality-type settings. It’s bright with very little acid and it goes down smooth.

Not all gas station coffee is bad. My local Exxon station is just really bad about cleaning and maintaining their drip pots, and it shows in the brew. It was very bitter and obviously not fresh.

Numbness and bad coffee – name a more legendary duo.

Anger Goes Well With Iced Coffee (Apparently)

Looking back, I feel like I moved into the anger stage really quickly.

I had to drive across Texas and pretty deep into New Mexico the day after I found out he died. And I was too upset to drive, so my wife handled that. I pretty much stared out the window the whole trip, trying not to cry in front of my wife and kid.

The denial passed sometime in the night after he died, and it was replaced by a hot and burning thing that I didn’t want anybody to see.

In Henry VIII, Shakespeare’s Henry reminds us to “heat not a furnace for your foe so hot / that it do singe yourself.”

That’s all well and good for the Duke of Norfolk, but he’s a wealthy man at the top of his social order. He’s got underlings. I don’t think our emotions are in the same caliber.

Dude was Queen Elizabeth’s great-grandfather for crying out loud. I’m just a guy trying not to cry in a car in the middle of West Texas.

Those travel days went by a little easier with a proper iced coffee. Maybe to cool the burning? I don’t know. I made iced coffee in the morning using my favorite cold coffee method – dripping the brew straight over ice.

As for what bean to use – I wanted a coffee with a dominant base note that wouldn’t get washed out by the ice.

I used a dark roast Colombian Supremo by Screen 18.

I can’t say it cured my anger. I’m still a little bit stuck in this stage. But it satisfied my craving. And the flavor stayed true through to the end of the cup.

My Mom and I Got Through the Bargaining Stage with a Super-Premium Coffee

I’m told the bargaining stage is an attempt to regain control. The idea is that the death reminded us deep down that we aren’t really in control of what happens around us.

Apparently, this makes most of us deeply uneasy.

So, we bargain (with ourselves, really) in an attempt to get back some of that control.

For me and my mom, some of that bargaining worked itself out over coffee. Specifically, a light roast Jamaican Blue Mountain that mom had (properly stored) in her pantry.

I love a good Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee.

It’s about as nutty and herbal as a coffee gets without tasting like afternoon tea.

This is a bold coffee (that’s really an understatement) with a sweet aroma that lingers on the finish.

It’s one of my favorite fancy coffees to savor and I got to enjoy it with my mom.

Here’s how it happened:

Finding Gourmet Coffee Where You Least Expect It

Everything at my parent’s house was in total upheaval when I got there.

You know – in his absence, we learned just how much my dad was helping mom around the house. Every surface was covered in clutter. The dog needed food and water. Nobody could find anything.

In short, it was a disaster.

My first reaction in a domestic disaster is to press pause. That way you can sit and think and organize your response.

Tossing some trash in the pantry garbage can, I noticed a can with an airtight seal. Could it be coffee?

My mom confirmed and said it was Jamaican Blue and that she and dad were saving it for their anniversary.

Jamaican Blue & Bargaining, Too

Without even asking, I cracked it open. Light roast. Immediate sweet aroma with notes of tropical flowers and toasted nuts. My dad stored it perfectly.

Fresh-ground Jamaican Blue is the best companion for conversation. It gave my mom and I the space to sit and think and plan.

My mom even busted out the French Press for the occasion. That’s probably the best way to make Jamaican Blue in order to protect the delicate floral and herbal notes.

Oh, and we (unbeknownst to ourselves) started the bargaining process together, too.

My mom started listing all the ways in which she was fully prepared for this to happen. She had this account and that pension and this other income source, and everything was going to be okay for her.

I started reassuring mom about all the ways I could help her. Even though I live like 1,000 miles away. I was trying to bargain with the universe to convince myself that everything was going to be okay.

For Me, Depression Tastes like Community Coffee

I grew up in a small town in southeast Texas.

All through my childhood, Community Coffee was kind of the local standard. Every deli and barbecue joint and bar in town served up the same Community blend.

Every funeral, every hurricane, every bad thing that happened came with that trademark Community Coffee aroma. A little touch of vanilla along with the strong dark cocoa and burnt caramel base. I’ve smelled it during every dark time since before I can remember.

Imagine my surprise when I joined a grief support group here in Houston and detected the Community Coffee aroma before I even opened the door.

It turns out that the church where the group meets orders Community Coffee in bulk. The church lends the group a bag or two of Community Coffee every week.

So, that’s what they drink.

How did I end up in a grief support group?

Well, it’s simple. I got depressed.

Once I got home from dad’s funeral and all of the cleanup afterward, I realized I was in a sort of rubbery vague numb depression. I didn’t really want to eat. I didn’t really want to wake up. It was hard to do even the most basic chores.

I’m not going to say that the support group saved my life. The difference in me wasn’t that dramatic.

Listening to other people talk about how they got through the worst of it was very healing.

I didn’t even share much of my own story. I just soaked up the vibes from being around other people who understood what I was going through.

These Days, Sumatran Coffee Tastes Like Acceptance

I’ve written before about my love for Sumatran coffee.

It’s remarkably smooth. I’ve called it “no-acid coffee” before, and I think I’m justified.

Their wet-hulling process produces some unique (and amazing) aromas and flavors.

It stands up to just about any method of making coffee at home. French Press? Yes – that will bring out the surprising earthy and mushroom notes. Iced coffee? Yes – paired with dairy, these unique beans have a natural honey sweetness that stands up to ice.

What does this have to do with acceptance?

My Morning Coffee Struggles

I have a confession to make – I’m not great at drinking coffee in the morning.

My stomach just can’t tolerate much before about 11 AM.

Serve me an espresso in the afternoon? I’m on board.

But try to give me coffee first thing in the morning, and I’m likely to turn you down.

I tried everything. I tried making my own cold brew concentrate. It was convenient, but it burned up my stomach something fierce.

I tried skipping coffee, but that left me feeling slow and kind of numb.

And then I found Sumatran coffee.

Why Sumatran Gayo Peaberry?

I’m a sucker for rare things, and it’s not often you can get your hands on a true Sumatran Gayo. The coffee is produced in a limited amount, so it’s a bit expensive. But the smooth/rich contrast with this coffee is to die for.

It also has a strong melted sugar sweetness on the finish that just feels right in the morning.

Volcanica Coffee Company’s Sumatran Gayo Peaberry has become my go-to morning coffee.

It does down smooth enough that I can drink it pretty much first thing in the morning.

That’s a kind of acceptance, right? Rather than do battle with high-acid coffees that I don’t like, I’ve found a smooth drinking coffee that I can tolerate.

It’s the kind of compromise that (oddly) I think my dad would like to see me making.

I’m told that acceptance is a one-two punch of acknowledging the loss and adjusting your life to it.

That means it’s a long process, and it’s definitely something I’m still working on.

Conclusion

Coffee was with me through every part of my grief.

I can’t say that about anyone or anything else.

Mornings before his funeral, stuck in a freak snow storm in Santa Fe, I’d load up on coffee before heading out to shovel and ice the driveway, and the old widow’s driveway next door, too.

The funeral itself was practically floating on an ocean of coffee.

I used coffee throughout the experience to help me get through it.

Maybe it isn’t so weird to make a blog post about my dad’s death through the lens of coffee.

I hope it’s helped somebody out there going through the same thing.