Grief Amidst a Pandemic…
It’s an interesting time. We are all under social isolation, advised to stay home, to stay safe, to keep to ourselves. Stores are closed, restaurants are closed, the world has come to a standstill in an attempt to stop a virus that has infiltrated, at present, over 2 million people and taken the lives of over 200,000.
I understand the need for the precautions. I get that we have to stay home to stay healthy. That we need to avoid not only catching COVID-19, but also avoid spreading it. You see, this was my reality for all of Zoey’s life.
Having been born with premature lungs, Zoey was especially susceptible to colds and viruses. For the standard person, a couple of extra days in bed would suffice to recoup. For Zoey, these ailments would land her in the ICU and on a ventilator, with the chance that they would kill her.
I’ve had to “gown up” in a mask, gloves and surgical gown to hold my daughter in hospital. I’ve had to stay home and refrain from visiting her if I’ve had so much as even a sniffle. I’ve had to deny people visits to my home if they felt ill, so as to protect my child. And I’ve been furious if they’ve pretended they were fine, and without a cold, when really they weren’t.
My living children aren’t phased by the precautions that we are having to take in staying at home and staying isolated. They understand what “virus” means, and the significance of how it could change someone’s life. Afterall, they too had to follow the precautions for their sister. You wouldn’t think a 5 & 7 year old should have to know the implications of deadly viruses and “staying safe”, but it is second nature to them.
After Zoey died, the pace with which life around me moved was too much. Too much excitement, too much hustle, too much doing, too much thinking...just too much. People, society, zoomed by, continuing on as they always had. Of course they would, they hadn’t been the ones to experience Zoey’s death, to experience the trauma of the death of your child. Meanwhile, I was frozen, standing still. I couldn’t wrap my head around taking a step forward. The idea of attempting the onramp to life’s highway was overwhelming, nauseating, infuriating. It was exhausting, this “normal” pace of life. The grief, the uncertainty of each day, hour, minute wrapped me like a straight jacket, and the more I struggled against it, the tighter it became, making it harder and harder to breathe. Until eventually, it forced me to give in.
I had to accept that I am not bigger than my loss, than my pain, than my grief. That I can not outrun it, I can’t speed away from it, I can’t hide from it and deny it. I must acknowledge it, I must accept it, I must heed to its demands.
I sit now and watch as the world has its own straight jacket, it’s own trauma. The world has an uncertainty of each day, hour, minute. We are faced with a virus that we can’t deny, we can’t ignore. We must heed its demands if we want to move forward, to come out healthy.
And so the world has had to give in. To accept the loss. The loss of the “norm”. The loss of the fast paced highway of life. And people are grieving; they are grieving the loss of social outings and gatherings. They are grieving the loss of seeing their loved ones in person. They are grieving the loss of hugs, and love, and kisses. They are grieving the loss of “life”.
And for now, the pace of the world and the grief matches mine. And while the world grieves, I feel like I am understood. The quiet outside matches the quiet in my house. The empty streets coincide with the empty car seat in my basement. Unfilled shelves at the grocery store reflect the unfilled chair at my kitchen table. Birthdays, anniversaries, life events that aren’t able to be celebrated with loved ones are equal to a lifetime of birthdays, anniversaries and life events that I will never celebrate with my child, Zoey.
But, while for the rest of the world, eventually, life will resume and all of these changes, these losses, will become memories of the past, I will continue to live with mine for the rest of my life.
For now, I can share this burden, this trauma, to carry. The entire world and my personal world are no longer at odds. My outside reality reflects my inside reality, and is now felt by everyone. And while others struggle to catch their breath throughout it all, I can finally breathe.
Pam xo