two tools for coping with communal grief

The New York Times recently ran an article called “A Season of Grief and Release,” which shares an incredibly accurate depiction, through personal stories and photographs, of what the past few months have been like in New York City. I dare say that, while the timelines and specifics will vary for all of us depending on where we live and how our local authorities have responded, there will something in this article that will resonate with each of us.

Here are two of the quotes that stood out to me: 

“How does one mourn in isolation? How does one process grief for an entire city?”

“The city has changed, the people have changed. The country has changed. The world has changed. We walk outside masked, coated in a residue of terror and grief.”

Dang.

“…coated in a residue of terror and grief.”

It’s strong language.

But we’ve been through (and are still in) a season of collective trauma. It requires strong language.

Most of us aren’t old enough to remember past global epidemics, and, while each had a significant impact at the time, none of them (with the possible exception of the bubonic plague, which is still a thing, so please don’t eat marmots, ok?) seems to have changed the entire world in such drastic ways.

And the changes aren’t temporary. Covid-19 has highlighted so very many failures in how the world functions. We cannot go back to the way things were. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Technology, and the speed at which information is now available, plays a part in why this is the case; it’s nearly impossible to be online and NOT have exposure to international news. Far gone are the days of living in isolated community bubbles – in which life carries on as usual – while the rest of the world is on fire.

In many ways, this is a gift.
But there’s something to be mourned here, too.

Here’s another quote from that article:

“Twenty-three thousand had died of the coronavirus, more than the seating capacity of Madison Square Garden.”

Wow. Statistics are one thing, but that…

That brings it home.

So what do we do now?

How do we process the grief we feel?

Grief – not just about preventable deaths, but about social and economic injustice, broken systems, explosions in Beirut, flawed politicians, and…, and…, and…, and…

I’m not an expert on grief, but I’m not a stranger to it, either. Here are two things that I know from experience work.

1. Make space for grief.

My friend Kathy Escobar posts frequently with two hashtags: #griefhasnorules and #waterheals.

Both are true.

Grief doesn’t have rules. It will show up when it chooses to show up, and often inconveniently. I actually experienced this, just a few days ago.

Everything was coming up roses: I’d spent time with good friends, I had a promising interview scheduled for the next day, there is freelance work in the pipeline that will pay the bills for the next month, and there are fun things on the horizon. Yet I found myself calling a dear friend in the depths of despair.

“Maybe you need to get out of New York,” she said.

Maybe…
But I don’t think so.

I think I just need to make a little more space for grief to arrive in what can feel like the most illogical of times.

Because in retrospect, it wasn’t illogical.

• I’d spent time with friends, yes – but how we spent that time was different than it would have been a year ago. Some of my friends are okay with hugging. Others insist on wearing masks when we’re twelve feet away from each other outdoors. Navigating the expectations and fears of our friends is hard right now. And it’s okay to mourn the loss of easy comraderie.

• Promising interviews are great – but for me, an interview is still a reminder that I lost something I loved; a good job with great colleagues isn’t easily replaced, especially when the number of people looking for employment is as high as it is.

• Freelancing has been awesome – but it’s also an unpredictable living, and requires self-discipline I don’t always have (because grief shows up unexpectedly, regardless of my task list).

• And “fun things” are often way more planned (and way more virtual) than they ever used to be.

So making space – for a walk in the middle of the day, or an entire day off to go to the beach – is important. I can’t operate in hyper-drive anymore.

(One might argue that none of us ever should have in the first place.)

2. Don’t go it alone.

This season has been challenging in so many ways for people in every walk of life, but let’s just own that the experience has been different for those of us living in close quarters with family and roommates than it has been for those of us living alone.

Suffering isn’t comparative. Living alone in an era in which being around people who don’t live with you has to be approached with caution presents its own unique challenges – but it’s not better or worse than other situations. I’m grateful for the friends who have chosen to let me in to their lives as a “safe” person, trusting that I’ve done all I can to protect myself from a virus I can’t see – people who are willing to meet up outside, and take off their masks when we’re talking, people who are willing to actually hug me. Those once small gestures of normalcy do wonders for my soul.

I can only imagine the challenges that come with being cooped up for months with small kids and/or a spouse, not getting out, juggling work schedules and child care. Some of my friends have talked openly about their struggles, while others feel it’s been a gift in disguise.

But whether community is something you have built in to your housing arrangements or something you have to work to build, there is one thing that remains true for all of us: we need each other.

So, lean into honest conversation. Ask your friends and your other loved ones: how are you doing, really? What’s hard? What’s not?

But don’t ask them how you can help. Think of something you think would be helpful, and ask if it would be.

And one day at at time, we’ll get through this.

photo credit: Külli Kittus on Unsplash