Grieving during the COVID-19 Pandemic

Grieving during the COVID-19 Pandemic;
A Collection of Essays
Introduction
The pandemic has impacted our lives in countless ways but none so gravely as when
there was a death of a family member or loved one. Social restrictions and bureaucratic
regulations denied families the funeral services and wakes with the hugs and consoling
of friends. Each was abandoned to cope with grief. As months turned into years of
restricted social contact, the natural course of grieving continued unnaturally. It is with
this recognition that these essays were collected as a joint project for members of a
Daughters of the American Revolution chapter in Missouri.
Members were asked to write anonymously about their emotions during and after the
passage of life of someone they loved and the effect that isolation had. Grieving
members were given an outlet with this project to share their experience and record for
history the emotional toll that a pandemic can cause by the isolation inflicted and the
disruption of grieving norms.
Statistics and facts don’t tell the emotional toll, and without the sharing of emotions for
history, these years of pandemic will be remembered by the statistics or courageous
stories of overcoming obstacles. Clearly, there is more to tell. By sharing stories
anonymously, these contributors were able to write about their emotional scars without
adding to their emotional burdens. This project was offered as a safe place to tell a
story without judgement. To protect the contributors anonymity, our chapter is
submitting this project as a collection of essays. These essays reveal a range of
emotions linked by a common literary thread.
Each contributor experienced a loss of a loved one and was burdened with emotions
beyond grief. These essays were written with tear drops falling on keyboards, and with
heartache which has never subsided.
*************
Guilt
Anonymously Contributed
As we are beginning to see things opening up, coming out of the COVID-19 Pandemic, I
can’t help but reflect on the impact this corona virus has left in its wake. Beyond the
astronomical economic and emotional effects we have all experienced, there is nothing
more dramatic than having lost a loved one during the time between March 2019 and
now. I’ve had the heartache of losing two individuals I love very much. Note I didn’t say
“loved,” as my love for them continues and will be with me always. On my birthday last year, June 20th , 2020, I received a call from my best friend, Linda,
whose husband had just passed. Mike had suffered from Parkinson’s Disease for many
years, and complications from Parkinson’s had now claimed his life. My husband, Don,
and I were besties with Linda and Mike. I loved him and was so affected by his death in
a number of ways, none the least of which was how restricted I felt in being able to
comfort his wife and my best friend. From the on start of COVID-19, Don and I had
removed ourselves from the world around us and stayed isolated in our home. Just
when my friends needed me the most, I was unable to visit with them and comfort them.
Mike’s Parkinson’s had affected his mind, as well as his body. We watched over the
course of years as his mind slowly slipped away, and he had serious dementia by the
time of his passing. Consequently, during his final days, it wasn’t as much Mike whose
hands I longed to hold, but my friend, Linda. I tried to offer support from the necessary
and required distance, but it was so extremely heart-wrenching that I couldn’t be with
her in her home as he passed. I longed to be able to pray with her, to hug her, to
provide necessary help with the many tasks people must deal with in the days following
a loved one’s passing. But I felt that I must keep my distance, and it was breaking my
heart. I wasn’t only thinking of my own protection but that of my husband, as well. You
see, Don had had cancer several years prior to all this, and is living with only one
kidney. I knew if I were to catch the virus by being near Linda and those family
members who were mourning Mike’s death together physically, and if I were to pass it
on to Don, I would never be able to forgive myself. Don and I made the difficult decision
to not attend the visitation at the funeral home, knowing that I could have been such a
comfort to Linda. But the risk was too great. On the day of Mike’s funeral, we couldn’t
sit idly by, so we fearfully made the decision to attend, slipping in a side door, sitting to
ourselves in a part of the church that was as isolated as possible. I watched, with tears,
as Linda sat with her family members, and blew me a kiss. I watched as she rose and
walked solemnly to the lectern and spoke of her great love for Mike and of their beautiful
life together. My heart ached to be able to visit with her following the ceremony,
providing much love and hugs. There was a throng of people who were congregating
outside the church, following the service. I knew Linda had left the church and walked
through the front door, where the crowd had assembled. Again, my heart broke into tiny
pieces as Don and I slipped through the same door we had come in by and immediately
went to our car. I felt so ashamed and GUILTY for not being the friend to Linda that in
my heart I know I am. I imagined all the things I would be doing for her if only I could
participate and be close to her. It was a horrible experience, and unfortunately, one that
would raise its ugly head yet again, with even more vengeance.
Approximately seven months later (in mid-January 2021), my sister, Connie was ill, and
she had to be hospitalized. By this point in time, remarkably, over 3.75 million people
worldwide had died at the hands of this virus (598,000 in the US). Vaccines were
beginning to become available, but Don and I were not eligible yet. Roughly only 2% of
the population was fully vaccinated.
I was once again having to make very difficult decisions about what risks I would be
willing to take for myself, which again, would also impact Don. Connie was very sick,
and her condition was deteriorating. The hospital rules were such that one visitor could
be with her, but whomever visited for that day would be the only person who could visit
for the entire day. No other visitors were allowed. The virus was killing over 8,000
Americans a day during her hospitalization, which made me extremely scared to go see
her, especially in a health care facility. The days and the weeks drug on, and I was
becoming more and more angst-ridden about her worsening condition. I longed to visit
her, but I was continuously being pulled back by my fear of COVID.
As hope of her recovery dwindled, her daughters determined it would be best for her to
be placed on hospice, and she was transferred to a hospice facility. I was able to
facetime with her on several occasions when she was lucid. And it was clear to us all
that her time on this Earth was limited.
Again, I was full of pain and guilt as I agonized over the pull to see her versus the need
to be safe, at least until I was fully vaccinated. But I was running out of time, as her
days were numbered. I felt judged by my nieces, with whom I was very close. They
were with her, taking turns every day, and could have used the help. Under normal
circumstances, I would have been on the scene, co-mingling with them and helping
them get through this. I longed, once again, to be a big support. But fear had a
gripping hold on me.
On February 9, 2021, I couldn’t stand the agony any longer, and I relinquished control of
the situation and went to Connie’s bedside. She was incoherent, but I know she could
hear me, as I read the 23rd Psalms to her. I visited with my nieces, and there was
peaceful calm just before I left. By the time I returned to my home, Connie had passed,
only 10 minutes after my departure.
My nieces decided to have an in-person funeral immediately following Connie’s death
and invited closest family from both our side and my brother-in-law’s side. When I say
that, I am talking about roughly 30 people. Again, torture, agony and GUILT. I was not,
and could not be, willing to be in a small, enclosed funeral home setting with up to 30
people. I know my nieces were very disappointed that I was not planning to attend.
Hurtful things were said. I felt judged. I was grieving for my loss and yet paralyzed by
my fear of attending. I did not go. They were able to video the funeral “live,” and with
that, I was able to watch remotely. Of course, it was not the same. The decision I made
not to attend drove a distance between my nieces and I, but we are a loving family, and
as the months have passed, that tension and hurt between us has begun to subside.
Connie was dearly loved, and we all recognize she wouldn’t have wanted us to be
driven apart by the decisions we each made. And I will go so far as to say, SHE would
have understood. She wouldn’t have wanted me to risk my health, and equally
important, my husband’s health. We both have underlying medical conditions which
played heavily into each burdensome decision made.
As conditions continue to improve throughout our country, and following the experience
of becoming fully vaccinated, I accept the decisions I made and know that under the
same set of circumstances, I would make the same decisions all over again. But the guilt still looms in my heart and will probably always be there, because if things
had only been different, I know how much better of a friend, sister and aunt I COULD
HAVE BEEN.
This time in history will go down in infamy, and I pray I never have to live through a
similar situation, nor my children, nor my children’s children. And I thank God every day
for the speed with which the vaccines were developed and distributed.
**********************
Silent Strength
Anonymously Contributed
Who knew that on the day I journaled my 500th page in the second volume of my Covid
journal that I would be writing an essay on the social impact Covid has on family loss
and social isolation. Being the family genealogist and family record keeper I seriously
thought it was my responsibility to record this pandemic from my family’s perspective. I
know that had I run across a treasure like this from my ancestors I would have loved
reading how my family reacted, how they prepared, what they dealt with, and who
survived, and who they lost. So I needed to get started. I had a small notebook that I
could use and as I held it and thought, “Would I be wasting a whole journal?” because I
naively thought it wouldn’t last that long. It could have it’s 15 minutes of fame and fade
into history.
My family didn’t lose anyone to the Spanish Flu. That became our family motto of sorts,
or in reality, a goal of not losing anyone to Covid. I knew it was heading it’s way to the
midwest. I read daily what the art teachers on the east coast and American teachers in
Asia were dealing with starting in late January. Probably the one good thing to come out
of social media and FaceBook was the ability to connect with others. I read what they
were doing in their lock down and I took mental notes.
Notes of what they had, or didn’t have, or what they wished they had. In February we
started to shop and stock up a pantry. My Gram would have been proud. We were
hunting and gathering what we thought we would need. We were ahead, we felt like we
had an edge. Not only for our household, but for my daughter’s house, and my parent’s
house. Stories of my great grandfather’s victory garden and sharing with his neighbors
came to mind. It was like a part time job. Socially, we networked with friends and family
to source needed items. We traded, shared, had porch pick ups and drop offs with bags
of supplies.
The connections for the greater good of our friendships was like teamwork. It was
support, caring, and love that fueled us. There was no time for little things. Priorities had
us preparing for the unknown future, and being teachers, hence all the preparation, we
had to think of how Covid would affect our schools.

We first endured the loss of a treasured family pet two weeks before Lock Down in
March 2019. The Corona Virus was not really a factor as of yet in our state. Lexie, our
chocolate labradoodle, had a tumor and we knew we would have a decision coming up
in the future. In hindsight, we were very lucky in having it happen at this time. We were
able to have the vet from Laps of Love come to our house and help us through the
process of saying goodbye. We had the closure that we needed to move on and heal. In
another two weeks, if it had happened then, we would have had to say goodbye on the
front steps, and have sent her in with the vet techs. My family would have been
devastated to have had to do that.
The Lock Down decision came during Spring Break in March. We thought it might
happen but didn’t know exactly when. We sent kids home with everything from their
desks and lockers. Some families left early for beach or mountain vacations and didn’t
go home with their things. As teachers, we took home as much stuff as possible to
teach virtually. Little did we know that we would be up and running in three days with
new curriculum and new technology to be teaching through the end of the school year.
Physically, we were in our own homes, virtually we were reaching out to get help in
finding solutions to get our team up and running strong. Our connecting happened over
Google Meets, that was our face to face solution to running next door or down the hall
to visit and get help on tech issues. We came to be very comfortable in front of the
camera as we would schedule a Google Meet as a substitute for eating in the faculty
lounge. It worked out great, we could commiserate at lessons gone wrong, problem
solve to improve our tech skills, and just hang out like we would at school. It wasn’t the
same, but it was doable. We were isolated but still able to check in on our single friends
and make sure they were doing ok. We even implemented Zoom Happy Hours with
adult beverages and laughed and had a good time.
During this time of preparation and adjustment to what was becoming the new norm my
Dad had congestive heart issues. He was taken to the hospital and admitted to the ICU.
That was very scary. My step sister took him but couldn’t go in with him. Covid had
affected the rules for visitors and no one was allowed to visit at all. He had pneumonia,
was put on a ventilator, and repeatedly tested for Covid. Information was hard to come
by. My step mother called me and I had to play my role as the solution finder. I guess
my teaching experience has given me the ability to make the phone calls, ask the
questions, and gather the information as I take copious notes to report back to the
family.
This was the deepest and darkest part of isolation that we would find ourselves in. We
couldn’t change it, it was just the way it was. We had to adjust to trusting others to make
decisions and to communicate with us. We had to learn to step in the other’s shoes and
learn a new level of patience as we watched the news and saw reports of what hospitals
were doing to deal with the growing numbers of Covid cases. After his stay at the
hospital Dad was sent to rehab. We couldn’t visit because they had very strict rules with
the best interests of their patients in mind. Poor Dad, he hadn’t seen his wife in person
in weeks, turning into months.

We couldn’t go to Columbia to visit my step mother because their retirement home had
the same rules about visitors. He was isolated, she was isolated, my step sister was
isolated with her husband at the house I grew up in, we were isolated at home two
hours away, my brother was isolated two hours away in the opposite direction. There
seemed to be different levels of isolation that emerged. The isolation levels became
habits.
They say that it takes two weeks to form a new habit. Try three months and it becomes
a way of life. Acceptance of the inevitable with us all becoming home bodies. I like being
a homebody, we used to call it cocooning in a previous decade. It was by choice, at this
time it was necessary for survival. We sacrificed our social outings and social lives to
protect others and ourselves. For some it was for the greater good of society. We were
team players and understood the importance of this and understood it wouldn’t be
forever.
It was a stolen gift that I got to drive to Columbia to pick up my Dad and take him to the
doctor and see him for the day. I snuck into the retirement home to pick him up and take
him to his appointment. I had to wait in the car, more rules about no visitors, thankfully
the weather was nice and I waited until he was finished. I took him home, got him
settled in, did some cleaning while he napped, and visited before leaving. Little did I
know that this would be my last visit with him. It was a good visit, but I just didn’t know it
would be the last. He ended up in rehab again. Isolation again, we knew the routine. I
think in knowing the routine, we were desensitizing the effect isolation had on us. We
weren’t shocked by the extreme rules concerning everything from washing their clothes
and returning them to the rehab place, to again, no visitors unless it was through a
window.
At this point it was the realization that the elderly just don’t have a grasp on the
technology that we are used to using. Dad’s phone was a challenge to remember how it
worked and we couldn’t Facetime him for visits. I made him a photo album with
everyone’s photographs so he could have something to see and to show his nurses and
physical therapists when he is talking about his family. It could fit into the seat on his
walker and he could have it handy.
The long awaited discharge was coming up. He had been tested for Covid weekly while
there and some of the workers that also worked other places had brought Covid to the
rehabilitation facility and they were moving patients to protect them. His discharge was
moved up and I was going to pick him up the next day. Then I got a call that they were
going to have my stepsister and her husband pick him up since the Covid cases were
on the rise. It was safer to bring him home.
Dad was picked up, he asked to drive past the house on Braemore and take the scenic
drive to the retirement apartment he shared with his wife. She had called to see what
was taking them so long and he sang a little bit of a song into the phone and she
laughed. It was like the cloud of isolation had lifted and there were sunny skies ahead.
He was looking forward to coming home and she was so looking forward to having him
home with her.                                                                                                                                             She met him at the door at the top of the ramp, he smiled just seeing her. He got into
the apartment, gave her a kiss and hug and she told him to sit in his chair and rest from
the excitement. He turned to walk to his chair and he had a massive heart attack as he
fell to the floor. His hands were grasped in prayer and had a smile or look of peace on
his face as my step sister reported to me. Dad had passed away.
This was our second loss during Covid. A strong example of faith, thankful for one last
hug and kiss with the one you love. Unfortunately, a new kind of isolation for my step
mother had arrived. Planning the funeral gave us the excuse to gather. Family was
brought in and the visits were so nice and such a bright spot in what would really be a
very sad time. Covid protocol was still in order for the visitation and funeral. Decisions
for travel with quarantining upon arrival or return kept some family members from
attending. We had decided at lunch afterward that we would go without masks. The new
“trusting others” was much easier with cousins you had known all your life.
I think things have changed with expected attendance at family events. People
understand the risk that is considered in choosing to attend or not attend a gathering.
The guest lists for weddings, showers, parties, funerals, etc. are smaller or more
intimate now. Celebrations have been postponed. Again it is the way of life but with a
greater understanding of someone’s personal choice as to the risk in attending. I believe
the invitation has greater meaning, and the acceptance or declining of the invitation has
more respect without guilting someone into coming.
I think that there has been such a loss to us all during Covid-19. We lost another dog
during the second year of Covid-19. The veterinary hospital had their no visitor rules in
place and Zoe, the goldendoodle, picked up from the car. My daughter getting the
diagnosis of a tumor about to burst over the phone had her devastated. There seemed
to be such coldness to the whole deal. Had we come to this with the isolation rules and
lack of social interaction that there is such distancing between people and emotions?
Isolation from the vets had us depending on the knowledge of the vet techs. Zoe was
released too early, phone calls to an understaffed vet hospital were returned after Zoe
passed away in my arms at home. This was a level of isolation that I do not want to
participate in again. My poor daughter was devastated and that night was in her house
for the first time totally alone, no companion to talk to or snuggle with.
I believe that with our family, we have spent more time together during Covid. Quality
time that we appreciate each other more. We have suffered the losses together, held
each other up during the healing process, and survived the isolation periods and
quarantining. Our faith has remained the same but the depth and appreciation of
understanding God’s time has grown. Through the ebb and flow of the daily ordeals that
we have been presented before us we have learned so much about ourselves and
others. We have come to understand that a silent strength has grown stronger in us all.
***********************

Casey and Collateral Damage from Covid
Anonymously Contributed
Fifteen months almost to the day after I was born, came my second Cousin Bobby. He
and his sister Judy were especially close to our family. We lived in the same small
community and played countless hours together. He was skinny like his father and was
an extremely fast runner. I could never catch up with him when we played tag or any
outdoor running games.
Bobby’s father and my father are first cousins and were extremely close. Both were
Navy men, and just a year apart in age. They also lived in the same small community
and our families were together often. Pinochle was played by our parents while Bobby,
his sister, and my siblings would play tag or kick the can.
One great memory I have is spending time each summer at their weekend clubhouse.
We spent the day in the creek bed and the night listening to the frogs with their high-
pitched whirring. Air conditioning was unheard of back then.
On Friday, December 18th , 2020 my divorced cousin Bobby at the age of 65 died alone
from Covid. His only son was not allowed to be with him. I was not with him. The only
comfort Bobby had was that he died within a few days of getting the virus. No funeral.
No final goodbye was every spoken. I feel numb.
He lived in a rural Missouri town with a census of less than three thousand people. He
had been divorced for years, but Bobby did not live alone. He lived with his best and
faithful friend Casey. Casey was his nearly ten-year-old large black dog. Bobby, the
farmer, always had Casey with him. Always.
Old man Casey became the collateral damage of the pandemic. Casey did not know
where his master went or when his master would return. Bobby would never return.
After months of advertising among family and friends, Casey finally was adopted so he
can live out his final years. Some would say this is just a dog. I would beg to differ, and
I am certain Bobby would too.
*************************
The Week of April 20, 2021
Anonymously Contributed
There are 1.38 billion people living in India. The state of Ahmadabad India is exactly
eight thousand and twenty-eight miles from my home. I care about India. I care
because my husband’s family lives there. I care because thirteen years ago, we went
there, and I met all of them. They are my family. When they hurt, I hurt.

Sadly, this week has India in dire straits. They are making international news due to this
Pandemic which never seems to end. The second wave has ferociously hit
impoverished and overcrowded India with a second surge that has them reporting
200,000 new daily cases for seven straight days.
There are no available hospital beds, there is no oxygen, highly contagious variants
now are spreading, and the crematories cannot keep up with the dead. Less than 2% of
their population has been fully vaccinated. The Indian government is pleading with the
world leaders to send more vaccines.
Thursday’s report was the world’s biggest ever single day jump of new infections in a
pandemic that has killed at least three million people world-wide, and India’s surge
shows no sign of abating according to the three-day consecutive Wall Street Journal
reporting.
My brother-in-law and sister-in-law, both U.S. citizens living back in India, are in weekly
communication with us. They remain totally sequestered inside their fourth-floor
apartment. They are grieving what is going on in their country. I am grieving as I see
the piles of dead uncremated bodies. Each phone call could be our last. It is most
difficult as we have not seen them for three years, and a trip planned for this September
had to be cancelled.
I am anxious about the circumstances they find themselves in due to this Pandemic. I
am sad that we will not be visiting in person. I am frustrated and feel hopeless to help
them. At the very least, I wanted to send a care package, however their economy is
nearly shut down. I am so disappointed that none of my friends, who know I have been
married for nearly four decades to a man from India, have reached out to me and
inquired about his family. I reached out to them and that has made all the difference; it
has changed my disappointment to a deep hurt that finds me reevaluating my friend
circle.
********************
Time Capsule
Anonymously Contributed
Several times in my life, I have participated in planting time capsules. One such time
capsule is planted near a privacy fence post in Indiana. Our little family place(s) items
that reflected our lives: a family photo, a coin with the time capsule year on it, a trinket
of jewelry, and a letter written by each of us. Our great hope was to uncover it in years
to come and re-live the memory. We have since been relocated, so perhaps someone
else will find our time capsule. Perhaps not.

During this pandemic I have thought about making a time capsule to reflect a moment in
time to be unlocked at a future date. I hesitate. My six decades of life have always
been about planning and then looking forward to events. Things have changed. I seem
to have a distorted sense of time. My routine events are gone. My social outings are
gone. In many ways, time seems so less important, and it is seemingly passing in slow
motion. Is a time capsule even important to me anymore? My tears come
unannounced.
Pondering what to include in my pandemic time capsule brings me a struggle. Do I
include newspaper articles about the increase in automation, travel restrictions, tele-
medicine, zoom meeting burnouts, and mothers forced out of the workforce because
their children are sequestered in their homes with distance learning?
For sure, I would include a roll of toilet paper, some coins, some charcoal, a lock of my
hair, a mask, a sanitizer, and a food staple, such as a can of soup, the usual family
photo, one extra coin labeled with the actual year of the time capsule and a letter written
by our family. In my letter I would absolutely express my gratitude for the essential
workers.
I see myself bending over and placing the capsule into the ground; but before I close
the capsule, I reach in and take out that can of soup. The pandemic has massively
created inside me a lasting food insecurity. I cannot let that can of soup go. I may need
it. I do not feel in any way secure of where my next meal is coming from even with food
in my pantry.
*******************
Comfy Bed and Continental Breakfast
Anonymously Contributed
My husband of thirty-five years is a great guy. He requires little to keep him happy. I
am much the same way. Our golden years were always planned in our minds to be
centered around simple vacations on this continent; not abroad. We planned to stay in
moderately priced hotels that offered both comfortable beds and continental breakfast.
These would fit the bill for us.
The tinnitus that my husband suffers with took away our option to fly. We were not
discouraged, but purchased a dependable car to drive to our destinations. Oh, how we
were planning and looking forward to our golden years. We had not planned on this
pandemic. It caught us totally by surprise.
When the pandemic first hit, we were overwhelmed with the local news reports of how
many people were hospitalized and dying in our own state. We hunkered down hard.
Extremely hard. At first, I cleaned the countertops and everything in sight with a strong
bacterial disinfectant. I became fearful of everyone and stayed in front of the news
station. Eventually, my scrubby Dutch attitude gave way to apathy. I lost interest in
everything. I mean absolutely everything.
I ate less because I was afraid that we would run out of food. Quickly, we ran out of
fresh fruits and vegetables that we faithfully eat. We became incredibly low on toilet
paper and paper towels. I did internet searches and learned how to order groceries
online and have them delivered. When they arrived, I feared they were unsafe to eat. I
was conflicted and suspicious about everything.
It is well over a year into this pandemic. We have not taken any vacations of any sort.
Our new car sits idle in our garage. We have, for the most part, remained home bound.
Our golden years are not what we imagined. When we were younger, we had no money
for simple vacations. Now we have money for simple vacations, but we have a
pandemic. We are in a nightmare now. We do not know what is open, what is closed,
where are exacerbations in the country, or how to proceed. We seem paralyzed. We
therefore go nowhere. Things are different, and I am profoundly disappointed.
However, the pandemic cannot rob us of the extended lazy vacations in our dreams
where we have comfy beds and continental breakfasts.
***********************
Do Not Forsake the Assembling
Anonymously Contributed
The Holy Bible tells believers in Hebrews to assemble. My parents heartily believed this
and took me to church ever since I was an infant. It would be an exceedingly rare day
when our home church doors were open, and our family would not be in attendance.
Church attendance became part of my personal DNA. It was never a chore, but a pure
joy to see my precious church family. Our assemblies were not limited to Sunday
mornings.
The pandemic robbed me of my basic right to gather in my church. I felt victimized and
without a voice. Physical distancing was impossible due to our building’s small lobby
and typically crowded services. Crowds at church used to be fun. Not anymore. Now
they were dangerous. The church doors closed for months and programs were offered
online with the Zoom platform. I listened by this method, but it was not worshipful. God
was being cheated too.
I was not able to be with my fellow believers for months. I was not able to take
communion. I was not able to hug my sisters and brothers in Christ Jesus. For the first
time in over six decades, I was forced to forsake the assembling. I had no choice. I
was hurt, angry, and depressed. I was very depressed. My view of the future turned
blurry and empty, where once it was well-defined and full.
My anxiety level increased. My worry meter was off the charts. Our small church had
just launched a building campaign the month before the pandemic hit. I worried about
the funding for the new building and even more so for the salary of my pastor and his
family of six. I reasoned that if people were not coming to the physical building, they
certainly would decrease their giving.
The church now has re-opened. No donuts and coffee. Hugs are replaced with elbow
bumps. Physical distancing and masks are in place. Communion is now served in
individual disposable units.
I have permanently lost the confidence that when I approach and tug on the church door
that it will be unlocked. I feel I will never recover.
***************
Impasse
Anonymously Contributed
I enjoy doing genealogy. I dabble. Some days I am productive; other days I chase
down a rabbit hole and get none of my goals accomplished. It is my hobby.
During one of my productive days, I discovered something disturbing about my maternal
great, great grandparents and their five sons. They lived during the Civil War period in
the beautiful boarder state of Missouri. I discovered three of their sons fought during
the Civil War for the United States of America, while the other two sons fought for the
Confederate States of America. It was unsettling in my mind how they could be on such
opposite sides even though they had been raised under one roof. I felt sorry for my
third great grandmother that her family was so profoundly divided by war.
Little did I know that my own little family would one day also be severely divided. The
source of our division has come over the masks and physical distancing
recommendations of the CDC during this pandemic.
We have one child. She and her family are “heels dug in” on the opposite side of these
CDC recommendations. My husband and I are on the other side using our masks and
physical distancing. We are older with medical conditions and are at a higher risk. She
refuses to acknowledge this. Our family is at an impasse.
Our small family enjoyed no Thanksgiving nor Christmas gathering (in 2020), even
though we live just eleven miles apart. Those eleven miles feel more like an ocean
apart. Equally as disappointing as missing the holidays, we have missed sweet
birthdays of her young children. Our conversations are both infrequent and guarded.
The pandemic, and the emotionally charged recommendations surrounding it, has me in
a constant state of grief. I will not heal. I cannot heal until this pandemic is gone.
I am mourning the loss of my small family, especially my three sweet young grandsons.
I am sad and profoundly disappointed. Behind my mask there is no smile.
****************
Two Brothers and The End of Their Family Line
Anonymously Contributed
In 1985 I joined an Indian family. I am a native to St. Louis and my husband is a native
to India. He came to America to attend college for engineering. After he finished
college, he became a U.S. citizen and sponsored his family, and they became U.S.
citizens. His family is: his mother, brother, and his sister-in-law.
Our family is quite small. My mother-in-law has died and now there are just four of us
left: the two brothers and two wives. God did not bless either brother with offspring.
Their branch of the family tree will end when these two brothers die.
Now my husband (the older of the two men) came for college and never returned to
India after he became a citizen. His brother and sister-in-law returned to India after they
both became citizens. They remained in the U.S.A. for eighteen years and then
returned to India. The big difference between these two brothers is that one married an
American woman, and one married an Indian woman. I am the American woman.
Every other year, his brother and sister-in-law came back to the States for a prolonged
visit. All four of us were looking forward to their visit in 2020. It was a visit that did not
come due to the pandemic. It is the pandemic that is keeping these two only brothers
apart. It is the pandemic that is basically shutting down the country of India due to their
enormous population size and number of people infected. They are U.S. citizens that
cannot come to the U.S.
Never could we have foreseen these events. Never did we realize in 2018 that we may
never actually ever see them in person again. I am grieving not getting to go shopping
with my sister-in-law, play chess with my brother-in-law, or watch these two brothers
reminisce about their childhood days growing up in India. I miss not planning and going
on a vacation with them in the U.S., as we have done together for many years.
This chasm between us is bigger than the ocean travel, it is the pandemic with no end in
sight. I am sad for the man that I have been married to for over three decades. Had any
of the four of us foreseen this, we would have hugged harder and longer with that last
hug three years ago.
***************
The Pandemic and The Orange Jump Suit
Anonymously Contributed
It is most difficult for me to share this personal experience for the depth of sorrow
contained in it. My mother died at the tender age of 43 after suffering for almost twenty
years from Multiple Sclerosis. There were four children: three older girls and one
younger brother. My pain revolves around my younger brother. I am the second oldest
girl.
Mom was diagnosed within two years of giving birth to my brother. She sought out
medical help because of her failing vision. She managed as well as she could with the
baby, but it was clear that us three older girls were going to have to take over both her
parental role, as well as our older sibling role. All three of us girls have been extremely
protective of our baby brother. I feel it is partly because we knew how much our parents
wanted a boy, and when he finally came along, we wanted to take special care of this
precious soul.
Both of our parents died young: Mom at 43 and Dad at 62. Now it is just us four siblings
trying to hold our lives together with our memories, phone calls, and visits. My oldest
sister lives in Texas, and the three remaining siblings live in the St. Louis area. Life
seemed good until Fall 2019 when my baby brother was sent to prison. He is the
precious soul that I had failed to protect. I am weeping as I write this.
He set his house in order and reported to begin his prison sentence on October 11,
2019. He is paying his debt to society for his poor choice of getting behind the wheel of
a car in an intoxicated state. He did not have the strength to tell any of his older three
sisters. He told another family member to tell us, because of his shame.
It was most unsettling because when you enter the prison system, you begin in an
intake prison where they do tests and evaluate your incarceration level. When he was
assigned his third prison, we were finally able to visit him. That date is seared into my
memory for two reasons: it was the leap year date and because it was the first date a
person in the U.S. died from the Coronavirus.
I could hug my brother two times that day. Once when our supervised visit began and
once when it ended. Those couple of hours spent with him were so needed for both of
us. It had been 4 months since I had seen him and he, of course, had missed all the
holidays.
Thirteen days after our visit, the president declared a national emergency and the visits
ended. I had traveled hours to that part of Missouri and had seen him once. It would be
our only visit. I am grieving the loss of my only baby brother who is alive but cannot be
visited. None of the prisoners can be visited. I am still not reconciled with this situation.
I feel like I am in prison. I feel like I failed my duty to my baby brother. I hurt for him. I
hurt for me. I hurt for the prisoners. I hurt.                                                                                              

**************
Ears and the Pandemic
Anonymously Contributed
In both my home and my church, I am acutely aware of ear issues. My husband has
been afflicted with tinnitus for six years. My church was home to an active ministry for
our small deaf community, the most underserved in all churches.
When a married person has something that affects them it affects the spouse as well.
Together, we have been going to the only tinnitus support group in St. Louis. Every
other month we met in a meeting room inside the central library branch. There is no
cure for tinnitus, but there is a sense of support and community that helps deal with the
emotions and fears of those that suffer.
Several of the deaf community that have been coming to my church have become
friends of mine. They communicate by sign language and by reading lips of those who
are not deaf. It has been a learning curve, but by God’s grace, we were making things
work so that they could participate in a place of corporate worship.
With this pandemic everything changed for the tinnitus group. The central library closed
along with all the libraries and therefore the tinnitus support group cannot meet in
person. They offer support by zoom meeting, however, many in this group cannot use
it. My husband cannot because even with his hearing aids, he cannot hear on a Zoom
platform. This loss of community makes me sad for my husband because I cannot
support him or the others who also have tinnitus. I have not walked in their shoes.
Everything for the deaf ministry ended with this pandemic. Our church closed for many
months. The budget for a paid sign language sermon interpreter dried up. When
church did re-open, there were mask restrictions. The deaf cannot read lips that are
hidden behind masks. My deaf underserved friends are angry, hurt and scattered. They
are like a dandelion seed blowing in the wind.
Somehow, life will go on. My husband will struggle with his required mask straps
constantly getting tangled with his hearing aids. I will support him as best I can. My
deaf friends have become relegated to my memory. There are no winners. I am still
listening for words of hope that have yet to come.
*****************

Dark Dress and Pearls
Anonymously Contributed
The pandemic has put something into my hands that I do not want. It is an ink pen that
I use to add names to the front of my personal Bible of those that have died. Since the
beginning of this pandemic, I have sadly added three cousins, two neighbors, and a
man who was my husband’s former boss for more than twenty years. All these sweet
people deserve so much more than a one-line entry in the front of my Bible. I deserve
more.
Not one of my dear cousins had a funeral. Not one of my dear neighbors had a
memorial service. Not one of these dear people had a family gathering. My husband’s
boss slipped out of this world with no goodbye. I feel like I am in the very calm eye of a
storm circling all around me. I am angry about the storm. It is not easing up. The
forecast seems bleak.
My mind knows that they are gone. I received the phone call telling me of their deaths.
I saw the for-sale sign in the yards of my two elderly neighbors that succumbed to the
virus. I read their obits. My heart is not reconciled. It remains in turmoil. Covid did not
claim them all. One cousin was suddenly and tragically electrocuted at her house. I
had just seen her at her mother’s funeral just a few months before this pandemic hit.
She was young. I need closure. I do not want it, I need it.
The usual grieving with others, shared memories, and even the cathartic tears would all
be bypassed during this pandemic. I guess they are all truly dead and gone. I did not
see their left-behind bodies. I did not sign the funeral parlor guest book. I did not bring
home a funeral card to tape in my book. I did not put on my dark dress and pearls. I
did not drive in the funeral procession to see their final resting place. I did not use my
casserole dish. Ironically, I hope not to put on my dark dress and pearls, but my
grieving heart would like to have that option.
*********************
Rules and Restrictions
Anonymously Contributed
There is a picture of my brother-in-law and sister sitting on my piano taken before the
effects of illness had humbled them, and it sits next to the stained glass angel made by
my brother-in-law. The angel is holding a long horn as if she is blowing it for a grand
announcement. I would like to think it is the announcement that they are together again
experiencing happier times like they had before COVID isolation and restrictions. Life was changing for them before COVID hit. My brother-in-law had pancreatic cancer,
and my sister was showing signs of dementia. They were both in complete denial of
their conditions. Life expectancy for pancreatic cancer patients is not long, but he was
sure the cancer treatments had stopped the progression and that he was going to beat
it. She insisted she was fine and it was her husband that needed the care and doctor’s
attention. She wasn’t getting any medical help for her mental deterioration, and he
wasn’t about to admit to needing any help. The signs were apparent to everyone but
them.
It wasn’t until the oncologist suggested that it might be a good time to go live with their
daughter in North Carolina that it seemed, for once, my brother-in-law got an inkling of
their future needs.
Moving day was a hopeful day and ended with hugs and kisses and promises to visit
often. Life for them was not much more than doctor visits, shopping trips, visits with
friends and church before the move. After the move, my brother-in-law’s condition
began to limit even those activities. My sister lost her already limited hearing and the
ability to read, which isolated her. She was lonely so I tried to call more often, but she
needed someone to answer the phone for her and help her with her hearing aides.
Then her ability to talk coherently diminished. Her emotions were mostly anger that was
expressed by repeating the politically hateful one-liners of CNN and NBC. She had no
words of her own. The family knew that when my brother-in-law died that she could not
be left alone in a house while everyone was at work. COVID hit and then even their
small excursions to the doctors ended.
The final three months of my brother-in-law’s life were brutally difficult. He made
frequent hospital emergency room visits, because there was no way to get a doctor’s
appointment. He would be dropped off at the hospital emergency room door and no
one could go in with him, after which they never knew if they would see him again. My
sister could not understand why she couldn’t be with her husband at the hospital. In
July 2020 a home health care nurse finally told the family the truth that he was dying.
The level of care he needed meant he needed to go to a hospice facility. My sister was
able to be with him there during visiting hours until she was too exhausted to stay. Due
to restrictions, no other visitors were allowed once she left so no one else could stay to
be with him during the coming passage of life into death. After a few days, he died
alone during the night.
The circumstances of my brother-in-law’s passing were devastating to the family but
living the day to day care of a parent with vast medical needs and dealing with the
needs of a mother with dementia who couldn’t do the simplest of self care without aid,
left my niece exhausted. My niece now had to make funeral arrangements and care for
her mother. I repeatedly offered to come to North Carolina and stay with my sister until
she was ready to go into an assisted living facility. My niece had a fear of me traveling
during COVID and of me bringing COVID to them. St. Louis was escalating in the
number of cases and North Carolina had not seen as many. I hesitated instead of
insisting. My sister’s children decided to wait for a funeral and family gatherings until a better time. There would be no funeral, no church service, only cremation, no
internment. There was no reason to go to North Carolina except to be by my sister’s
side, and the fear of COVID prevented that.
At first, my sister held up surprising well. She seemed resolute. She actually was
talkative on the phone and the conversation was coherent. She knew that she was
going into a care facility to live and was willing to sign the papers. We joked about how
it wasn’t a prison sentence to go to an assisted living facility. She wasn’t so sure about
that conclusion. Maybe she had an internal alarm going off that none of us heard. Our
mother’s time in a retirement home had been a wonderful experience for her, and I
reminded my sister of that. I thought my sister sounded better than I had heard her
sound in months. I knew the strain of her husband’s condition and being isolated was
not good for her. We had all hoped that she could find companionship and activities at
the assisted living facility. It seemed she had accepted the next move, but that all
changed when the doors shut at the assisted living facility. My niece had to watch from
the glass doors as my sister was forced by the staff to stay. She was screaming.
The fact is that it was a prison. She had to go right into a room for a two week
quarantine. Two weeks of isolation, with dementia and just weeks after losing her
husband. She had a TV, which she could not see or operate without help, and a few of
her things, but no phone access. She had to eat alone, be alone, grieve alone. There
were no prayers, no minister, no friends to hug. There was no way to see her. At the
end of the quarantine, I called the nurses station to see if I could talk to her but couldn’t
get anyone to find her. I thought that a good sign. It wasn’t. Two weeks of isolation
had severely worsened her mental health.
The next time that I called the nurses station, she got on the phone and immediately
told me that people were trying to kill her. “They” were coming to get her now. She
hung up. Alarmed, I called the family. We discussed options but they were assured by
onsite nursing home staff that this state of mind would pass. I called the next day. The
nurse answered and someone was screaming in the background. I asked to speak to
my sister and the nurse advised me that might not be a good idea at the time. I
recognized my sister’s screams then, and I asked for details that I knew the nurses
couldn’t reveal to me. The truth was she had been screaming for 36 hours and hadn’t
stopped. The medication they were giving her had not eased her condition. I asked
what kind of mental health professionals they had on staff. The answer was “none”.
I wanted to fly to North Carolina right then and get her out. I couldn’t get a flight until 36
hours later. I started packing then stopped and called all the family. The fastest help
was going to come from my niece. She needed to find the right doctors to help.
Whatever the nursing staff were giving my sister had only made her mental health
condition worse. We needed a Psychiatric Gerontologist. By the next morning my
niece had her mother in the car to take her to a mental health facility that specialized in
gerontology. My sister was admitted there and she was resting quietly and comfortably.
My niece left to get something to eat and shower. It had been a long day and she
hadn’t slept. It was the beginning of my sister’s end.
She got violent as soon as my niece left. She was in a strange place, had probably
forgotten why she was there, could not see clearly, hear or operate her own hearing
aids and was grieving the loss of her husband of over 60 years. By the time my niece
returned to the facility, my sister had been transported by ambulance alone to a regular
mental health hospital an hour and a half away. She was taken to a locked down facility
and put in isolated quarantine as required by the COVID restrictions. No one could see
her. The doctors told the family it would take days for her to recover from the Haldol
she had been given. Haldol is not given to elder patients (she was 82 years old)
because it is known to frequently cause death. Days later, she had not really come out
of the catatonic state but was supposedly making progress. In three more days, she
was found unresponsive in a wheelchair and sent to the hospital. My niece was the
only one to arrive at the hospital in time to see her before she passed away from blood
clots in the lung. I say it was a broken heart that caused her death. I know mine is
breaking just thinking about her alone without someone to comfort her.
There was no funeral, no wake, no church service, no internment, and no farewells. I
had a sister, then I didn’t. I tried to help but couldn’t. How does anyone ever look at this
time in history and not remember the abandonment of those that needed comfort, those
that needed to grieve, those that wanted to seek the protection of God at church, or
those that wanted the right to hold the hand of their spouse as they died. It is
incomprehensible to believe that all emotions, all emotional needs, should be put on
hold because of the dictates of a government.
This experience left my niece devastated and me heart broken. My sister must have felt
completely forgotten. She died a little each time she was isolated and alone in
quarantine. Her husband died alone in a hospital and she did too. How can we treat
our old people like this with any kind of conscience? We advocated common sense
and our conscience to a rule-maker. I absolutely am revolted by how my sister was
treated. I am not graciously accepting this situation, as I know it is still happening to
other elderly people. I despise the absolutes of the coveted rule-makers’ edicts. Life is
not a board game where the manufacturer determines the rules to win. Life is God
given, where He teaches compassion and mercy. So I am screaming at all of you to put
the God given compassion back. Show mercy so that someday on your deathbed, you
may be surrounded by the ones you love and that love you. It’s what my sister was
screaming in the anguish of unformed words - “Hear me, I’m alone and being
smothered by rules, God find me.” AND He did