It’s amazing to me how a bit of time—be it a day or just a few hours—can completely change my attitude. A small adjustment in my outlook can dramatically alter how I process and perceive reality. Last week, my Friday began in sorrow and frustration but, after a little perspective change, it ended with fun and games and laughter.
For most of Friday, I was in tears—toddler tantrum level, ugly cry, no self-respect-maintained tears, and I could not wipe them away from my eyes, because I’m not supposed to be touching my face. (Thanks, Covid-19.)
For most of Friday, I felt like I’d been given a to-do list fit for Sisyphus. Everything was going up and well until I was nearly at the peak of making good on a promise to a sick loved one and feeling grateful to be useful. But one “no” brought me and my load back to the bottom of the mountain. I was defeated. I was hurt. I was angry at Covid-19 and all the ever-changing rules swirling around it—especially the illogical ones. I am a rule-follower by nature, but only if the rules seem rational.
I know the story of Sisyphus, but I had to remind myself of how he’d end up back at the bottom. Was it magical and instantaneous? No, the weight of the boulder would bring it rolling down to the base of the hill—probably rolling over his foot (or all of him) along the way. And I can only imagine that Sisyphus had to follow the bolder down—dejected, defeated, and knowing that each step he took in descent would be a step he’d have to retrace on his subsequent ascent, only with a heavy burden.
I was mad at feeling my time had been wasted—going between Queens and Brooklyn and Manhattan and back to Queens and then to Westchester on a wild goose chase, catching the goose, but then being told I couldn’t deliver it. I was sleep-deprived, worried, hungry, and literally holding on to a heavy load because I didn’t want to put it down on the floor. (Thanks again, Covid-19.)
I cried out of anger, fear, and frustration as much as out of sadness. I was grieving the death of a season or an illusion (or both), and Covid-19 was putting limits on how I could express all my feelings—no hugs, no gifts to an unwell loved one asking for comfort and familiarity in a new and strange place, no looking anyone in the eyes. It was just me and voices across the phone line.
I needed to hear a familiar and uplifting voice. Whom could I call? I missed my mother acutely. She was the only one of us who, if still alive, would have been best qualified to navigate through what was happening. She knew this situation from the inside. I tried my husband, but he was in a meeting. I didn’t long consider my brother or father. They each had a Sisyphean stone of their own to carry. And so I called my mother-in-law, knowing she’d be all love and understanding. As soon as she answered, I let go. If I had been ugly crying before, I was hideous crying now. I let the tears and the hiccups and the snot flow. And I didn’t touch my face until I was washing it in the bathroom. (Seriously, thanks a lot Covid-19.)
I’ll be honest, I missed my thumb. When I was young (and also when I was a bit older than I’d like to admit), I used to suck my finger. It was the best device for self-soothing I ever found—even to this day. But not long after I quit, the shape of my thumb and mouth changed, and the act lost all its palliative power. Nothing ever fit the same way.
Friday, with my thumb-sucking days decades behind me, I was flying through the stages of grief with little to hold on to, and I wasn’t taking them in order. Denial: This is happening, but it’s temporary. Sleep will fix everything. (Two stages skipped.) Depression: The sky above my family is falling. Not only is the sky falling, but there has been a tectonic plate shift of the earth beneath our feet. The ground is going to open up and devour us at any minute. (One step back.) Bargaining: I throw out a Hail Mary idea. Could they see the logic in my proposed exception? I drove home having won a minor victory, but (another step back) I drove home in anger. I turned the music as loud as I could without hurting my ears and stayed two to three miles per hour over the speed limit. I was feeling mad and defiant, but I was not going to risk getting a speeding ticket. I wanted to hurl chairs through windows and heave plates at a wall. I also kind of wanted to hit that one insolent jaywalker with my car.
Once in my neighborhood, I parked just two blocks from the hospital at the epicenter of the epicenter of America’s Covid-19 outbreak. In the sound of the sirens and the shadow of that building, I had to acknowledge that it could be a lot worse for me and my family. Just then, Pandora providentially chose a song I could really get into. I realized I had shrunk my focus down to one problem—one sad, scary, life-changing thing—and that had made it seem more looming. The calming conversation with my mother-in-law plus a pragmatic text from my father had helped me to gain a little perspective. So, even though I had to pee, I sat there wrapped up in the music and danced in my car—eyes closed, not caring who saw, moving to the beat and also towards acceptance and peace.
Excerpt from “A Liturgy for the Ritual of Morning Coffee” by Douglas Kaine McKelvey
From the discords of yesterday, resurrect my peace.
From the discouragements of yesterday, resurrect my hope.
From the weariness of yesterday, resurrect my strength.
From the doubts of yesterday, resurrect my faith.
From the wounds of yesterday, resurrect my love.
Photo by Nadine Shaabana on Unsplash
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