Sunday, March 22: Small successes make us stronger

Virtual church in our home—that’s a good family rhythm.  Coffee with my Sweet.  Pilates during worship.

Deep breath.  The sun is shining.  We know how to rally as a family.  We’ve done that before.

I learned in grad school that when things get really challenging, it helps to take on doable physical challenges.  Before graduation, I was standing on my head for a solid 3 minutes or more.  Today I take on my ripstick—I haven’t done that since our move to Colorado in 2018.  I went further on the Poudre trail than I have ever gone on my ripstick.

I can do this.  All of this.

Drive-ins—a social distancing spring break treat post family physical activity.  Sonic is Mommy’s rare and spontaneously fun fried treat.  Desperately wishing I could wash my hands, the Sonic manager offers us disinfectant wipes at our window.  It’s the best she could do.  And I was thankful.

Monday, March 23: Empathy and grief set in

Emotions are so mixed up. I can alternate tears and laughter without taking a breath.  I think the complexity of emotion keeps me going.  Empathy is a part of me.  So is shared laughter.  I can’t shut out the hurt of the world. I have to find a way in it.

Grief sets in as social media pours out the news of loved ones’ sick loved ones.  There are people who can’t breathe.  I feel pressure around my own lungs.  Or is it my heart?

I got this song stuck in my prayers…

🎶 You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken
Great are You, Lord

It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise to You…

And all the earth will shout Your praise
Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing 

Great are You, Lord 🎶

Zoe bakes her first berry pie.  Yum.  She has been painting and creating and plotting a socially distant picnic with a neighbor friend.  She makes beautiful things.  She makes me smile… with teary eyes.  She is filled with purpose and plans and projects.

Wednesday, March 25: To be seen and heard

I have a regularly scheduled virtual meeting with my colleague.  She hears exhaustion in my voice and heartache in my rhythm.  I needed her to say that I didn’t seem ok.  Someone noticed.  Someone said something.  I try to hold back immediate tears.  I’ll save them for later.  My tear bank is robust.  I am tired.  I am overwhelmed.

Thursday, March 26: The good, the bad, and the garbanzo beans

A walk with a friend.  I bring her chickpeas and pass them at a safe distance.  Canned goods are hard to come by at the grocery store and she is a garbanzo lover like myself.  It feels good to do a little good.  Colorado is in full shelter in place mode now.  Stores close earlier.  People might start to panic.

I think I am among the immunocompromised.  I google articles about leukemia patients, those on immunotherapies in relation to Covid-19.  I should be extra cautious.

Speaking of Covid-19… I read a comment comparing the “Covid 19” to the “Freshman 15!”  Hard to curb the quarantine baking spree.  I love that there are so many things to laugh together about.

Steve and I have an important virtual work meeting.  The meeting delivered bad news.  Not really anything to do with pandemic, just regular life bad news.  It hits hard. It feels like rejection.  Emotions are already at the surface and reserves of faith and grace and strength and resilience have already been reallocated.

Sprycel—my leukemia miracle med—is delivered as usual. Check.  The UPS man doesn’t ask me to sign for this pricy parcel.  He just leaves it and waves.

I slip out for a run on the track as I pour out my heart in my prayer.  My regular running playlist doesn’t seem fitting anymore.

Why is motivation so hard?

Goal setting.  That’s my specialty.  First, identify barriers: It’s hard to get to goals when you’re in the midst of grief.  Mourning and gratitude are both necessary.  But if you haven’t mourned, it’s hard to move forward.

Steve and I zoom in with our community group.  Thursday night is our regularly scheduled hangout time—part of our familiar chorus.

I’m still not okay. 

News of people sick, dying, or singing out their windows is global. 

Urgency and exhaustion in the voices of healthcare professionals. 

More emails regarding upcoming online school than I can process. 

Loved ones have sick ones. 

I worry for the most vulnerable, like my resettled refugee friends and pregnant mom friends. 

I worry for my healthcare provider friends. 

I am in tears for a hurting world.

Check in with your inner self.  Practice heart presence. Breathe…. Oh yeah.

Steve gets a stern and caring reminder from our doctor friend to be extra cautious with his immunocompromised wife.  Clarity.  Caution. Heartfelt concern.

Friday, March 27: Emotional backlog

Things have to change.  My heart is being pressed in on all sides.  Everyone is caring about something else.  I feel isolated with the whole world.  I am.

So much has halted.  So much to process.  An emotional backlog. So many people going through something and the same things.  Momentum is gone in most of life’s places.

Deep breath.

I decide to start collecting the songs I need for this new rhythm of life.

I choose carefully how often I watch the news.  Today there is a healthy flow of tears watching a video montage of communities rising up and joining together.

🎶 And I’ll rise up
I’ll rise like the day
I’ll rise up
I’ll rise unafraid
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
And I’ll rise up
High like the waves
I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Thank you, Andra Day.  Put that one on the playlist.

Saturday, March 28: Naming negative emotions

I cross out lots of things on my calendar that didn’t happen and that won’t happen.  Good thing I write in pencil.  Saturday is Ella’s choice for special breakfast.  A rich cup of coffee with my Sweet.  Pilates and prayers.  My whole body feels heavy.

I have dealt with difficult things before.  I cry. I walk. I sleep.  I pray.  I listen—to truth, to hope, to sadness. To divine whispers.

It’s helpful to just be present with negative emotions… 😕♥️
• grief—of losses big and small
• guilt—that we should be doing more, less, something else
• fear—of things we can’t control
• disappointment—of unfulfilled expectations
• discouragement—too many overwhelming things to take in at once
• sadness…
• madness…
•
🤲🏼👣

Tomorrows have no structure.  We are oscillating between aimlessness and creativity’s  blank page.  Setting goals seems like such an uphill journey.