Canada · Christmas · COVID-19

The Things I Cry Over

One thing that has shocked me lately are my tears.

They just don’t make sense.

This week I have gone through alot. We all have. Most people either know someone sick, hospitalized or dead from COVID-19. Or someone about to crack mentally from all the restrictions. We are all maxed out: Physically, emotionally, and mentally. Even the kids.

I have gotten no answers about my health, although right now my pain is almost gone. I literally checked for my COVID-19 test results every minute for three days straight until at last the news came:

Yay! My family is free to go to school and work again. Though I am still stuck home because I have nothing essential to do outside of the house.

Now, one would think it not possible, but here in Manitoba further restrictions have been made. Deaths are happening everyday and so I understand why… but I still don’t agree with it all.

Not being allowed to have one person over? Or shop for Christmas gifts. Not being able to go to my dear husband’s grandma’s funeral (not even a drive by funeral) because they are restricted to five people?

My husband’s sweet grandma died this week (not from COVID), but though there was pain in my heart, not one tear fell. Later that day, we tried to set up the Christmas tree. It looked ugly and the lights were broken.

I bawled.

Why?

I chatted with some friends, and they shared some very painful struggles. Unimaginable situations are happening all around the world. Really hard things. Mental health issues, financial strain, separation from loved ones, marriage struggles.

Yet no tears fell.

This morning our coffee maker broke. I wept as if I lost a dear friend.

Why is it that I am crying over insignificant, replaceable, material things – but my tears don’t come over the things that really break my heart?

I think, perhaps, because it’s easier.

My mind knows the problem when the Christmas tree lights don’t work. What it doesn’t know, is how to sort out all my feelings with the sickness, the stress and the world being shut down.

Holidays are approaching, but Christmas is the furthest thing from my mind. All gatherings have been cancelled. There will be no Christmas programs, or sleigh rides. Local stores are no longer allowed to sell non-essential goods, for we are trying to keep shopping numbers down. So no walking through the isles with Christmas music in the background, shopping for presents.

We have no plans for the foreseeable future. Nothing to look forward to. The day to day toil of trying to help my kids process their complicated emotions, while pushing my own aside has me on edge.

I’m stuck at home, when I’d rather be anywhere else.

It all doesn’t make sense.

But a broken coffee maker, that my mind can grasp.

I’m sure the professionals out there would have a highly sophisticated term or explanation for these random tears of mine.

I just call it grief.

COVID-19

Tears that Say what Words Won’t

I cry a lot these days.

I speak little. I write little.

I think my tears are trying to say all the things I can’t get myself to express.

To my family, they say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that life looks so different. I’m sorry that we just sit at home all the time. I’m sorry that I’m not more creative. I’m sorry for all the friendships on hold, for all the cancelled plans, for all the disappointments.”

To the lonely they say, “You are not forgotten. I wish I could be there, comforting you.”

To my parents, sisters and friends they say, “I miss you. I really miss talking. I miss laughing together. I miss seeing you face to face.”

To all those who have been laid off, who are fearful of their future and uncertain of how to pay their next bills they say, “I wish you could have your job back. I wish you could work. I’m sorry for your fear. I am here for you. I can’t give you everything you need, but what I have, I will gladly share. Ask for help.”

To my dear friend who sits quarantined in her room while her father lays in a hospital bed in a coma from COVID-19, my tears say, “I’m praying for you. I’m so sorry. I long to give you a hug, to tell you that everything will be alright. I’m sorry I can’t.”

To the Church they say, “Are we OK? Are we being the church? Do you still pray when you’re all alone? Are you still out there, seeking God? Are we showing the world Christ in this time? Or are we just distractingly surviving this like everyone else? Are we using this time to call on God, turning back to him, back to our families? Or are we just complaining and binge watching Netflix?”

To my blogging friends – yes friends – though we’ve never met… my tears say, “I see you. I don’t have the words to comfort your fears, your dashed hopes, your anxiety or your loneliness. But I see you. I hear you. Even if I don’t have the strength to comment.”

To God, they say, “I trust you completely… But how long will this last? How bad will it get? I hate how uncertain everything is!”

As the tears fall, they speak, a universal language of pain and hope to the world: This is hard…but we will get through this.