Remembering Yesterday
By now, you’ve likely had your fill of the same four walls.
We’re currently wrapping up the last few days of March amid a pandemic that has shuttered most of the towns and cities that we bring life to. Daily routines look a little different. Time feels a little different. We’re all a little anxious about the space we fill and a lot of anxious about the spaces we aren’t allowed to fill.
The splash of this current health crisis will probably ripple for months after we leave our shelters; for years in the history of our country and the world. It’s a story we’ll tell in our families for (hopefully) generations. It’s an unfortunate event - with incredibly disheartening consequences (and side effects). The loss of a job, a livelihood. The loss of a wedding, graduation, or ceremony. There are races, shows, events, and gatherings that all look a little different now. At the core of every loss, we are struggling with this sense of identity. What is my life without XXXX?
Without work? That’s stressful for so many reasons. At the very least, there are probably bills to pay. At the extreme, there are other humans relying on that money. Who am I if I cannot provide for my family, for my future?
Without graduation? That’s deflating. It’s as if you spent years slowly filling a balloon with air - waiting for the day where you could say, “Look at this balloon I created!”, only to have someone else put a pin-sized hole in it and watch the air sink out.
Even those in the frontlines have had life redefined. What is my life with this pressure? Imagine your workplace on its most stressful day and then multiply that by 10x (and add hysteria and a shortage of proper equipment).
**
For many years now, I’ve tried to remember what I felt and thought about in middle school.
Because in middle school, I lost my grandfather. Before he died, I don’t know that I had ever felt real sadness. Obviously, I had to have felt pain, but my family and friends had always been there to pick me up. They were able to explain away my feelings - because they could help me get from the sad thing to a reason and then to a plan to be better. But with death, there is no explaining it away. He was there and then one day, he was not. Sure.
But the thing was… he was there. My brain is full of all the times that he WAS there. Though he may have moved on, I did not. I can replay his voice and relive his moments.
Life has been different since then. For some reason, when you can grasp the idea of death, it’s like gaining this new skill. I want to remember what life was like before that skill - when there was less weight to carry.
**
In the silence of this quarantine, I have spent some time cleaning out my phone and trying to declutter some of this digital life. In doing so, I found myself in the archives of my voicemail box. Amongst “missed” campaign calls and several grand prize cruise packages, were the recordings of a beloved great aunt.
She passed away earlier this year.
In a one-two punch, life had taken two members of our family in six months. Each loss hurt in a different but similar way. Loss often mirrors a cut - a quick slice, a moment of realization, and then shock as you watch the wound open up. In October, the loss of my mother’s sister was immediate, unexpected, and unfair. It was a storm that you just keep praying will pass even though you know that the house will not be standing when it does. It hurt, but we hurried through the pain. The second loss, my great aunt, was a slow process. It’s probably the best worst death a person and their family can suffer. It’s the best because it is the kindest with time. The family can gather and be together one last time. It is the worst because it is a slow process.
The grief from the loss of these two people still lingers. It’s in the silence on our calls. It shows in our eyes and underneath them. It’s in the tightening of our lips as we straighten out a smile. However, life goes on. We moved around life with the same caution abandon that we had before death had decided to sit with us awhile.
In recent days, I found myself returning to the grief and asking for a proper conversation.
**
Those voicemails are a treasure.
For just a few moments, I got to relive a birthday wish from her. In fact, I can relive the wish any time I want now. And I want to. I want to remember both of these incredible women. In all of their blessings and imperfections - I want to celebrate the knowing and I want to mourn the loss.
All of this to say that the connections that we have to people matter now, more than ever. Call your friends and family. Sit and remember those who have passed. And try to record all of the community that you can - in writings, recordings, and videos. For just a little while, we are asking the world to not move so much. Let’s collect ourselves and remember who we are because of who was.