Something in the too early of this morning made me want to cry. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was, I have a smorgasbord of heart aches to choose from; the state of the world, the terrible news from Nova Scotia, the uneven snore of the little old dog sleeping beside me and the knowing that our days together are numbered, the pillow beside her that’s been empty for too long. Everything feels too heavy this morning.
I suppose it’s natural to get overwhelmed from time to time, especially now when so much is unknown and out of our control. I would like to bury my head under my pillow and pretend everything will work out fine – but everything isn’t working out – people are dying, economies are faltering and a monster went on a rampage in one of the friendliest places in the world. Nothing is fine – the world is a mess – and this morning so am I.
I’m used to spending time alone, I’m also familiar with feeling alone in a crowd – for me alone is a state of mind. I don’t think the heavy sad feeling of this morning has much to do with the aloneness of the moment – I think I’m feeling loss; loss of control, loss of the world as I knew it, loss of things I love.
This morning I can’t seem to see a brighter tomorrow. What I see are so many needs going unmet, zoos and aquariums struggling for funds, empty stadiums and theaters. I see social distancing stealing connection. I see old age stealing my little dog. I see a province in mourning. And all of this breaks my heart.
So often when the world gets the better of me I can find comfort in words, by spilling my feelings onto the page I can reorganize my emotions, spin the story and feel better. That’s not working this morning, today the words are black, my thoughts are dark and my heart is heavy. I’m saturated with sadness and I just need to feel it.
I have learned grief needs to be acknowledged. I am grieving and have reason to do so. The world is a mess – I am a mess. I have also learned that the brighter day is out there somewhere – I just have to be patient.
I’m fairly certain I’m not alone in this grief, that others struggle with the reality that is our world right now. If you are one of those ‘others’ it might help to know I get it, I feel it and I struggle with it. We are in this together even if we have to cope with it alone.
Comments (4)
Yes, had my crying jags for what seems odd and understood reasons. You are not alone.
Penny. ❤️
I told my son the other day that I was feeling afraid too. He was afraid of facing the world without alcohol as he took his first step toward sobriety in going to Detox. I’m afraid for him, for my other son, for my grandchildren, for my husband, for my neighbours, for my City… the list goes on. I mourn the loss of being able to help them out and hug them, or share a glass of wine with them. So I know what you mean about feeling sad. So much is being stolen from us right now. I even feel the loss as I step out onto the roadway to avoid another person on the sidewalk. Have we taken this social distancing too far? Will we be looking at a pandemic of mental illness when this is all over? Will we ever feel comfortable just hugging someone again? I hope our new normal doesn’t include anymore isolation. I’m afraid we will need each other more as time goes on, but that we’ll never feel totally comfortable gathering with friends and family again. You’re right, we’re all in this together and we need each other now more than ever. Thanks for posting about the grief and sadness of these times. We all need to acknowledge that it’s real, and it’s ok to feel that way.
Wendy – SO much to think about, to cope with, to fear and grieve. We are living in a historic moment. I’ve listened to podcasts and TED talks about collective grieving, it’s scary as hell for all of us. I don’t know how this is going to play out – the world will be changed forever. I think it’s important to acknowledge our grief and support one another (even from a social distance) and keep on doing what we are doing. This too shall pass, I’m just not sure when.
I’m sending positive thoughts your way (and to your son in particular – that first step is scary on a good day, in the middle of a pandemic I can’t even imagine!)
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. We ARE all in this together. ❤️