Grief in the Time of Covid
The pandemic of the novel coronavirus, known by the name Covid-19, has brought such change to our lives that grief is one of the most common responses. Grief at the loss of loved ones, our way of life, our ability to move freely and enjoy the company of friends and family. I’ve experienced those moments of grief but my grief this year is much more personal.
My husband Sam of 42+ years was diagnosed with ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease) in the fall of 2018. No treatment was available although we explored and researched every nutritional option we could find. Unfortunately, the disease quickly took its toll over the year and he quietly passed away just a few days before Thanksgiving 2019. There were a few comforting things about his passing–and we needed to be comforted. The disease took more and more of his physical capabilities and his breathing was compromised. I feared him losing the ability to take a breath, perhaps having to be intubated.Thankfully that didn’t happen. The hospice nurse told me he’d likely go to sleep one night and not wake up again; that’s exactly what he wanted and what happened. He was prepared and ready to leave his debilitated body, although he said he hated to leave me and the family. Another major comfort was that he passed before Covid-19 hit the world like a hammer. It would have been so sad and painful for him not to have friends visit, and for family and friends to miss out on saying goodbye and then sharing the loss with each other. So many thousands of Covid patients died in that lonely way.
That last night, he slept in the single hospital bed, relieved that he didn’t have to move anymore. Our daughter spent the night in the guest room next to where he was; I slept in our bed, really oblivious to the fact that this was his last night. In the morning our daughter came to my room, slid under the covers and said, “Mom . . . I think he’s left his body. I put a mirror up to his mouth and don’t see any breath.” We knew this was coming sooner than later; but I couldn’t move for a few minutes. “Let’s just lie here a bit, okay?” Finally, when I felt able to go see him, knowing he was gone, we went to him. Of course, he was pale and cold . . . his spirit clearly freed from the husk that had contained it for 74 years.
More blessings came to us. Our neighbor happened to be a “death doula” who could help us take care of his body at home. None of us wanted any formality, definitely no embalming. Dry ice was, surprisingly to us, available at our local grocery store. The family, including our two older grandkids, rallied around to help. Our son went home that day to build a simple and beautifully crafted, pegged pine coffin–just what Sam’s Jewish heritage suggested. We all participated in gently washing and wrapping his body in the perfect fabric. We placed boughs of evergreens and nandina berries in the coffin, and replaced the dry ice daily. We kept him home for three days while friends and family came to honor all he had meant to them.
Finally, we took him to our daughter’s farm where she and the grandkids had dug his grave. We researched and learned we could legally do this with a few notifications to the county. On a Tuesday evening, by candlelight, those who wanted talked about the most important memories of what he meant to them. His brothers said the Mourner’s Kaddish (blessing) and we lowered the coffin into the grave, each taking turns with the shovel and soil. The ritual and participation helped soften the grief, at least a bit.
There was so much love there, and more to come. I initially thought I couldn’t handle our big, traditional Thanksgiving celebration, but there were “messages” from Spirit that I should do it. Someone miscounted those present that day and “accidentally” set an extra place . . . for him, we felt. The first Saturday in December, friends organized a Celebration of his Life at our local community center. Another moment of comfort to share.
Christmas came and went in a blur. I felt numb mostly, now having to adjust to not taking care of him, not watching Netflix together, not sleeping with “one eye open.” Different friends spent nights with me for the first few weeks until I felt capable of being alone. Then the real grieving began.
Grief comes in many forms. I was mostly stoic, quiet in my mourning, overcome by crying spells when alone. And those would come over me suddenly at unexpected moments. Every day I woke up to the fact that I was now alone when I was so habituated to the couple-ness of all those years. Two friends arranged for me to travel to Hawaii for a couple weeks. There was some talk by the time I left home about a new virus in China that was wreaking havoc on the population there. But it seemed far away.
Soon after I came home in late February, I learned that Hawaii was now requiring travelers to quarantine for 14 days; the entire length of my trip. Another blessing. Then the new reality, the new “normal” descended on us all. I was not only alone without my partner, I was reluctant to have anyone visit, and was unable to go anywhere except the grocery store every 10 days or so!
How to fill up my days and nights? I pulled out my watercolor paints and some instructional books. Many evenings I’d share my attempts with another painter friend via text but often didn’t feel the energy to create anything new. I was always an avid reader but now found that I couldn’t stay focused on anything. I had some editing and transcription work I could do but the inertia I felt stopped me each time I tried.
Days have been long. Mostly I remain stoic, working to BE in the Now, taking care of legal and financial matters, but trying not to “future trip” too much. Then those tidal waves wash over me and I wonder what I’m going to do with my life: should I move, start a business, retire? “Too Soon!” friends caution me. And they are right.
But there are blessings to be found daily. I am able to be quiet for hours, sometimes days at a time. There is no one to look askance at my kitchen sink if I’ve left a day’s dishes there. Seven months along and four months of stay-at-home orders, plus an uncertain future leave me even more needful of staying focused on the moment. Friends and family are deeply important to me; and my grown “children” have rallied in such a loving and supportive way that I am buoyed up by that love. I feel my dear Sam around me at times; other times I suspect he is traveling the Universe on a grand adventure to his Creator.
His advice was always this: Keep it Simple–don’t complicate things; don’t judge yourself or others; have compassion for everyone you meet; be kind, it doesn’t cost you anything. I am now more fully learning those lessons because I have time and space to pay attention.
