It was supposed to be a hopeful Spring.
Tom has been gone (ugh, that still sounds awful) for six months, so I’m supposedly passed the *acute* grief stage. Things are supposed to get better after that, I read. I don’t know why, maybe because you’re used to being alone, used to the silence, used to being the good parent/bad parent which really just means you seem bipolar to your kids (and to yourself.)
It was supposed to be better. Tom even said so in a poem he wrote (more on that another day.). So I was feeling good. I was ready. As soon as the weather was sunny and warmer I was coming out!
I had practiced my tennis game throughout the winter (except when I was injured. I’ve never had a recurring injury before. But like I’ve said, grief is physical and it likes to remind you how fucked up things are. When your brain is feeling okay, it reminds your body). My game still wasn’t good, but better than it would’ve been if I didn’t practice in the winter. I was a step ahead for summer tennis.
I bought a couple of new dresses (stupid, I know, but it felt good to WANT to look nice) and wanted to meet my friends for dinner and drinks al fresco.
I just felt like this Spring would be a new beginning in a way that we (the kids and I) could prove that we made it through. That we are still a family and we are ready for the next adventure. That we are strong. We are united. We are back!
All of our birthdays are in the Spring, so we would be new ages and that was symbolic of new beginnings, too.
On my birthday, though, the President announced that because of the corona virus we were in a national emergency. Then a couple of days later, my state ordered a shelter in place. Then Maggie’s birthday came and went. Then Alex’s birthday came and went. And what was supposed to be a hopeful Spring began to suck the life out of me.
I am grateful that we are physically healthy. But I banked on the Spring for our mental health. I told myself many times, “Spring is around the corner. Get yourself ready to fully enjoy all things Spring/Summer.” It was a good distraction on all of those long agonizing winter days, weeks, months. I just kept telling myself, “You’re doing fine. Just make it to Spring”.
Spring has Sprung. And it totally sucks. The daffodils don’t know that we can’t have company, or leave the house, or celebrate our birthdays, or do anything fun. All of the plants Tom planted last year don’t know either. They’re peaking their little heads up and excited for the warm sunny air. I can’t help but stop and look at the daffodils. I take in their beautiful green leaves and colorful bloom magically appearing from deep dark mud. Their rebirth amazing. They don’t know. Last time they bloomed Tom was here tending to them. They don’t know he won’t be doing that this year, or that humans are sick and that the economy sucks. It must be wonderful not to know.
I was hopeful. I was actually looking forward. I was ready to get out, be me (a new me, well a different me. One that isn’t as good as before but trying like hell to be). I was ready for new things for my kids too. They’re at great ages and I wanted them to have a great Spring Break and last quarter of school. I was beginning to be optimistic again. And happy. Not happy like before. Just happy. I was ready. WE were ready.
And now this. This sadness for the people who aren’t making it through this evil virus. The families who are dealing with deaths and sick family members. And the economy and essential workers and the stress of being an essential worker and their families. It’s grief all over again.
I’m just going to keep my little family in place. I want to do my part by staying home and not spreading or contracting germs. I want everyone to be safe and careful.
And when it’s time, we’ll ALL magically appear through the deep dark mud together. We’ll tell each other, “We did fine. We made it through Spring. Let’s get ready for Summer.” And we’ll thank our God that we made it.
Sometimes goals shift or change completely. Like I’ve said before, we evolve, change, modify. But we do it.
We’ll be later than I had hoped, but we’ll peak our heads up, soon, excited for the warm sunny air. Our rebirth will be amazing.
