Uncounted Victims of COVID-19

COVID-19 casualties, counted and uncounted, are mushrooming and getting closer to home!

Our family had a scare last week. Sandra, my daughter, is a social worker in a skilled nursing facility. She was exposed to the virus and developed familiar symptoms. We all anxiously waited three days for the test results. Fortunately, she tested NEGATIVE.

Among the many uncounted casualties are those who live and work in nursing homes like the one where Sandra serves and the one across the street from me.

Sandra eagerly returned to work Monday. She loves her work, her colleagues, the residents and their families.

Lowman across street

I live on the campus of a beautiful continuous care retirement community. Across the street is the nursing facility, where approximately 140 residents are cared for by a dedicated team of caring staff members.

I see family members come to the windows of their loved ones and press their hands against the pane. I watch as staff members arrive for their long shifts and leave exhausted. I hear the sirens of emergency vehicles arriving and realize someone is in crisis.

But this is only a microcosm of the realities in the approximately 15,000 nursing homes in the United States where  1.4 million people are cared for by approximately 1,663,000 employees.

Only a small percentage of the residents in nursing homes have the COVID-19 virus. However, many residents are showing increasing signs of depression and failure to thrive as the result of isolation from loved ones.

Family members are growing increasingly stressed and frustrated by the imposed guidelines and policies.

I wonder if the confusion and agitation of those with Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia is intensifying.

Family members of those nearing death plead to be permitted to keep vigil beside the bed of their spouse and/or parent. Thousands are dying with only the staff present to comfort them. I can only imagine the added pain of family members as they now grieve without having had the opportunity to hold their loved one’s hand and whisper “I love you” as a final goodbye.

The medical staff, social workers, and administrators are caught between regulatory guidelines and policies and the relational needs of residents and families. They are taking on added responsibilities way outside their job descriptions: administrators substituting as beauticians and CNAs; social workers becoming conflict mediators and surrogate family members; chaplains sweeping floors and delivering meals; housekeepers assisting with bathing and feeding.

I would like to help. My ability to respond is limited. After all, I’m in the vulnerable age group myself. But I’ve decided that I can do something:

  • I can wear my mask and observe the CDC guidelines so that I don’t add to the workload of healthcare workers, or spread the disease to others.
  • I can pray each day for the staff and residents and the family members, and I now consider each siren a call to prayer.
  • I can walk past the windows with my dog, Millie, and wave at the persons inside.
  • I can speak and write words of appreciation to the staff and not complain if I am inconvenienced by their preoccupation with their added workload.
  • I can communicate with legislators for more attention and resources for the frail elderly, including nursing homes.
  • I can call and/or write to family members I know who are caring for frail persons.
  • I can plant and cultivate flowers in my own lawn that are visible to the residents and staff, providing some glimmer of beauty.
  • I can make an added contribution to agencies that advocate and serve the frail elderly.
  • I can work for systemic changes in attitudes toward and treatment of the elderly, especially the most frail.

And, we all can “love our neighbor as ourselves,” including our neighbors who live and work in nursing homes and their families. They, too, are victims of COVID-19.

 

 

 

 

 

Grieving in Isolation

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.”