The COVID-19 pandemic compounds and complicates the grief process. It’s as though the whole world is in mourning.
Many are dying alone in hospitals and healthcare facilities cutoff from families. Funeral services and comforting embraces are limited.
There is a solitude inherit in grief itself. Others may empathetically bear some of sorrow’s weight; but the deepest pain is privately borne.
Yet, we need the comfort that comes from physically connecting with one another — warm embraces, a clasp of the hand, a smile on the lips, or tears in the eyes.
Friday will mark six months since Linda’s death. The intensity of the sadness has subsided and the waves of sorrow wash over me less often. Adjusting to life without her presence remains a daily challenge.
The “social distancing” and isolation are having an impact on my own grieving. I grieve for and with those who are infected with the COVID-19 virus and their families. The sheer number of casualties is breathtaking. But they are more than numbers; they are mothers, fathers, spouses, children, friends, colleagues, family.
I feel a certain kinship with them, a solidarity that is deepened by my own loss. There is a strange comfort in such solidarity, a sense of connection with others who grieve. I understand more fully the Beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
The isolation is forcing me to revisit and work through painful memories. Prior to the onset of the pandemic, my busyness had enabled me to avoid fully coming to grips with some guilt, regrets, and other negative components of grieving.
Now I can’t escape them. The long hours of solitude and silence bring buried thoughts and emotions to the surface. I’m naming them as they arise, reflecting prayerfully, and sharing them in telephone conversations and messages with family and close friends.
Although I am alone most of the time, I’m not really isolated in my grieving. I remain connected in multiple bonds of love and friendship. And, I’ve committed to reaching out to others who are grieving. With the pandemic, “others” includes almost everyone.
A hymn we sing often at Bethany, the memory care facility where I serve as volunteer chaplain, is “Blest be the Tie That Binds.” We always include this verse:
We share each other’s woes,
our mutual burdens bear;
and often for each other flows,
the sympathizing tear.
Let us find ways of sharing our grief even in this time of isolation. In so doing, we may come to know “the peace that passes understanding.”