It has been eight months since I’ve written a blog entry. The words simply froze inside me, and there was no outlet for them.
I am a writer. It’s mostly what I do for a living these days. These past eight months, the fundraising letters flowed from my fingertips. The donor communications, the e-newsletters, the pledge drive scripts – all found voice, and there’s great enjoyment in creating them.
But the personal notes, the self-examination, the willingness to share any of my life – all that froze inside me as surely as the paralysis this pandemic brought into our lives.
The sheer loneliness of living alone during a worldwide pandemic cannot adequately be described. Those who are isolating while living with others – your life goes on, not as it normally does, but at least with companionship. This isolating alone is a soul-sucking kind of loneliness – accompanied by an underlying fear and uneasiness that never leaves. It’s a fear of catching the virus, and more importantly, what would the virus do to me if I would catch it? I’m in a high-risk group. Would I have a mild cold? Would I be left with a long-term disability – or more than one? Or worse, would it take my life in what’s described as a truly horrible death?
It’s been eight months of feeling off-kilter and feeling that nothing was in my control.
All the plans, all the coping mechanisms that I outlined to help overcome my grief after Mike’s death all went out the window. All my plans to rebuild my life – to join a church, to travel, to have long lunches and dinners with friends – all got put on hold. I go to the grocery. I attend church online. There’s no retail therapy – only necessary trips. The rare occasions when I’ve seen friends, I’m constantly on edge – are we all healthy?
I stopped physical therapy last spring when the virus hit. In doing so, I lost all progress I’d made in regaining easy movement. Over the summer, my hip osteoarthritis progressed to the point that some days, it’s now all but impossible to walk. I get used to working around it, to stretching my capabilities, but it’s heartbreaking when I see others running around doing what I used to do without thinking.
The constant pain is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. When I was in labor with Catlin, the nurse asked me if I wanted something for the pain. I said I wasn’t in pain. She showed me the huge birth contraction on the fetal monitor and asked, “You don’t feel that??” Nope. I’d had worse cramps. So when I say that the pain is unbearable – you can understand the scope of that pain. And NSAIDs barely take off the tiniest edge.
It’s no way to live.
Throw in our national pastime of political nastiness, of Facebook insults and excoriation of supposed friends – and I’ve been quite happy to sink into my recliner with my iPad when I’m not working. I’ve gotten quite good at puzzles, video games, reading, watching Netflix and Prime, and just escaping from the world over these past eight months. Anything to keep me off my feet so that I don’t hurt.
That’s also no way to live.
In the past week, I feel the dam of ice within me simply breaking. It’s not gone yet, but huge chunks are missing. I’m becoming unstuck. And quite honestly, it’s been a real surprise. There was no epiphany, no reason for it that I can tell. It’s just happening, and I’m not going to turn it down.
I celebrated my ten-year anniversary as a fundraising and marketing consultant last Tuesday. I entered semi-retirement when Mike was diagnosed with cancer. I started rebuilding my business after he died, and I was so excited about all the new projects on the horizon – until Covid hit. As opportunities reopen, I’m starting that rebuilding again. I want to focus on the work I love, while adding new ideas to my roster. And they are surprisingly flowing, unbidden, and I’m not disparaging any of them.
Why am I unstuck? Again, I have no idea. Maybe part of it is that the vaccine is on the horizon. That’s the most hopeful news I’ve had in a long time. That will allow us to start to live again and to come out of this forced isolation. I miss being a social creature. I want people in my life, and I want to expand my circle of friends. I’m praying that as more of us are vaccinated or have viral immunity, I can safely do that again.
I’ve also decided to have surgery to fix my hip. I’m too young to have this many physical limitations when there is a way to overcome them. I’m gathering all my courage and moving forward, praying there are hikes and kayaks in my future. My muscles have become deconditioned over this past year of pain, and I’m back in physical therapy to prepare for surgery. There’s already a difference in my strength and mobility – slight, but I’ll take it!
I’m in the fall of my life. We never know how many more days God will grant us. I spent too many of them over these past eight months in stasis.
It’s more than time to thaw the inner ice dam – at 62…and beyond.
At 62 