365

I was in a fairly steady groove there for a while, posting every Monday, back in a routine.  And then….well, I’m not exactly sure what happened.  But it’s been a month—a month!?  Yep!  I’ve been here before, that place where a post takes up lots of space in my heart and mind, not quite finding its way to the page (er, screen).  I mentally edit it, revising the thoughts as they take shape in between thoughts and the busyness of any given day.  Carefully selecting words as I walk up to the bus stop.  Reordering paragraphs while sitting in traffic.  Still, it remains stuck.  Changing but not moving forward. 

As has been the case previously, something comes along and jars it all loose and words start tumbling out in a less than orderly way. It’s a bit like dumping the pieces of a puzzle onto a table—you know what it’s going to look like in the end, so you set about flipping them all right side up, gathering the edge pieces and start assembling. 

Perhaps there’s something subconscious here. Maybe I’m avoiding this post because giving weight and power to the words makes them all the more real.  Whether written or not, it is an undeniable and forceful truth.  We are rapidly (arguably, of course) approaching the one year mark of the start of this pandemic.  There are a handful of dates one could use as Day #1, right?  Is it the day you first heard the words Corona Virus or COVID-19?  Is it the day the first case was discovered in the US? Is it the date the first case was discovered in your state?  

Day #1--and so Day #365—in my mind is Friday, March 13.  Oh the irony--most assuredly not lost.  Friday the 13^th—the day 2020 threw its head back, mouth agape and emitted a villainous laugh.  There’s really nothing funny about this at all.  One year later. One very long, tumultuous, frustrating, painful, sad, heavy year.  Silver linings?  Yes.  Humor?  No, not really.

A succession of three songs on my playlist jarred all the thoughts loose and organized them into something more than a random scatter of ideas. The first song, “Dear Younger Me” sent my thoughts to March of last year.  There’s a lyric in the song; “Even though I love this crazy life, Sometimes I wish it was a smoother ride.”  Who can’t relate to that sentiment?  In so many ways, life is really, really good.  Simultaneously, life is really, really challenging.  I know I don’t need to recount the multitude of ways that life has turned upside down for each and every one of us throughout the last 12 months.  Undoubtedly we each have our own version of “upside down” and some of us have seen multiple variations of “upside down” since this all started.  We grappled with contradictory messages, tangled emotions and an inexplicable combination of not enough to do and too much time.  Raise your hand if you wished for a smoother ride at some point since the pandemic began.  

 The second song, “Into the Sea (It’s Gonna Be Okay)” includes the following; “My heart is breaking, in a way I never thought it could. My mind is racing with the question, “Are you still good?”    I know she’s posing the question to God, but as I hear the lyric, I find myself asking if I’m still good.  Am I okay?  Have I redefined what it means to be okay, lowering the bar so that I meet the newly-defined threshold?  Okay used to mean so much more.  Now it seems like being okay is making it through a day without breaking down more than once.  Hollow victory, huh?  Are we allowed to be okay when so many are not?  What warped logic encourages us to keep quiet about being okay, knowing that there is often so little we can do to help others be okay.  There have been many moments in which I feel as if I’m trying to drain the ocean with a spoon.  That whatever I’m doing to add positivity or value or happiness is so minor and insignificant.  Yet we, I, plug along, figuring that it has to add up, right?  It has to. 

As if those two songs weren’t enough, a third song followed, offering yet more insight and clarity.  Lauren Daigle, “Rescue.” This one brought into focus my kiddos.  The lyrics—"You are not hidden/There's never been a moment/You were forgotten/You are not hopeless/Though you have been broken/Your innocence stolen/I hear you whisper underneath your breath/I hear your SOS, your SOS/I will send out an army to find you/In the middle of the darkest night/It's true, I will rescue you.” 

All the clichés—we’re all in this together.  This too shall pass.  It could be worse.  Be glad you have your health.  While I will not dismiss those powerful and true notions, I will also not deny the fear, loneliness and discouragement that seemed to always be nearby as I navigated the pandemic as a Mama.  There’s never been a moment they were forgotten.  But I bet they felt like it.  

I bet they felt forgotten as soccer seasons were truncated, as dance recitals went virtual and no one really got to see them in their costumes, performing routines they spent months and hours rehearsing.  I bet they didn’t feel like anyone was in this with them.  How could they?  We weren’t with people.  For the latter half of last school year, in-person classes stopped.  Dinners with friends—stopped.  Sleepovers—not happening.  Giggling with a friend in the backseat on the way to soccer practice—done.

Innocence stolen?  Yeah—I can’t even bring myself to fully tackle that idea.  I hear their SOS.  The begging for normal.  The despair over why things are the way they are.  The frustration over what they’re missing, and the determination to keep a stiff upper lip and address the current circumstances with a maturity beyond their years.  I watch my older daughter try to hold in tears and I want to, in the same breath, applaud her for not falling apart and also give her permission to crumble.  To let me rescue her.  Even if I’m not sure how.

As I listened to the words of these three songs, I convinced myself of two things.  The first—it’s no coincidence that these three songs played back to back to back.  Their messages piercing through my thoughts and helping them crystalize.  It kind of feels like the moment you read the fortune from your cookie and it seems eerily, perfectly spot on.  And second—my words, while far from perfect, profound or novel, are important…and so is sharing them. 

Many things about this week push me right back to what this week felt like last year.  The drive to the office that’s resumed again (though a new office; that’s another post!).  The weather—these teases of spring.  The longer days that mean bikes out in the cul-de-sac and driveways covered art.  The walks home from the bus stop.  I remember doing it all last year.  Before so much of it just stopped.

Writing it all down didn’t stop this day from coming.  It didn’t take the sadness away and it didn’t erase the apprehension that lingers.  Sure, it’s a little quieter these days.  But it’s still there, and I’m guessing it will be for some time.  Mixed in with the doubt and uncertainty is hope.  I suppose, as is true in many a circumstance, your energy flows where your focus goes.  I’ll do my best to give more attention to the hopefulness and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

As I am reading this for the umpteenth time, I fire up my phone and hit PLAY on a playlist.  The first song?  Pink’s “Cover Me in Sunshine.” 

“Cover me in sunshine, shower me with good times.  Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning and everything will be alright.”  Another cannot-be-a-coincidence moment.  I think I’ll turn it up, sing along and hear the words. 


Thanks for reading mine.

 xo,
Amy