It started with one day, news of a virus that originated in a country far away. We were all too naive to think it would ever touch us. We made jokes, kept things light, read in awe of the things happening so far away. But then, slowly, things no longer seemed so far away, as I found myself reading daily about the tragedies in Italy. Hundreds of men and women dying daily, I would wait until about 3pm which marked the end of day in Italy to see the new death count. Each topping the previous, each bringing me to tears. Each leaving me at a loss for words, taking away the complexity of my daily life as I only felt the pain and sadness. Other emotions started slipping away. Until one day, this reality became our own, as I sat on the couch watching the news unfold before my very eyes. The virus, COVID-19, was here, in our town, in our stores, in our neighborhood, our hospital. The death toll was just beginning, and as the tragedy ensued, I found myself numb. I could no longer comprehend the death, the insurmountable disease that overwhelmed hospitals just 200 miles away. Ditches being dug on an unoccupied island to bury the dead in wood coffins that had had been built to hold the bodies. Freezers lines up outside hospitals to hold those who died in hallways, who said goodbye over a screen, if even given that chance. All the while watching our country walk in opposite directions, away from each other, our neighbors, our friends. In a time where we had to come together, so many of us turned our backs. Being numb was so much easier than feeling the pain. For if I felt the pain I was afraid I would never get up. If I felt the pain I worried I could not go to work as I still had to, being numb felt like the only way to keep moving forward. I was numb, but I was safe.
I tried to keep up with the news, but the constant negativity, tragic headlines and dismal coverage never ceased to feel like a punch in the stomach. No heart gets used to 4 digit numbers recounting deaths, unless you are numb. Slowly, but surely, I turned on the news less as I retreated within. I refused to spend these months at a loss, to waste away these days in isolation. I found joy in the little things, puzzles, baking, reading, running. I connected how I could with friends and family, but deep within me, there was a large hole. A hole left by the insurmountable deaths, the lack of action, the brokenness that has become our world. And so I stayed numb, I did not cry for nearly 8 months, not missing home, not when watching the news, not even when a patient died at work. Things that used to touch me deeper, remained on the surface. I feared if I opened the flood gates, perhaps the tears would never stop. I feared if I let myself feel the sadness, I would lose all hope.
Then came Christmas Eve, and suddenly I was angry. I was angry that some of my family was together, all the while others stayed apart within the same city. I was angry that I hadn’t seen them in nearly a year. I was angry that I felt that they didn’t care that I was living alone while working through the pandemic nearly 3000 miles away. It was so much easier to be angry than it was sad, because anger I can channel in a direction, sadness demands to be felt. Sadness is so much lonelier than anger. Sadness hurts so much more, at least if I’m angry I can blame it on someone else. But then I broke. The tears started, and I could not stop. As I watched a family video I had made on repeat, the tears came on stronger and washed over the year. My eyes grew puffy and my heart grew heavy, as I came to feel all that I had been tucked away after a year marked by devastation and loss. A year of fear, of grief, of anxiety. A year of anger and confusion, of loneliness and heartbreak.
And yet, as the tears came, I felt the slightest bit of light, as the tears washed down my face and I felt for the first time in months something that felt a little like truth. No human can witness such devastation and not feel anything, and yet I had built up such strong walls to endure these difficult times that I wasn’t feeling any of the things that demand to be felt. I imagine many of you feel the same way, and if you are like me you are fearful of feeling any of it, not knowing what may happen if you start. I am still numbing, distracting and crafting my days in a way which feels manageable, but I am at least now more aware of what’s truly inside. I am taking more moments to acknowledge the pain and rediscover joy. I know that with time I must work through all that lies within this heart of mine to move forward fully and freely. And I think if we are brave enough to be honest with ourselves, and honest with each other, we can heal together. After a year that feels so broken, I hope that this year brings more light. I hope you know you are not alone, and that together, we are always better. Better, braver, stronger as one. Choose hope and healing, one day at a time.