One of the definitions of quarantine, according to Merriam-Webster, is imposed isolation on a person, animal or place. As many around me go into an all-out panic about being home with family, I’m thinking, but I was raised like that…spending time with my family. My parents believed in being very present in my life; in every area, as in, no privacy unless I was showering or changing. And, I wasn’t really allowed to go anywhere without them for a majority of my early years on this planet (and by early I mean till college!). I enjoy time at home with my spouse and kids (including the furry ones, oh alright, the cat’s my favorite furry!)…anyhow, back to quarantine life!
Many of us are holding/carrying weight, at times, without even realizing it and grief may be part of the weight we’re carrying. This is my take on grief, after the death of my father. Grief is not like a headache – here and then gone in a few. It’s an unexpected journey caused by an inexplicably deep and painful loss. It’s like navigating the crashing waves of the ocean on a day when earth is angry, sad, distraught and overwhelmed. My experience has been that time doesn’t heal. Time gives space for us to either ignore or invite what’s knocking at the door of our hearts. Opening the door and giving ourselves permission to grieve seems the beginning of the journey. No “shoulds” or “shouldn’ts” -just process/grieve as it comes. However that looks varies based on our personalities and background…that is alright.
Last year, a friend shared her experience with grieving the loss of a relative. She said, “I have found that grief comes in waves…at the beginning, the waves were so high, crashing without mercy. It took three years for me to feel like I could breathe and function. Now the waves come further apart…and in between the waves there is so much life that has happened and will happen. For the most part, I can see the waves coming and prepare myself. It seems to me that the waves never stop coming and honestly, I don’t want them to because it’s now a part of my story -and the God of all comfort has helped me…”. Hearing her description helped me with my grief – the loss of my dad, which seemed too daunting to face at first, to other griefs that seem small, but still significant and in need of addressing.
I wasn’t raised to name my grief or really acknowledge feelings in any form. A few years ago, I began learning to fully face and process what others may see as the smallest of disappointments, celebrate the tiny victories (not just the “usual/popular” ones) as well as name my grief. Covid-19/corona has brought on some unexpected changes to life as we all knew it. It’s marked another moment in history for us – life before the virus and now, quarantine life.
I talked with our kids this week about their grief surrounding ‘rona. Our kids are both double-digits and have said they’re glad to be home with us, but our house is where the party is, so all of us really miss hosting our extended family and friends. Each of us shared our felt losses. We took deep/full breaths together. We released our fears together. We voiced prayers out loud together. We talked through all that we’ve taken for granted (till now), all that we’re grieving, and all that we’re grateful for…especially now. A grief I shared with my family (as I sobbed terribly) is that I can’t visit my sister. My forty-four year old sister, Leela, is mentally between two and three years old because of severe developmental delays and autism. I became her guardian a few years ago and last year, made the difficult decision of placing her in a residential group home. Two weeks ago, because of ‘rona, the group home decided it would be best for residents to have no visitors. I understand the decision, but understanding doesn’t ease the sting and pain of it. I asked the group home to call my mom and me (at least once a week), so that we could “see” Leela. Last week they didn’t call…more tears. This week, I asked if Niji (favorite husband/friend/co-worker), could deliver cupcakes for the group home. I asked for Leela to be sent to the front door, so Niji could give her a cupcake in person. I asked Niji to video the moment, so that I could “see” her as well. He did! More tears…these were happy tears tho! Last night, one of the staff video called so I could “see” and talk to Leela for a few minutes. Grief and gratitude coexist. Grieving the current situation and at the same time, very grateful for modern technology which allows us some form of connection.
This week, I also talked with our kids about the difference between suffering and being inconvenienced. Life in a first world country tends to pull us in the direction of entitlement and impatience. Fast-food restaurants, drive-through banking, texting and work/family expectations, that have us operating more like machines than humans, have shaped our society to demand convenience at every turn. For those of us who don’t have the virus, can work from home, can educate our children online and shop online, we are just inconvenienced. We still have a job, but can’t gather for happy hour…still have a vehicle, but can’t meet friends at a favorite local spot…still have a space we call home, but can’t host a weekend gathering…still have young children, but can’t send them off to day care or school, LAWD CHEEZAHS send angels, send strength, send somethin’ and HEP us with these keeeds…inconvenienced!
For those of us who are inconvenienced, while we name our grief and take time to process life with ‘rona, may we remember those who are suffering. Many are suffering with full-time work unexpectedly turned part-time, pay/working hours cut, sudden loss of employment, no home, no medical insurance (or not enough insurance), no reliable vehicle, acute or chronic illness (‘rona and otherwise), no savings, no food and so much more. An online search will yield a plethora of ways to remember the suffering; here are just a few suggestions: Buy an extra food item or two and have it delivered, donate to a local food pantry, order a floral arrangement (especially for someone who considers it a luxury item), mail a hand-written note to a single person (seniors and all), donate food to local foster homes, schedule a water-delivery service for a family in need, support local restaurants by ordering a meal online.
Common Day Hero: You were always happy to be with me; you are the definition of your name ~ playful, loyal, beauty. Growing up, every single time you saw me cry, tears would roll down your face. I didn’t like sharing a room (and a-l-l my things) with you, but all these years later, tears stream down my face when I remember those times. I’ve heard it said that autism is like being in a maze with glass walls; you can see out, but can’t figure a way out. I don’t know exactly what it’s like for you and that still causes me such pain. Countless times, from as early as I can remember, I have dreamt/prayed/hoped for a day when I’d hear your voice speaking…clearly…a day when you’d respond to everything I shared with you. I still believe that day will come (don’t know if it will be on this earth). Your laughter always brings much joy to me…and now my kids! I AM so grateful for you. You are the reason I love ALL people and aspire to be a voice for the voiceless, the misunderstood and the forgotten. I dedicate this post to you, my sister, my dearest Leela Jane.
