Grief in the Time of Covid

June 2020

After struggling for weeks, longing for words to eclipse the powerlessness of more and more bad news, it seemed time to face the losses. I would look at the pain, with little protection against a sun-in-the-eyes brightness; I would kneel in the brilliant glare, which casts ominous shadows across our summer days. 

We are living in the perfect storm, when circumstances have twisted together exponentially. The present has become much greater than the sum of its parts. I wouldn’t dare “tempt fate,” as my mother used to say, and ask “Oh Lord, what next?”

Is this the “new normal?” Back in March I thought it would all be over in a couple of weeks. Now, months later, we have many fatalities to mourn as the tallies continue to increase all around us, some from shocking events, some from lonely deaths. By now we are all exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Each day I pray the worst is behind us. Even if this turns out to be a blessed truth, in this moment I agree with James Baldwin, “To look around the United States today is enough to make prophets and angels weep.”

For me this is a moment to stop and grieve. While there are many reasons to be angry, no denying that, I’m crying. From a health viewpoint, a study published in Psychology and Aging found anger to be more harmful to an older person’s physical health than sadness. “Our study showed that anger can lead to inflammation and the development of chronic illnesses, whereas sadness did not.” Perhaps that makes my choice of sorrow selfish, or maybe it’s for the greater good: one less person with a compromised immune system.

That’s not to say anger is bad; it can be beneficial, deserved and righteous. Anger is an energizing emotion and can spur motivation to make changes. We’ll need that energy to rebuild in the future.

For now, though, it may be healthy to experience the full, crazy ken of emotions, especially sadness. For now, I weep.

My book, “Mother’s Secret: A Nutritionist’s View of Family and Alzheimer’s Disease,” explored the daily losses that tinted the long process of my mother’s illness. After she died, there seemed no time to nurse my hurt, because other demands emerged. I wrote:

 “The ancients had the ‘red tent’ for menstruating women, where they got to escape and rest during their periods. I wished for a ‘blue tent’ to grieve and recuperate: where the world outside would halt and take care of me, would defend against further damage. Either modern life doesn’t allow for such recoveries, or we don’t know how to do such a thing. We move on and eventually the feelings of loss might express themselves in some insane voice, in a surprising emotion or absurd choice. I read about an African grief ritual where villagers swirled emotionally around a fire for three days after someone in their village died. Everyone had to participate in this ceremony because it was believed that those who didn’t grieve communally would become the village troublemakers next year.”

No one can say how best to express sorrow. It’s personal. This is simply to suggest we pause for bereavement. We need to heal and to prepare for whatever comes next. May we be permitted to escape into a blue tent of our own design.

 Note: Photos are by me.

Living Memorial Sculpture Garden, Weed, California. (first two photos)

Water lilies from Duke Gardens, North Carolina.