I'm Grieving (I Think)
What the fuck is going on here?
I’ve been holed up for three weeks desperately trying to make sense of nonsense, to no avail. I’m still cooped up, desperate and nonsensical. But I’m okay (I think). I’m safe and healthy (I think). My family is safe and healthy (I think). I’m starting to wonder if it’s the doubt of did I, do I, will I, that has me scared. Like I’m flat footed and questioning not only whether I’m okay, but if everyone around me is okay.
I don’t think so. Uncertainty and fear are pasted on every face I see driving down the road or walking the grocery aisle. And practicing isolation is another new reality compounding the anxiety. And here I am trying to normalize something that is not normal, trying to put routine into quarantine. Lipstick on a pig looks better than this unprecedented pandemic.
But really, without a compromised immune system or symptoms of the virus, my mind swirls the drain of everyone else’s plight. I feel helpless wanting to be helpful. I feel unnerved by reports of overwhelmed hospitals and under protected medical professionals. I feel heartless looking out for my own well being or ways to fill my days when I know damn well there are so many others experiencing much much greater struggle. Truth is, I don’t want to think about me or my comfortably constrained circumstances.
But the research is overwhelming on why now, more than ever, we need to stop and grieve - for ourselves. We need to embrace the truth that lies within before we can expect to powerfully embrace the pain of those around us. Some experts even suggest that we give a name to our distorted perception of what’s going on - an anchor thought that helps us identify this grief when it washes over us.
But grieving is hard under normal conditions. I am still managing in my mind how to stomach a catastrophe that seems long from over. I feel like I’m watching a train wreck that is far from over.
It’s the riddle of 2020 - how do you accept and overcome grief that is amorphous.
This grief is like a nightmare appearing out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on every nook and cranny of my being. Like a fog oozing in through unseen cracks. Even in my friendly greetings I feel like a villain has slid silent and deadly in between us, reminding me not to hug or kiss but to separate and sanitize.
And how do I grieve something that is reckless and wicked and causing pain, spiking fear, and prompting 7 billion people, including my discouraged self, to mask up and shut the door on the world.
And where do I begin to grieve - for the loss of a job, not mine, but his. For the loss of income, not mine, but theirs. For the loss of loved ones, not mine, but the 000’s of others who are sure to face this harsh ending. And what about for the loss of personal freedoms, controls, and my emotions?
And when do I begin to grieve - is it now, yesterday, tomorrow, next week? I don’t even know if I was or will be sick? I don’t even know yet if I should or shouldn’t wear a mask and even if I had one, I would wish a doctor or a nurse would have it. Do I wait to grieve until a real catastrophe hits near home, until someone close to me falls prey? What if this invisible murder never knocks on my door - when and how do I grieve for the neighbor, for those less fortunate, for the millions of employers and employees, for the cities, for the world?
The problem doesn’t appear to be in my own lungs. It’s in my heart, which gets heavier and heavier as each day wears on. Still I’m okay (I think).
I just worry for the neighbor up the street whose small business may go belly up. And the mother of a friend who I know is heading to the hospital with a high fever and chest cough. And longtime chef who I know staked his entire life on the livelihood he hoped to earn being a proud restaurant owner/operator. And the teenage athlete who has been training and sweating and dreaming of that season that won’t happen - the one that could make or break his college dreams.
And I sit really uncomfortable thinking about the millions of people whose goods and services, with a brush of a microbe, are no longer in demand. And the recently retired whose lifetime of retirement savings just circled down the Wall Street drain. Or god help them, the medical professionals who are putting their own life on the line day in and day out, leaving every fear at the door and walking bravely into the battle of their lives.
I will listen. I will try to slow down, even stop. I will try to take stock of the situation, to develop some sort of mental assemblance. I will try to allow myself a moment to exist rather than achieve. I will try to comprehend, embrace, and feel. If you the experts say it will help me understand and it will really truly help me support those around me, then I will grieve as best I can.
// Written by Christopher Robbins // chris@souldegree.com