Pandemic Burnout, Celebrating Life and Honoring Loss

Who isn’t burned out right now? If we’re not stressing about how our kids (my kid, anyway) will learn online with accountability (!) for seven hours at a time, it’s wondering whether it’s okay to have family and close friends over for a backyard cookout. Whether outdoor ice cream shops are safe-ish, and whether a trip to Target is actually “essential” when it feels essential to get out of the house for something besides a lonely hike with the same people we spend all day, every day with. 

Pandemic Burnout

I think it’s safe to assume we’re all burned out. On life. On COVID, on working from home when other humans ask us what’s for lunch, and on never being home alone. 

I miss being home alone. 

Of course, when my son is in school, I have a tendency to catastrophize and worry about him leaving. I take note of what he’s wearing, just in case, even while my hopeful side screams “STOP!” at the anxiety side. The anxiety side is tougher and larger, but I can usually lose myself in work after we say goodbye for the day. 

These days, there is no goodbye. Only a constant state of not being in the house alone. 

Celebrating Life and Honoring Loss

Yesterday meant three years since my son’s friend died. Three years and a little more since my ex-husband died. Three years since the summer I sat with two mamas and talked about both the son-shaped holes in their worlds. Listened and reflected on unexpected grief and butterfly magic.

One son was 47.

The other son was seven.

I can’t believe that neither of them is here today.

Life is short, friends. Shorter than we expect, I think, at least most of the time. 

It’s funny how we remember people and see them after they’re no longer here. Infuriating? Of course. But made of sunshine, too? Definitely. I think each of us are infurating and also made of sunshine.

That summer was a lot. Back then, we were able to gather together at funerals and hug one another and go to a bar to watch a video about a life cut too short. My heart breaks for those losing people in the pandemic, who host Zoom funerals, and FaceTime goodbyes, although I attended a Zoom funeral for my uncle last week, and it was unexpectedly nice. Meaningful even.

Today, I reached out to both mamas. One, I’ll see in a few weeks, at a socially-distant park. Maybe we’ll go for a walk. Hopefully, we’ll see butterflies. The other is far away, but I hope she sees butterflies, too.

About Celebrating Life

Brad’s friend Blair made this video. If you can erase a million lines from my face and some pounds from my waist, you’ll see me in a lot of the shots. 

Also, Tucker asked me if I miss being skinny when he saw parts of it. I do miss being skinny, but not so much how I got there. I think I’d like to be skinny-ish again, but healthier, this time. 

I’m so sad watching this, and realize I’m sad for a world without Tucker’s friend, and one without Brad, but also because I miss the me I once was. Younger, mostly. Less anxious. Less worried. 

Also, less blessed because I hadn’t known then that one day, I’d have a son named Tucker who redefined knowing what love is.

***

Well, this has been depressing. I blame the Finish the Sentence prompt creator for this one of “I get totally burned out with/when…”

Oh. Wait. I’m the prompt creator. Doh. 

Anyway, while I know we’re each burned out, and mourning what we mourn, there’s still hope, friends. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I choose life, and celebrating, even in a pandemic. What other choice is there? 

Also, I have so much hope.

Hope of 45 leaving (going to jail anybody?), hope for days spent laughing in buildings together, unafraid to hug or touch doorknobs.

There’s also something to be said in whatever it is we’re learning now. Just think… One day, we’ll be the old people telling youngsters about how we remember everything being normal-ish one week, and shut down wearing masks the next one.

It’s so much less than war, after all.

We’re not in bomb shelters. We’re starting school, in one way or another. 

We’ll say something like “This is nothing. You should have seen 2020, when everything we knew went bonkers.” I look forward to that day and hope it’s sooner than later.

Sending love and light to each of you. Hang on to what matters, and know that regardless of how much you want to control the horror of today, it will pass, and all we can each do is wait, and be kind to each other.

Love each other.

xoxo,
Kristi