I cant. I just can’t today. There’s just too much. Last night, each dream was about losing our house, our livelihood, and our children . . .
One kid was sick and we hid the news. One kid defied us and made other people sick. Our car fell into a bog. The house was in the car. Life as we know it had disintegrated with nothing but our own grit remaining . . .
IRL: Q woke up in the middle of the night — frantic. Shouting. Terrified that she’d poured a virus on the couch.
M cried herself to sleep, worried her friends would forget her and she’d return to school, someday — alone.
Ken and I grapple with news stories everywhere; with our potential exposure. We waffle between dark and light, doom, smart preparation, and creating a sense of ease.
We high-fived ourselves for taking a walk in the dark last night; surviving our first adventure beyond the front door — out in the “zombie apocalypse.” It was funny at the time: my head instantly went to infected zombies forcing their way through the front door.
It’s a pandemic, so not that far fetched. And besides, I hate zombies. I’ve always had serious fear; seemingly one without much reason. Now . . . ?
It’s easy to wind up and give into the fear. Humans are really good at it. Some more than others. But, right now, it seems ever important to take stock of things. Feel the feelings — all of them. Give in when needed. And then reign it in.
So, as we move through this weird, wild experience together, this is what I see and am thankful for. Each and every day.
Pandemic blessings
Deep breaths, I see you. May each moment I pause to breathe offer me space and ease. Thank you for the blessing.
Morning tea, I see you. I feel your comfort and routine. Thank you for the blessing.
The sun, I see you. I find myself basking in your loyalty. Thank you for the blessing.
Comfortable home and health of my wee tribe, I see you. I set the wards and make the bread we break. Thank you for the blessing.
My work, that I continue from home, I see you. Let me be of service to all who need it. Thank you for the blessing.
Fear, I see you. I acknowledge you from a place of love for those around me. That love creates worry for their well-being. That worry creates whatever I allow it to. Let it not be the paralysis I experienced this morning. Thank you for the blessing.
The need to provide solutions, and the panic of losing control, I see you. I ask myself where I can be of service, and work to place my efforts there. I am one being who can serve best in one way. Thank you for the blessing.
Nightmares, I see you. May you be the way my mind rids itself of irrational thoughts. Thank you for the blessing.
Today, I hold compassion for myself. And others. It’s scary out there.