This is Hard

There is no way around it. This is hard. It’s hard in different ways every way. I have to pull out everything I’ve learned out and put it on the table to look at and consider. Listen to myself, move my body, write, protect myself from the news while staying informed, baking, communicating and still, I feel helpless. I got hit with a heavy grief attack last night. I read about a nurse from New York who sat with her patient while he died. He was an older man and she found his wallet and loafers in the locker afterwards. It made me think of my family. And that man’s wife and his daughters and sons. The horror and the fear of not being able to even say goodbye. It’s a tidal wave of suffering.

Then I have to come back to myself. Mend what is in front of me. I repeat this phrase to myself. How can I heal what is in this home? In my network of people? Yesterday I got lunch for the healthcare professionals here in LA and it made me feel more human, more connected. What else can I do? It’s a near obsessive thought. Maybe what I can do is slow down. Sit, feel my emotion. Yesterday I wanted to take an anxiety pill and I realized it was because I didn’t want to feel the grief. I didn’t take the pill and instead I sat with the feeling. It was another tidal wave. A small tsunami. But it passed. Emotions always do. This pandemic is like a master class in presence. In recognition of emotions. I’m so grateful I stopped drinking before this happened so I can do the work right now. It’s so hard. But we are all together in it.

I stop. I breathe. I give space to my dark thoughts. I move my body and I feel just a little bit better. Just enough to water the plants. Just enough to clean the dishes. Just enough to shift the pain into a semblance of gratitude.