Quarantine can mean a few different things.
Isolation. Distancing. Confinement. Seclusion. Separation.
When I really think of it, grief is pretty much the same thing. There’s really no difference.
Maybe that’s why people like me may find being quarantined somewhat calming, somewhat healing. Maybe that’s why in comparison to what we’ve already been through, it sets differently within us.
Don’t get me wrong, this is DEFINITELY a scary time and we are surely taking proper precautions, but when you’ve already been to the end of the earth, it just rolls off a different way. I can’t really explain it.
However, if you were to tell me right after losing Julian that we would be social distancing, and isolating ourselves, I probably would have screamed. After his passing, I needed people. I needed comfort. I needed interaction. I needed to be kept busy because the thoughts of losing my son would replay repeatedly in my head. Visions of the first time I saw him. The first time I held him. The first time he moved his hands when I would sing to him.
And how those firsts quickly became lasts within hours.
I didn’t want time to think about this. I went back to work 3 weeks later and tried to continue and keep up with my old way of life. But what I failed to realize was that my old way of life was just that.
Old.
People may very well say I have changed, but that’s because a lot has changed me. I could never and will never be the same person I was. Too much has happened, too much was seen and felt that day I lost Julian. I lost a part of me too.
Losing a child changes you.
Forever.
Up until recently, I would continue my way of life. Getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, being a mom to my two young boys and a wife to a devoting husband.
Sounds normal to everyone else. Except it’s not as easy when you’re walking around with a big gaping hole in your heart, and a weight on your shoulders so big, you wonder how you’re even standing.
My children? I was there physically, but mentally I was thinking about how to be a mom half on earth, and half in heaven. My sons didn’t just lose a brother;
for some time, they lost a mommy.
They lost a mommy who would think the hardest part of the day was wondering how to get one child to eat more of a variety and another to try and eat healthier.
They lost a mommy who lived for waking up on the weekends and trying new adventures. They lost a mommy who would enjoy laying down with them to get them asleep without wanting to rush through it so I could be alone in my thoughts, alone in my tears.
They lost a mommy who used to be patient with them when they asked questions but has become more than agitated because I was too distraught without my own answers.
And my husband? He also lost a part of me.
He lost a wife who was now downward spiraling in grief and pain, who was so consumed in worry for me that he put his own grief on hold.
A wife who kept asking her husband if it would ever get better.
A wife who he would find in different areas of the house on the floor, sobbing as he gently picked her up time after time and held me in his arms.
A wife who he would ask repeatedly if I was listening to him as he told me something about his day, but I was too ashamed to tell him I heard nothing.
Over and over and over. This has been my life for the past 7 and a half months.
Day in and day out.
But not lately.
We are currently on week two of self-isolating. My husband is also working from home, so it is just us and our boys.
No more having to rush to work, come home, make dinner, do homework, get the kids showered and in bed at a reasonable hour.
No more repetitive routine.
No more trying to get to this event or that party.
No more having our weekends tied up with sports.
It’s us. Just us.
Time has completely slowed down. Time is now having me live in the moment. To take in all the little things in life that I grew so quickly to forget. To really be present for not only my children and my husband, but for myself. And I have.
And it’s been so healing for my body and soul.
Of course, the teacher in me has a schedule and routine for our own sake, especially since I’m providing distance learning for my own students and my kids still need to learn as well. But the busy hustle and bustle of the day is gone. And while I want things to be back to normal (because like most people this COVID-19 has me freaked out), right now I’m holding on to this.
I’m waking up in the morning to two healthy boys asking me to play monsters with them or play chase around the house. And you know what? I do.
I’m being asked the same questions over and over again with the notorious, why mommy? after everything I say. But I answer them with patience.
My boys are asking every day to make arts and crafts projects for Julian and I smile for them wanting to include him, rather than cry because they’re left without him.
The other night I fell asleep with Angelo holding my arm, and Matteo holding my hand, and there was no urge to rush that moment so I can go off and cry without them seeing; I didn’t want it to end.
So while this is undoubtedly a time in our lives to be scared, worried and on high alert, I’m also realizing it’s a time to take a step back, breathe and be present.
There is absolutely some type of peace in knowing that as of right now, the only thing on my agenda other than social isolation and keeping safe, is spending time with my family indefinitely. And that is something I can do.
Because for the past week and a half, my kids got their mommy back and my husband got his wife back. As for myself, well I’m getting through the day with Julian always on my mind, but now more so than ever, I’m smiling a lot more.
It doesn't mean I hurt any less or feel less pain; it doesn't even mean I'm filling this void in my heart which can never be put back together. It simply means, right now in this very moment, being able to slow down because there's no other option, has been healing for my grieving soul.
When things eventually go back to what they were, and my days are consumed once again with the hustle and bustle of daily life, I will reflect on this very time to help guide me through.
So while we need to distance ourselves physically, emotionally I hope this time can help bring many of you together, as it is doing for me. We can't change it, we can only make the most out of this trying time.
Stay safe, my friends.
