sorrow

Winter Newsletter: Preparing Our Hearts For Grief Anniversaries: COVID Edition

As Winter merges into Spring in the Pacific NW, I look at entrances to shops and see faded reminders from four years ago to stand “six-feet apart.” Painted flowers. Foot prints. Circles indicating “6’". Whatever the store thought would be helpful to remind folks to stay separated. Yes, the four year anniversary of the pandemic is close-at-hand. So many shifts in four years!

Perhaps like me your camera roll likes to offer memories, the “before photos,” where we were gathered at sardine-packed events unaware we were likely “at risk.” Then came the “after.” The impromptu masks…scarves wrapped loosely around faces, YouTube videos showing us how to make a mask from old t-shirts, folks digging through piles of material making free masks for healthcare workers, trying to fill a need…weak attempts at protection until we could buy something we thought was better…or at least more comfortable. Hand sanitizer at every doorway and checkout counter. Constant reminders to “wash your hands and not touch your face.” Washing groceries and placing mail in ziplock bags for a day or two (remember that!) And all the closures. The wide berths when walking. The lack of hugs. And ZOOM! Suddenly everything moved to Zoom.

Weaving Grief Into Our Enchanted Lives

Do you suppose small birds mourn? That, as their wee ones start out as four bodies emerging wet from beige, palest turquoise, and brown speckled eggs, one mouth seeming to crave life from the get-go while the others curl around the deep hearth of nest, waiting to stretch toward light, their parents ready to feed, to nurture, do they begin instinctual hoping? Do you wonder if, as the nest dwindles to one, they search for the lost or keep a keener eye on the ever-open mouth of the one remaining? Do they take time to sing a lament from the bow of the fir for the ones that never flew? And when, one morning after a night of tending, warming, they return for first feed to discover the one gone, no mouth to fill, too soon to fledge, do they weep bird tears? Do they rend their feathers? I wonder. I wonder.