Well, the world has pretty much gone insane and it is my goal to write this post without using the words “unprecedented times”. Because I hear those words so often; I feel like it could be a drinking game and as someone who can’t drink alcohol, I can’t tell you how boring drinking games are when you are sipping ginger ale.
I have been self-isolating/social distancing for a while now, but I am married to an essential worker who leaves the house daily and causes me a lot of worry and fear of what comes home with him. I follow him to the shower spraying bleach or disinfectant on anything I think he may have touched; it’s incredibly romantic.
The rest of the day is very, very quiet. While social media blows up with homeschooling tips and advice to enjoy this time with your family; it’s a different experience for a Still Mother. My family is in a cemetery, 20 minutes away, and it remains very unlikely I will be able to go there, any time soon.
All-day long, amongst the worry, anxiety and news conferences there is a background tape of how this “should have been”. Instead of days yawning in silence and my mini goals, I should have an energetic little boy, bounding around the house. Making messes, breaking things and being perfectly imperfect. I should be looking up crafts and games to keep him occupied; not ordering more floor cleaner from Amazon. And the worst, the stuff that makes me violent, is when you read the social media posts asking what it’s like to self isolate without children. Oh, aren’t they witty?
It’s lonely.
It’s heartbreakingly quiet.
The silence positively roars.
The lack of purpose in my day yawns from when I wake to when I go to bed.
Grief is lapping around my ankles on a daily basis and it is a major struggle not to fall. Not to just let myself slip and add my tears to the ocean that creeps around my feet.
For years, I believed I had less to fear, when death came to call because I would be with Thomas, again. I actually convinced myself I believed this. Through brain surgeries and all, I thought this was my truth. But now the spectre lurks outside my house, potentially clinging to my husband’s clothing and I find I have a lot of fight left in me. That as wonderful as it will be, to finally meet my son, it’s not time yet.
But the self-isolation seems particularly isolating when you don’t have your child.
I can’t relate to most people’s experience of self-isolation — of their tik toks with their kids, of their rants and a desperate wish for 15 minutes to themselves. I would give everything to be hounded from room to room, by Thomas. The biggest violation of my space is the one dog who feels he is duty-bound to accompany me to the washroom.
It was never supposed to be this way because I don’t think any of us anticipated a pandemic in our lives. And now that it’s here, it’s the quietest, loneliest experience.
How are you coping, as a Still Mother/Father, during this insanity?
- The Importance Of Pictures - October 12, 2020
- Self-Isolation And Still Mothers - April 3, 2020
- And Here We Are - June 24, 2019
I lost my daughter 3 weeks ago and I’ve never felt more useless and lonely. We can’t even arrange her funeral. No flowers, no family, no friends to celebrate her short but meaningful life.
Like she doesn’t and didn’t exist. The days all blur together with comments of “she’s in a better place” “god called her home” “ she’s an angel in heaven”
My arms are the better place.
I don’t believe in god.
I have no faith that allows me to believe.
I’m lost.
I’m so very sorry, Kimmy. I’m sorry that when you needed your circle the most, a global pandemic kept you alone. I’m sorry the choices to honour, your perfect daughter, were dictated by public heath and not your loving heart. And I’m sorry, trite, empty, hurtful words were lobbed at you like spiked dodge balls.
It’s hard. My husband is also an essential worker. I hate seeing those posts online, for those of us who are quarantined without kids. And frankly what I want to say is, lonely, isolated, depressing. I understand that their kids may be handfuls or overwhelming. But I would give anything to be overwhelmed with my son right now. It’s a frustrating time. A very frustrating, lonely time.
Agree, 100%. The level of silence is just baffling.
Andrea, I’ve read what you’ve written for years. I want you to know I think this is the finest piece of writing you’ve put out. This was comforting and intelligent and opened up my world. Thank you for writing, for speaking your truth, for sharing Thomas with all of us in the world.
Thank you, I admit, I continue to struggle with compliments but your kind words, and use of my son’s name, mean so much to me.