A time to mourn/ grieve
Lately I have been feeling a heaviness; a heartache that won’t lift. It is nothing and everything — all of the accrued losses of the pandemic, the pain of and struggle against hate, what feels like a neverending slog work-wise with no end in sight.
The things that used to bring joy and balance — time with friends, time alone, childcare, nights out dancing, good food over candles in restaurants — all of that has been missing.
I am grieving all my kids have lost and suffered during this time.
And, of course, all those who have died, who have been/ are sick, those who have lost employment, those who have suffered tremendously during this time.
We are not grieving any one thing or one person (unless, for some of us, we are) but, rather, the accrued pain and loss of the last year and a half.
In March 2020 we were told that feeling we were carrying was grief and this past spring we all considered whether we were languishing. We feel brain fog. We feel over it. Or at least I do.
I know for some things are reopening but there is a sense that there won’ t be a return to “normal" or, rather, that “normal” has shifted and we need to keep adapting. But adaptation requires energy and we are so so tired.
Grief comes in waves and for many of us it feels like we have just gotten our heads above water when another wave comes. Sometimes it can feel like we’re drowning in it. If that’s you, know that you’re not alone.
First, here are some resources on managing grief during this time.
And Jewishly there are some other ideas.
One of the hardest aspects of lockdowns is that we can’t come together to mourn. Judaism is really good at creating structures around grief — communal gatherings that ensure no one feels alone. During the time of “social distancing” many feel more alone than ever. The good news is that we have been able to gather online (like via Secular Synagogue - which is always online!) and we are beginning to be able to gather in person as well. Being held by community does not take away grief, but it can lessen its impacts.
We have Shabbat practices, reminding us to pause each week. And this year coming up is a Shmita or sabbatical year. Every seven years there are rules around rest. Just like the land must lie fallow in farming in order to avoid overproduction and erosion, we too need to rest in order to avoid burnout.
Tonight my community is hearing from Nigel Savage of Hazon on the topic of Shmita and how the same imperatives to care for the earth remind us to care for ourselves (we are, after all, part of the complex ecosystems of life on earth).
I know what I’m feeling is grief. I know with grief there is no way around, only through. I know the waves will keep coming but will become easier to roll with, easier to ride. I know that things won’t always feel so hard.
Most of all, I know that in order to process the hits and hardships, lockdowns and losses, of the past year, we need to pay attention to our grief, our languishing, our fatigue, our foggy brains, our rest/sleep-craving bodies. We need to really rest. The shmita year is a great invitation — I hope you’ll join me in taking it up.
