A look back forward
One of the tough things of the pandemic, among many, is the lack of acknowledgement. So on this last day of 2021 I feel the need to acknowledge the heavy. The grief.
So, what is inside the tears right behind my eyes this morning? Some of the matter is old and worn. 18 years without a dad. He would be so old now that he would already be gone most likely but maybe wouldn’t have at my college graduation. But those tears have been shed. The grief has cooled on that hurt. Still. A grey new year’s eve morning is a reminder.
No. My heart isn’t heavy for 2003. It’s heavy for 2020. For 2021. For my aunt who left ragged relationships behind as she peaced out right as 2020 dawned and the year crashed into all of our lives. For the thousands of lives taken, ruined, and haunted by Covid. Those who died. Who lost someone. Those who served, and continue to serve, in PPE holding people’s hands as they struggled for their last breath as relatives listened over Zoom. For all of the people buried quietly and all the babies born without any pomp or circumstance, including my own lockdown newborn who is now a toddler.
My heart is heavy for all those who’s lives are hardest to begin with and just got harder…the indigent, the disenfranchised, the forgotten ones. We watched as 2020 and 2021 rolled by with even more news stories of black people continuously terrorized by racism that is inherent in our system and the white supremacy that is instilled in us all. Or how about those at the border or the refugees of countless wars? You look and think, “could their lives get harder?” Oh yup. With Covid.
My heart is heavy because we don’t even have the capacity to hold tragedy in our collective memory. There are too many natural disasters to count, too many displaced people to profile on the news. It’s all too much so we have to shut our brains down, off, even. And me too. I get it. What I don’t get is pretending it doesn’t exist. I don’t get looking Covid 19 in the face and saying, “I don’t believe in you” and expecting that to matter. I don’t get plowing through with diet plans and “New Year, New You!” IG posts despite the collective trauma we have all experienced. Madness. That seems like the reason but I think the bigger reason is Denial as Defense. We cannot let ourselves really feel the intensity of this last two years because then we might have to admit that what we’re doing isn’t working. It hasn’t worked. It won’t work. What we’re doing hasn’t prevented the loss. The loss has happened and no matter how many times you reschedule the event or push through the protocols to attend the party, you cannot wipe away the gone-ness of it. It is.
Oof. I know.
My bones hurt. My skin feels like sandpaper and worn leather at the same time. I am screaming to be let out but don’t want to leave my couch and have just bought new sweatpants. I am 37. But I have aged far beyond the two years it’s been since new years eve 2019. My shoulders are aching with the last year especially because after covid brought cancer and fuck if that wasn’t perfect timing. Everytime I think of January 15th 2021 and the ensuing months I feel my heart quicken and bile rise up. I am so excited to put a years distance between me and that date but not so excited to continue to process its effects. It is exhausting but oh so necessary.
Tonight I’ll be on the couch not pretending. No resolutions or half hearted retrospectives. Maybe the tears will fall from behind the eyes. Maybe not. Either way I’m looking this year and this time right in the face and calling it what it is…life changing hard.
I don’t see any other way forward.
