Irritation, anger, then grief slapped me in the face last night. My 73-year-old father had plans to visit us from Indiana—a plan in the making for well over a year. One that had already been postponed due to two knee replacements. His wife of 30 years died just over a year ago—and understandably, he’s been struggling. This trip was a chance to step out of the greyness that ensues after your life partner is no more. Then on Friday, as life rapidly changed in our world, a new reality was slowly, painfully emerging—and today we were left with no other choice but to cancel his trip. All of us heartbroken. Dad’s chicken and noodles for my birthday not happening. Bucket list adventures, hikes under the Eastern Sierra sky, and a plethora of hugs all postponed.
I know each of you hold similar stories of loss, disruption, frustration, and fear—whether yours, your family’s, a close friend, a chronically-ill neighbor, a single-parent, an elderly grandparent or parishioner, an incarcerated pen pal—everyone is touched by this pandemic. Undeniably, intricately connected. One meme reframed social distancing as “physical distancing and social solidarity … we’re all in this together.”
Individually we are coping the best ways we can, while simultaneously caring for the ones we love. Many of you reading this post are generous givers and doers inclined to community care—to extend your love to those who are particularly vulnerable. You are a model for all of us to learn how we can better respond beyond our own walls.
My invitation to you is to remember to grieve. To take some moments to consider what has been lost, left behind, and left unknown in your own life. Standing in the Trader Joe’s line (because you know, long line), a woman told me how people she knew had to cancel their weddings, miss their medical school graduations—once-in-a-lifetime moments they may never get back. It’s easy to hear those stories and belittle what appear to be our seemingly insignificant losses, like a postponed trip. But your losses, your desires, your dreams matter—no matter the size. Talked to a dance teacher today whose classes are canceled—she was less concerned with the financial loss she would endure, and more concerned with the “loss of spirit” because dancing and teaching bring her alive. What are you grieving and how will you honor that loss?
As we walk around in this new reality, may we remember too that each of us holds different strengths, different resources, different capacities. My head has been raging with pain from information overload. Even in the midst of so much to do, my mind and body demands that I stop from time to time, to pull away from the screen—and even from the ones I love—so that I can close my eyes, quiet my mind and return to my center, my core, my deep down knowing that in this moment, I am safe. We are safe. In order to care for the chaos happening in others’ lives, I must continue to replenish my own reserve. What are ways you need to self-care so that you can collective care not from fear and reactivity but from rootedness and calm?
These are the questions we’ll be asking around our dinner table tonight: What do you feel like you’re losing and gaining because of these changes? How do we honor the losses and make space for the opportunities? What is your role in this crisis moment? What do we have to offer in way of family care and community care?
As we roll up our sleeves and get to work, remember to sit with whatever emotional, mental and physical sensations are showing up for you. Bear witness to yourself as you bear witness to others. If you are able, ask someone to see you, hear you, and hold you, too. I’m here if you need me. #COVID19