Pandemic Grief
I get a very distinct feeling whenever I try to comprehend eternity.
I wish I could say it's a pleasant sensation - one that makes me want to return and experience it over and over again - but it's not. The feeling makes me nauseous, as it strains my mind beyond what it's capable of truly understanding. It's not because the thought of spending eternity in Heaven is something bad - quite the opposite actually - but because it is something exceptionally bigger than what my brain can grasp. It's too much, too beyond the limits of my mind. My body's reaction is visceral (but luckily short-lived) as my brain quickly pulls back in protest.
The reality of eternity simply overwhelms me. If there is a beginning - there has to be an end. Right? Normally … yes. But in this instance, Heaven takes that logic flips it upside down and sends it though the shredder.
There simply is no end.
The concept sends me into a tail-spin every time. My brain's default is to retreat because it's just too big and too foreign a notion to truly absorb. In correlation, my body's physiological reaction leaves me feeling unsteady and ill.
In all my life, nothing else had ever reproduced that very distinct feeling - until I lost Logan and most recently - until I lost my dad.
I now find myself sitting in such a headspace far too often. I feel it every single time I try to grasp that my dad is no longer in this world. It doesn't compute. My mind skips, resets, and then tries desperately hard to understand something it just can't. It's like a wire is no longer connected, and when I try to plug it back in - everything shorts out.
My dad is gone.
My brain “force-quits” the thought. I try desperately hard to push the memories away. A deep and sickening sensation emerges as I replay the last nights - and especially the last minutes - of his life. It's unnerving and sends a shudder down my spine.
Nope. Not possible. He has always been here and now suddenly ... he's just not? None of this is true. Everything is fine Jamie. Focus on something else ...
Once again, my logic is utterly disrupted and it leaves me feeling unstable and a bit queazy. That is precisely why lately, I have been exerting extra energy to push away my reality. I often choose not to focus on what has transpired because I simply don't have the energy for the inner battle that inevitably ensues.
And now, add COVID 19 to it all.
The world I once knew - the world WE ALL once knew - has changed in far too many ways to count. I think it's safe to say that life right now is unrecognizable.
For a moment, imagine living out the rest of your days this way.
Think of our world TODAY as your new and permanent norm. Let the thought penetrate. Quarantine, isolation, social distancing … for the rest of your life. Your mind will instinctively fight the idea. If you keep pushing, you will very likely experience a back and forth battle of will-power - a fight against yourself. Your mind will naturally continue to resist such a foreign and unacceptable notion.
This world can't be our new normal ... this can't be permanent .. this can't be real.
But fight long enough, and the brain's defenses will fail momentarily, and for an instant, the thought has become your reality. Now ... that feeling sitting in your core - the sinking, the nauseating flutter, the palpitation of your heart, the desire to look away …
THAT my friends, is grief.
The thought your mind is desperately trying to push away ... the thought that is regardless still there … THAT IS GRIEF.
The moments it feels overwhelming and the few and far between pockets it feels ok ... the loneliness, the isolation, the mind fog ... THAT IS GRIEF.
That is what I (and all bereaved) experience over and over again, as we try to fight our brain's rational and convince it our loved ones are truly gone.
It's a short circuit every time.
A few days ago, I was in the process of working with Sullivan though his home school assignments. As always, Emersyn was doing her best to thwart and prolong our efforts. In desperation, I stuck headphones on her and played a song called "The Blessing" by Elevation Worship. The song has been on repeat in our house since Easter (more on that later).
Sitting at the kitchen table, Emersyn (who has been pretty quiet regarding my dad) suddenly had glistening eyes. Concerned she said, "Mom! Why are my eyes watering?!"
She looked at me, genuinely confused as to what was happening. I noticed her lip began to quiver, and I responded, "Love, it looks like you are crying. Are you ok?"
She paused and then looked up at me with heavy eyes, "I miss papa. He always tells me and Zoe silly things, and he always tries to sit on me. When is he coming back down from Heaven?"
"Oh sweet girl ... he's not. That is where he lives now."
"But I miss him ... "
"Me too, Emery … me too."
THAT IS GRIEF.
I recently found myself driving behind the same black Honda Pilot my dad used to drive. I knew it wasn't him and yet couldn't help - if only for a second - to allow myself to believe it actually was. Just like countless times before I was simply following him home. For an instant, I felt my heart calm, and my world momentarily normalize. It was short-lived, as the person in front of me turned one road too soon.
"Dad! You're going the wrong way!" I felt my soul plead with the stranger in front of me, "Dad, that's not the way home!"
I watched as that car and my "Dad" drove out of sight. The calm in my heart ceased, and my world became foreign once more.
I want so badly just to hug him. I want to rewind to a time where he was still here, and our world was not so unsettled. I want to buy him an Anthony's pizza and not have to wear a face-mask to pick it up. I want to see my mom once again with a heart that is not in pieces and a spirit that is light and carefree.
THAT IS GRIEF.
We live in a world where there is "normal grief" and now - “pandemic grief.” Unfortunately, there is no book on the latter.
Grief, circa February 2020, was already dark and lonely and seemingly impossible to navigate at times. It was a treacherous road, but one we were at least not forced to walk alone. God created us for companionship. He created us to do life together; to have a community; to have our people. He created us to rejoice, love, laugh, cry AND grieve … together. We simply were not designed to be alone.
Lamentation is not meant to be a solo sport. Strength is derived in numbers and the nature of being unprecedentedly forced to isolate (even with good reason) makes an already lonely situation that much harder to handle.
Pandemic grief is grief in the shadows.
It's the mind games of sorrow coupled with the mind games of isolation. It's the whole world suddenly being in chaos, causing our personal losses to feel overlooked, small, and unimportant. They aren't small, nor unimportant, but the mind plays tricks and many times does an outstanding job convincing the heart the very opposite.
Who is there to carry this weight with me when everyone is now carrying a weight of their own? For some more than others, it's a pretty valid question.
Pandemic grief is having to push out a memorial service and the ability to celebrate the life of a loved one. It's the feeling of disrespect to someone who deserved their life to be honored. It's feeling like I let my dad down somehow - like his life didn't matter. I know that isn't true, but it's just quartine-collateral at this point. It's the fallout that follows being unable to have closure and the tension one must sit in waiting for it to - maybe someday - come.
Pandemic grief is the inability to hug my sister.
It's losing our dad and then, in a way, each other too. It's the inability to sit with my her and eat far too much junk food, cry and laugh and cry all over again. Pandemic grief is my mom being separated from the variety of people she deserves support from right now. It's her stuck in a cage when she needs to be free. It's my brother being a short two-hour flight away from home in February and now … feeling like he is oceans away.
Pandemic grief is the inability to do the heart-wrenching (but heart-healing) soul work with the people my soul needs … to continue working.
It's seeing those I love but being separated by a screen. It's being 10 feet away from someone my heart needs; arms outstretched and eyes closed - imagining that I could fall into their arms and cry.
Losing a loved one during this time is cruel, unfair and the crap lottery win of the century.
To all you who are having to climb this mountain but now with a backpack full of bricks forged through isolation …
To all of you looking up at what feels impossible and looking around desperately searching for a hand to physically hold …
To all of you wondering if anyone cares …
MY HEART IS WITH YOU.
There is never a good time to lose someone you love, but yeah ... I would have picked a different time too.
Right now, the world is grieving.
We are all simultaneously experiencing some facet of loss - be it a loved one, a job, our sense of security, our normal ... our "what used to be but no longer is."
Worldwide solidarity. Has there ever been a time such as this?
For the first time in the history of ever, I watched Easter service from my couch. The church is not a place but a people - my pastor always says it. But this year, we felt it more tangibly than ever before.
At the end of the service they played a video with "The Blessing" in the background. Yes, the same song that had caused such a display of emotion from Emersyn days later. It truly made me fall in love with humanity in a way I never had before. Tears fell down my cheeks and I felt gratitude, pride and SO MUCH ADMIRATION for mankind. I didn't see it coming and was blindsided by the way God moved in my heart. (The link is below. Seriously, do yourself a favor and watch it for yourself).
Turns out, there is also PANDEMIC LOVE.
It's essential care workers putting other's lives in front of their own.
It's teachers creating home-school lessons and doing zoom calls with students.
It's grocery drop-offs to keep the "at-risk" safe and at home.
It's giving money to others, even with personal financial strain and uncertainty.
It's zoom workouts, gifted resistance bands and dumbbells (because gallons of milk don't work very well).
Pandemic love is "Thank Yous" written in chalk on sidewalks and hanging from posters in windows.
It’s drive by “Happy Birthday” caravans with cars covered in balloons.
It’s painted rocks hidden in parks and 8:00 PM cheers and howels for doctors and nurses.
Pandemic love is moms and dads working from make-shift home offices and simultaneously helping their 5th grader with exceptionally puzzling math problems.
It's face masks to protect our neighbors, even though they make us feel uncomfortable and awkward.
It's text messages to check in, FaceTime dates with friends and drive-by drop-offs of banana bread and pretzel dough.
Pandemic love ... has made me fall head-over-heels in love with God's creation. It has helped me see humanity though God’s eyes. And let me tell you this …
It is simply breathtaking.
As I sat with my eyes shut, listening to my pastor's closing prayer on Easter Sunday, a picture suddenly emerged in my mind. At that moment, I saw bright lights COVERING the world - as if I momentarily had the ability to look down on the Earth and see illumination wherever God's spirit dwelt.
It was magnificent.
Darkness was engulfed by light. God's Spirit was EVERYWHERE. The lights were small but so numerous that the world was illuminated even MORE than it would have been had we congregated together that morning.
It's so important to remember that even in this, God is sovereign.
It's important to remember that even in the middle of what you are grieving right now, God is with you. He is the author of creating beautiful things from ashes and I have no doubt in my mind that He is currently digging through this rubble and weaving the most exquisite tapestry this world has ever seen.
So, even in this - I trust him. But … I could still use a hug from my sister.
Much Love,
Jamie
Watch the Red Rocks Video Here:
https://www.facebook.com/redrockschurch/videos/3381894568492039/
