The Sadness

Tonight I re-read an article that made a big impact on me today. Published in the Harvard Business Review and entitled “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief”, it was simultaneously an Oh! Of course it is reaction and then…also more disconcerting.

This isn’t just a few bum days or a downer mood. Am I…grieving?

David Kessler is the grief expert quoted in the article and he articulates:

“…we’re feeling a number of different griefs. We feel the world has changed, and it has. We know this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel that way, and we realize things will be different. Just as going to the airport is forever different from how it was before 9/11, things will change and this is the point at which they changed. The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. Collectively. We are not used to this kind of collective grief in the air.”

Here is what I’ve been grieving the last few days:

– The toll on the sick, the dying, and the helpers. Breaks my heart. In addition to the loss of the life, our caretakers are being faced with unbelievable pressure – to ration valuable medical supplies, to consider who gets care when we run out of beds or ventilators, and the lack of basic testing available to all.

– Fear. For my family, my friends, and my community. I so want us all to be OK. As more and more stories hit of sudden deaths, painful illnesses, and perfectly healthy people with tragic outcomes, the fear and concern can be...paralyzing.

– Such sadness. For people that should be celebrating joyous activities. We have a friend who is expecting his first child. There is a very real possibility he won’t be allowed in the delivery room. Or even the hospital. I think about his wife and delivering alone. And him missing this once-in-a-lifetime moment. I contrast it with the lobby of family we had waiting for David to share our big news when our children were born and I wonder, is this even possible??

– Such sadness. For the sick that are dying alone because they can’t be safely surrounded by those they love. For another friend whose father is dying (from prostrate cancer) but is also dying alone because the hospitals won’t let people in to visit. He won’t be able to have a funeral for….the foreseeable future.

I could go on. For the millions that are losing work and won’t be able to pay their bills. For the small businesses shutting down – changing the fabric of our communities forever.

More close to home…oh, the worries. Will we all stay healthy? Will my daughter (born with a neurological disorder and immuno-compromised) be able to survive the illness if needed? Are we doing everything we should be doing to stay healthy? How can I try to keep a sense of normalcy and lightness for all of us? How do we embrace the togetherness and write a Pulitzer and the other stuff we’re supposed to be doing? Are we honestly supposed to be digital learning and working from home right now?!?

And then…there is the anticipatory grief. Oh my god…who even knew this was a thing? Kessler describes:

“Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. Usually it centers on death. We feel it when someone gets a dire diagnosis or when we have the normal thought that we’ll lose a parent someday. Anticipatory grief is also more broadly imagined futures. There is a storm coming. There’s something bad out there. With a virus, this kind of grief is so confusing for people. Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but you can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety. We’re feeling that loss of safety. I don’t think we’ve collectively lost our sense of general safety like this. Individually or as smaller groups, people have felt this. But all together, this is new. We are grieving on a micro and a macro level.”

For me, anticipatory grief looks like: What if my parents get sick? What if they get sick and I can’t get to see them in Missouri? When will I ever be able to travel to see my family? What if my daughter can’t get her epilepsy medication? This would be a critical situation. What if anyone I love gets sick? What if our lives are changed forever? And not in the “wow, we had extra together time and now we’re grateful” way, but the “world is screwed and this is the start of global pandemics that will change the world as we know it.”

So…yeah. Ok. I have some grieving going on. Good to know.

The past few days I’ve felt a heaviness. A slight shortness of breath. That has nothing to do with COVID-19 and everything to do with anxiety. I’m trying to distract myself, breathe deep, get fresh air each day, exercise, and find reasons to laugh. And yes, for now, I am ever so grateful that the people I love most are safe.

The tangible tools I will share with you, from the epicenter of this COVID-19 nightmare, are relatively straightforward. And, per usual, dance around my brain as mantras. I share them with you now.

1) Control what you can control. I’m not going to cure the world. I’m not going to know every single death. Keeping a running tally is really unhealthy. Unplug. Make smart decisions for my family. Try a new enchilada recipe for dinner. Go for a run. Make my kids laugh. These are things I can control.

2) Worry wastes time. An old favorite. It is useless to fixate. Again, unplug. Knowledge isn’t necessarily helpful for me right now. No need to watch the death toll rise when I’m doing what I can, for now. Distraction helps. Constant worry does not.

3) Choose joy. Ah! My 2020 mantra! Tested in all kinds of unique ways. But such a good guide. Starting the day with a good book instead of my social media feed or the news. Taking a hot bath. Enjoying a glass of wine with a good TV show at night. Finding beauty in the world. These are things I can do.

So there you have it. A diagnosis of grief for many of us. And encouragement that we should fight succumbing to it if possible. Of course we all deserve to be sad. And to know others are too. But in our grieving, may we remember to choose joy.

The last image I have today is of this baby cherry tree outside my window (see above). We have a relatively new house, with a new yard. With this baby cherry tree doing its best to bring beauty into the world. I see you, cherry tree, and I am grateful.