Learning to love differently is hard. When George died, when Sara died, my love for them did not go away. Before, I knew how to express my love:
talking to George as I was lying in bed in the evening
laying my hands on my belly and just infusing all of my love into the little being that was growing inside of me
surprising Sara with little treats
showering her with hugs and kisses
occasional romantic gestures
spending an hour talking through her anxiety with her so that she could calm down even just a little
taking care of Sara – taking her to doctor’s appointments, making she she was comfortable at home, buying her things that would help improve her comfort
Now, my love for both of them is still here, but I have to learn how to love differently. I have to figure out how to express my love when the objects of my affection are no longer here physically to receive it:
speaking their names – ensuring they are not forgotten
sharing stories with those who knew them, and even those who didn’t
talking to them when life stills and I am alone
writing – all of the thousands of words I have written this year are rooted in my love for my family
launching the scholarship in Sara’s name
just remembering – which is never hard, surrounded by them in our home
Some days feel okay, but others feel woefully inadequate. The thought of dealing with this for the rest of my life is overwhelming, but I just have to take it a day at a time.
In a way, the rest of the world is experiencing a different version of this, a different type of learning to love differently because of the worldwide pandemic. We cannot visit people in person without putting them and ourselves at risk. We cannot go to the movies with friends, or go to the public playground with children, or hug those outside of our core household. There are masks that hide our smiles when out in public and social distancing will be the theme for some time to come. So – now we have to figure out how to connect, how to share, how to love without the physical contact we are used to being able to use?
I don’t minimize the stress that this situation is causing people, but I’m also jealous that for many people, their loved ones are just a zoom call or facetime call, or text message, or drive-by wave, or driveway chat away. There are so many ways we can connect now with people other than being face to face. I know things are hard, and scary, and people are suffering real economic and mental health hardships because of what is happening, and this is not the grief Olympics… but some days I feel like my grief has become less important because of what’s going on, and as someone still stumbling around in the dark half the time, it hurts. I’ve lost one of my main coping mechanisms (as has so many others who find the physical presence of loved ones extremely helpful in dealing with trauma).
I’m grateful – I have friends and family that regularly reach out and connect and try to keep me engaged. My heart aches for the many, many people whose grief and isolation and trauma has only been deepened because of the pandemic.