And then there was grief

From the Heart

Mama said there would be days like this. Actually, Mama had no idea about these days.

This is hard. As I navigate through the second week of sheltering in place, I am still trying to figure what all this means.

Coronavirus. COVID-19. Pandemic.

I keep thinking I am in a movie that I never wanted to be a part of … but I am.

So many questions. So many concerns. And so much grief. Yes, I said grief.

I grieve the normal. I want my routine back. I want to be able to hug my family. I miss my work family. I miss Tuesday morning coffee (therapy) with my bestie. I miss Saturday nights at Maria’s Mexican Restaurant with Chuck.

As I watched Hoda Kotb break down on the Today Show on Friday, I finally broke down as well. I’m just sad. It’s a new normal that brings with it a new kind of grief. I finally figured that out and now I am figuring out what to do with it.

Chuck and I are tucked away inside our little house on the alley. Daily, we venture out to walk and pick up trash along the sidewalks. We greet our neighbors, some, we have never met before now. Yes, we are keeping our six feet of social distancing.

For some reason on our walks, the birds seem to be singing a bit louder. I’ve noticed the new life of the spring flowers that is giving promise to better days ahead. I’m slowing down and noticing what my busy life before had allowed me to miss.

Chuck works the crossword puzzles that I ordered online from Barnes and Noble and picked up curbside at their door. I have become a jigsaw puzzle addict. Who knew? I tell Chuck that I am practicing for retirement. But I’m not quite ready.

My house is getting a good spring cleaning. I tackle one room at a time, every other day. I reward myself with a reading, writing and fun day in between. I have found things in drawers I never knew I had. I can often be heard saying, “Oh my goodness, look what I found!”

I read an article about anticipatory grief this week. That explained a lot. It’s like I am waiting for the next plan that needs to be cancelled. Our granddaughter Emma’s high school graduation? Not sure yet. Easter dinner with the families? Not sure yet. My calendar looks pretty blank right now except for the x’s crossing out our plans.

And yet …

I see hints of hope in the community where I am so blessed to live.

I see people picking up coffee by the curbside at Noble Coffee & Tea. Our community is supporting the small businesses.

I know meals and puzzles and acts of kindness are being shared in our community.

I saw the teachers from North Elementary driving through the streets of our neighborhood. I saw the smiles on their faces as well as on those of their students. They could not reach out and touch them physically but they could touch their hearts. It made a difference.

It really is the small differences that are making this bearable. It’s what community is all about. We are all in this together and together we will make it through.

Jen Steubel Gibbs, pastor of the Castleton United Methodist Church, spoke about Hints of Hope in her sermon last Sunday via Facebook. This week I looked for them. They were there.

While I do grieve the normal upon which I have grown accustomed, I know that the exact old normal will never be there again and that is not a bad thing in many ways.

I will be more appreciative of those who have cared for our community during an absolutely exhausting time. Those who care for my mom at her health campus. The grocery store workers who can’t keep up with the demands of shoppers. The truckers who meet themselves coming and going. Neighbors who offer to pick up items on a grocery run. Musicians who are bringing music to their online audience. To all of you I say thank you!

Kudos to parents who are juggling work and teaching their kids at home. I can’t even imagine. Teaching is a calling. My daughter, Emily, will tell you that she never heard the call. She’s doing it anyway.

I have found myself reading the scriptures more. I’ve read Psalms 91 over and over again the past couple of weeks. In moments of overwhelming uncertainty, I listen to the hymn, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” Then I allow my heart to hear the words of the worship song, “No Longer a Slave to Fear.”

And I pray, “Please Lord let this soon pass and be with my family and friends, until it does.”

We are not promised an easy life but I know faith will sustain me and my family through these moments of grief and uncertainty. Until then, I will write and walk and organize and clean and cook.

And as my sweet mama reminded me this week when she said, “I am so ready for this THING to be over!”