Mourning More During The Pandemic
My family, my business, and our overall well-being have not been very impacted by the Coronavirus. I’ll say that upfront. I recognize our privilege and our many blessings. I’ve also seen that no matter how much privilege you have, we’ve all had to face uncomfortable disruptions and truths while staying home.
I’ve been here before. The staying inside (newborns), the working from home (bulk of my past three years), the worry and feeling out of control (when my dad was sick), and combining all of those feelings at once—compounding them—has been intense for me. I’m sure it has for you, too.
What I’ve noticed in myself when I do get random waves of pain is that they come up as anger—for me, anger is the easiest way to mask the feelings I don’t want to face. I don’t really cry much. Weepy pain isn’t pain I let myself feel often. On the hard days, without a routine and running around wiping butts and carrying so much heaviness, I am reminded that I do not get to outsource any of this onto my dad. I know what I signed up for. I know what it takes to hang with babies, but like most little girls who love their daddies, I assumed he’d be a great grandpa.
I did not have dreams about my dad walking me down the aisle and dancing with me at my wedding as much as I thought about him as a grandpa. He never had a son and even my 8-year-old self knew I would give him grandson. I’ve written about this before—that sometimes I get really sad not only that my dad never got to be a grandpa, but also that my son doesn’t get to know and learn from him. That was a role my dad was born to play.
The quarantine days, no matter what you see on Instagram, are hard and long. My relationship with my dad was easy and fluid. I don’t know what our life would look like now if he were here, but I do know that if he were and he lived close enough, I would be throwing babies at him multiple times a week. Or, if I was worried about his exposure, I would make him move in and quarantine with us. I could get some real work done! I could take a long shower! I could read a book for more than ten minutes at a time! He would clean the sink drain and pull weeks! It feels bigger right now because there really are few breaks, AND this would be such a special time for them. He had so much to teach. I’m mourning that more right now.
It’s interesting what we’re all mourning more right now. I’ve struggled with the guilt around mourning little things I can’t change like the fantasy of forcing childcare onto a relative who’s no longer here when people are dying alone and their families aren’t even able to properly memorialize them. But I’m also working on giving myself permission to feel what I’m feeling and not apologize for it. I am sitting atop a mountain of privilege! And, after a few drinks on a weeknight (are weeknights still a thing?), I’m crying about something I can’t change.
What I’m telling myself, sometimes constantly, is:: Girl, that’s okay!
What you’re crying about is okay to cry about, too. Your feelings are valid. Recognize them. You have time to actually sit with them right now. Sit with them. Then do what you can to take care of yourself—I like baths while watching Teen Mom on the iPad—and let them go until they come knocking again.
I’m never going to stop wishing I could throw my babies at my dad so I can do things that don’t involve babies I’m never going to stop wishing my two-year-old told me stories about their day. I’m never going to stop wishing he were still here. A tired mommy can dream, and right now I’m doing a lot of that.
