Grief in the time of COVID-19

If there's anything worse than losing the love of your life after only four years together and only four  months of marriage, it's having the fucking apocalypse begin shortly thereafter. Why is that worse? I'm so glad you asked. It's worse because not only do I have to try and process my grief, but I have to do so without any of the activities and rituals with which Doug and I would typically pass the time, and from which I might otherwise be able to take some comfort.

No going out to restaurants. No watching March Madness and coming up with random silly wagers based on how we're doing on our brackets. No watching NBA basketball. No hockey. No golf. No Kentucky Derby complete with hats, mint juleps, and Kentucky Hot Browns. No Stephen Colbert, Trevor Noah, or Seth Meyers. No hanging out with friends. No cooking elaborate meals. No games. No snuggling up and taking a nap. No sleeping in. NO SEX.

Last night, I had to go find the back scratcher because I had an itch in the very middle of my back, where I couldn't possibly reach it. That's such a small, even insignificant thing, but it made me cry buckets: I don't even fucking have someone to scratch my back for me now.

And on top of having to grieve the unbearable loss of my husband, and on top of having none of those distractions, I have to do this COMPLETELY alone. Because I live alone now (yes, I have pets; no, they aren't people), and since I have had to leave the house to see my grief counselor and my therapist and to go to the bank, I've been exposed. No, I don't care if I get sick. The worst thing that could ever happen to me has already happened: my husband is dead. What do I care if I catch this thing and die? Who BETTER than me? I'm sure not going to be a drain on the healthcare system, because if I DO catch this thing, I'm not even going to the doctor. Let nature take its course; I'm not going to be responsible for infecting anyone, and certainly not a healthcare worker. No using up resources that other people need for me. Nope. If I get it, I'll either get better alone or I'll die alone (the latter being preferable).

And my county's local government is being decidedly foolish about this: no mandated closings of anything because small business, 'MURICA, yadda, yadda, yadda. Not sure how well all these small businesses are going to fare when their customer base is dead, but whatevs. Not my problem. And I'm watching press conference after press conference full of supposed leaders talking about how great we're doing (spoiler alert: that's a HUGE LIE), and even they aren't maintaining the six-foot distance recommended by CDC. 🤦‍♀️

This morning, I woke up and decided to break into the art supplies I purchased the other day. I'd considered taking a walk, but it's too chilly and overcast for that. Matches my mood beautifully, but it doesn't motivate me to go outside beyond the required walking of the dog. My thoughts weren't coherent enough to start writing, and I felt the need to try and create. Now, I'm not an artist. At ALL. I'm a pretty good actress, and a reasonably talented musician, and a decent writer. But visual arts? Not so much. My mom was a terrific artist, and while I inherited her beautiful blue eyes and her twisted sense of humor, I sadly did not inherit her green thumb or her artistic skills.

But if, as Gordon MacKenzie says in Orbiting the Giant Hairball, we're ALL artists, then why shouldn't I give it a shot? I'm working on a four-panel group of small paintings, and this morning was spent painting the backgrounds for each. Those are drying now, and I'll get back to work on them later or tomorrow. I have no doubt they'll be hideous and puerile, but it's not like I'm going to try and sell them, so who cares?

And now... now I'm trying to make sense of the overbearing sense of foreboding I can't shake. I'm trying to make sense of how I'm supposed to find a new normal for myself when the entire world is falling apart. I'm trying to make sense of why people are so foolish as to think that they can ignore the recommendations of the WHO and the CDC and keep going and doing whatever they want with zero regard for virtually everyone else. I'm trying to make sense with my husband being gone when I need him the most.

And making sense isn't happening. All that's happening is despair. It's become my steady state, and I'm getting used to it.

Despair is not a sustainable way to live.