Let Me Be Sad

I’m going to start by saying I know I have a whole lot to be thankful for, and I am. My husband and I both have government jobs so we’re not worried about this pandemic destroying our ability to pay our mortgage. Our children are happy and healthy and excelling in school, so we’re not worried about them falling behind without an education for a month. We are generally optimistic people, we are resourceful and resilient, and we go with the flow.

But last week, that flow became a river full of rapids, pounding us with waves as we sought to navigate a new normal for everyone in our lives and everything that we do. We’re still clinging on to the rocks of our old routine, desperate to pretend that everything is okay. That normalcy still exists.

I’m tethered to my phone 24/7 whether it’s crisis communications at work or updates on social media or CNN to get the latest information on how many cases, distance learning resources, quippy memes about life in quarantine. I appreciate the positivity and the inspiration, but yesterday I woke up hungry for breakfast and couldn’t bring myself to take a bite, suddenly no appetite. As moms, we don’t have a choice but to slap on a smile and keep it light for our kids, minimizing their anxiety about the unknown. Hiding ours. From every direction I hear chin up, look on the bright side, find the good. 

Let me be sad. I need to be sad for just a little bit. And, I think that’s okay. A lot of people have skipped to best coping mechanisms and trudging ahead fearlessly, never grieving for what we are losing. I’m usually the first to compartmentalize and move on but in this case, I am giving myself permission to grieve for a moment.

I’m sad that my son’s Little League season never started, and he’s been in our backyard, running around an imaginary field. I’m sad that his kindergarten class is a Facebook group, and his two full-time work-from-home parents are not equal compensation for a classroom. I’m sad that we’ve had to cancel visits from family members who live 2 thousand miles away and I don’t know when I will be able to hug them again. I’m scared for my parents and grandparents that I’m begging to stay home. I’m sad for my dad who was so close to getting the kidney he’s been waiting on for years. I’m worried for my mom who is piecing together lab equipment without a mask and running the viral tests required for a pandemic of this scale. I’m scared that we’re a long way from the worst of it. I’m scared that this will rob my boys of a normal childhood. I’m sad for the thousands of souls lost that I can feel in my bones. I’m angry that it’s happening at all. 

Last week, we had pouring rain as if the sky opened up to tell us how it really feels. My husband set up a an indoor movie theater for the boys. They watched Frozen II while we worked long hours- him for ASU’s online department as the entire student population moves online. Me, for a municipal communications department, updating every closure and CDC recommendation for our public. I heard the words of Princess Anna echo through the house. “I’ll take a step, and step again. And do the next right thing.”

And I will. I’ll put my chin up and take a bite. I’ll trudge ahead. But for now, just for a minute, let me be sad.