Tag Archives: coronavirus

Literally and Figuratively the Light (A Life Interrupted)

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There are some who bring a light so great to the world that even after they have gone the light remains.   —unknown

Emergency light switch given to me as a Christmas gift from my Mom.

Grief is unpredictable and incredibly uneven. I’m functioning, working, accountable, meeting needs, living up to my obligations, and mostly happy, but even on my best days, I have to admit that I’m operating with very little margin. This means that the space between “okay” and “not okay” is razor-thin. This is new to me and if I’m honest, really strange and uncomfortable. I am the one who is unfazed, unfrazzled, composed, and in control. I don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve but lately, I’ve been walking around with the emotional weight of a boulder, the inescapable heaviness of grief. It’s exhausting.

I’m not sure if grief has a sidekick, but if it does, it has to be memories. This is a tricky, little sidekick because it brings great joy and stinging pain. I have such great memories of my Mom! And while these memories remind me of her loss, it’s these same memories that are currently carrying me through my grief. So many wonderful memories that bring smiles and lots of laughter. Memories that produce happiness, and true light…both literally and figuratively.

In February, Kansas and much of the Midwest experienced record-breaking cold. In fact, there was one day where the temperature in my town was colder than the temps in all of Alaska! Forecasters had been predicting the cold spell complete with negative wind chills and harsh conditions, but things got serious with talk of losing electricity…not just for hours but for possibly days. The predictions became reality late one night. The power outage brought our household scrambling to the dining room table. In true survivalist mode, we each set out to retrieve flashlights and a weather radio. It was in that dark moment that there was not only a light but several lights as we each recovered light sources that had all been gifted to us over the years by my Mom. Camping lanterns, push lights, industrial flashlights, and even a battery-operated light switch—all from Mom!

After the “flash.” Ortiz Family Christmas 2017

At first, we laughed. Why had she given us so many lights over the years? Then we remembered Christmas 2017 when everyone received the light switches as gifts and how funny it was to watch each other get blinded by those lights! So much laughter! Thanks to Mom, on that record-breaking cold night in February, we had enough lights for every bedroom, every bathroom, and the kitchen. This was so my Mother—always looking out for us, prepared at every turn, giving us things she knew we would someday need. I am so grateful.

…when surrounded by darkness, always move toward the light…it is love’s glow.

A Life Interrupted

This scene reminded me of a dream I had just before Thanksgiving. It was a dream that I’ve had many times over the years, a dream about trying to get home. It always begins the same. I’m trying to walk home from the zoo in my hometown. It’s dark (I hate the dark) and I’m alone. I know exactly where I’m at, I know exactly where I’m going, and I know exactly how to get there, but I’m paralyzed by fear because I can’t see where I’m going. There’s just not enough light. In the dream, I start and stop often and I never make it home. When I dreamt this dream in November, it was exactly the same except when I stopped in a neighborhood near the courthouse I saw a light turn on in a nearby house. Then another light turned on at the next house followed by another at a house down the street. On the second floor of an older home, the light turned on and I could see my Mother standing in the window, smiling.

I didn’t make it home in that dream. Although I was asleep I was incredibly stunned to see her. The reality of her loss could be felt even in my dreams as I started to cry and tried to get to her. Those tears eventually woke me up. I wouldn’t call it a bad dream, how could I? My Mother was in it! She was whole and well, she was looking out for me as she always did. She was lighting my way…literally and figuratively the light I needed just when I needed it.

There’s a reason we equate grief with darkness. Most of us hate the dark, It’s unnerving, disorienting, scary, and uncomfortable. It causes fear, worry, stress, sadness, and even anger. It can be paralyzing, but we are not helpless. It’s important to note that in darkness AND grief it takes time for our senses to adjust. During this season, one must look for landmarks (familiar people, places, and things) to help navigate the journey. Remember, have faith as each step forward builds confidence and trust. And most importantly, on hard days, when surrounded by darkness, always move toward the light…it is love’s glow.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

“A Life Interrupted” is an ongoing series of blog posts dealing with the loss of my mother to COVID-19.

No Place OR Space to Sing (A Life Interrupted)

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Grief is just love with no place to go.  —Jamie Anderson, author

Not many know this about me, but I love to sing…and I sing all the time!  I have a deep love for all types of music…popular songs from the radio, church hymns, TV theme songs, little ditties from musicals, you name it—I’ve even been known to make up my own songs!  But here’s the thing, if we’re going to get real here, my love for singing is CONDITIONAL as I rarely sing in front of others.  And while I wouldn’t necessarily categorize myself as shy (more of an introvert…and yes, there is a difference,) I do come from a musical family so I think I may have some skill (?), it’s just that my love for music and singing, in particular, is a pastime (a pleasure) just for me.  

When the pandemic began and the Stay at Home order took effect, most of us found ourselves quickly adapting to our new circumstances and reorganizing our lives to accommodate working from home and for those of us with kids, the pros and cons of distance learning.  Since I already work from home I had become very used to having the entire house to myself from 8am-3:30pm every day during the week.  These hours, which I regretfully took for granted, allowed me to work, meet with clients, volunteer, and establish a schedule with plenty of introvert time…in other words, a place and a space to sing.  

During the first few weeks of the shutdown, I barely noticed the lack of song in my life.  With everyone homebound, daily life was consumed with trying to find a new rhythm, learning the ins and outs of Zoom meetings, and checking in on loved ones.  No singing with the bedmaking or laundry.  No singing while making a lunchtime sandwich.  No songs at the coffee pot.  Without kid pick-ups and drop-offs, travel to meetings, or even just outings for shopping, my drive-time concerts ceased, too.  It’s not that I wasn’t plugged in or without access—I felt like I was constantly connected to my iPhone and my earbuds were practically glued to my ears at all times!  The reality was that I just couldn’t find a time or a place to sing.  In some ways, it was like our average size home transformed into an HGTV tiny house overnight.  A tiny house with no place to sing.

I’m not sure how real singers manage, but for myself, I have to be in the mood to sing.  Singing is not something that I can just turn on or off.  Aside from being in a place to sing there are so many things to consider.  Music genre, tempo, and playlist.  It shouldn’t be this complicated and so if this sounds like it is, it’s just me.  This is my way.  Complicated.  And it’s not that I stopped listening to music during these early days of the pandemic, it’s just that I couldn’t sing.  Maybe, more like a feeling that I shouldn’t sing.

Easter came and went.  My birthday came and went.  Still no singing.  Then at the beginning of May, both my parents tested positive for COVID-19.  I’m going to state the obvious.  You need air to sing, and suddenly there simply was no air.  Up to this point, all the emotions that accompany a pandemic (stress, anxiety, weariness) were an undercurrent for me.  I’m a realist, I understood the risks when all this began.  I was not naive to think that our family would go untouched.  Yet, I worked hard to balance faith over fear.  With their diagnosis came a heaviness and a weight of worry and concern.  As my father recovered, my mother’s condition worsened…eventually she was hospitalized.  Like I said, you can’t sing without air.

My mother’s time in the hospital was filled with ups and downs, hope and trepidation, good days and bad days…and finally, the worst day.  

Nothing prepares you for grief. The day following her death, I found myself for the first time in many weeks alone in the car.  Settled in for a four-hour drive, I finally had a place to sing.  My first inclination was to turn on the radio, but it wasn’t to be.  Although I had a place to sing, there was just no space in my heart to sing.  Instead, I drove in silence.

In the past two months, I have experienced a vast array of emotions.  Some days have been a complete blur, as the time has both flown by and stood eerily still. As much as one can after loss, we have settled into the uncomfortable and are moving forward, it is the only option. Today, finding a place and a space to sing still remains challenging, but thanks to my daughter’s shared love of musicals (and the absurdly catchy “Hamilton”), I am again slowly finding my voice.  

Ironically, on my way to pick Casey up from soccer practice last week, the song “Drinking Problem” came on the radio along with a flood of memories.  My mother, who never had a beer in her life, loved this song!  My sister and I discovered this interesting tidbit while driving with her to my grandmother’s 90th birthday party last fall.  We were floored to learn that she knew every single word and wasn’t afraid to sing it out.  Through tears, neither was I.  In her memory, a place and a space to sing.

The Lord is my strength and my shield; in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song, I give thanks to HIm. —Psalm 28:7

“A Life Interrupted” is an ongoing series of blog posts dealing with the loss of my mother to COVID-19.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Humbling (Responding to a Pandemic)

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What humility does for one is it reminds us that there are people before me. I have already been paid for. And what I need to do is prepare myself so that I can pay for someone else who has yet to come but who may be here and needs me.

Maya Angelou

I am neither an optimist nor a pessimist.  I categorize myself simply as a realist.  Midlife will do that to you.  I fully believe in the good of mankind.  I have high hopes for myself and the human race.  I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I choose kindness and grace at every opportunity.  I believe in going the extra mile and not expecting anything in return. And yet, I confess that I’m skeptical.  I’ve seen enough to know that we (myself included) don’t always rise to the occasion.  We are flawed, broken, weary, judgmental, and more than these we are fully human seeking to serve self first.  We (again myself included) hate to hear the word “no.”  Pride is incredibly insidious and has earned its rightful rank as one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

In light of current events, both our collective and personal flaws have become more evident.  The hoarding is just the beginning.  The outright backbiting and blaming on social media, television, radio and in-person are a reminder that we are not operating as our best selves.  Dismissing and cutting down noted medical professionals and downplaying directives from our elected leaders demonstrates our inability to hear the word “no.”  My first thought was that this was entirely an American phenomenon, but that’s not the case.  Selfishness exists around the world.  We’re all guilty here.  People I know and love are presently operating out of this selfishness and privilege.  While we are collectively coping with this pandemic, the root of this global “me-first” perspective is pride.  And pride is a human condition, one than equally affects politicians, religious leaders, CEOs, celebrities, athletes, influencers, neighbors, family members, friends, you and me.

Yet, hope is not lost.  There is good.  I’ve seen it.  You’ve seen it.  We’re all trying.  And let’s be honest, some days are better than others.  I truly believe the difference maker here is humility.  The dictionary defines the word humble as not proud, haughty, arrogant, or assertive.  To be humble is to express deference or submission.  In a culture that values status and seeks accolades, it’s easy to note our lack of humility.  It’s not because we don’t understand the definition.  We do.  We just don’t like it.  We don’t value it. Plus, the messaging has always been confusing.  How am I supposed to stand up for myself, value myself, claim and proclaim my self worth, and cultivate healthy self-esteem if I put others above myself?  No one wants to be walked on, dismissed or set aside, and yet that remains the connotation.

The Bible offers us another perspective on humility.  One where we earnestly value others, where we understand that we’re all in this human experience together, one where my life is no more significant than any other life.  I have no right to anything or anyone.  My life is a gift and I’m called to live in response to that.  I have been claimed by an almighty and powerful God.  My eternity was bought and paid for by the sacrifice of a Savior.  I am not called to react, but only to respond.  And that response is humility.

Years ago I heard a Christian leader describe the Bible as God’s great love story.  It changed my perspective.  The Bible was no longer a collection of books, but one big narrative about a Creator and His creation.  My understanding grew.  I could see new and more meaningful connections not just between its chapters and characters, but between then and now.  The Bible became not just a love story but a living, breathing, and extremely timely on-going narrative for Christians today.  And that story continues.  As followers, our lives are an unwritten testimony for all to see.

The reality of the pandemic has weighed heavily on my heart.  My reflective nature and night owl tendencies have given me a lot of time to ponder.  When stress, worry, and anxiety fill my thoughts, I pray and think about the things I can control.  And I am grateful for a faith that I can rely upon.  I wholeheartedly believe that while these days are scary, uncomfortable, and unpredictable, there are lessons and blessings to be found.  Still, I am not naive.  We are largely walking through unchartered territory and we will all respond differently in the days, weeks, and months to come. Fear will take over at times.  Tensions will run high.  We will be tested.  We will fail.  And again, some days will be better than others.  But, there will be opportunities for us to be a light, to meet the needs of others, and most of all, opportunities to respond humbly.

Life isn’t a short game.  It is a journey.  Are you able, or more accurately, are you willing to make sacrifices, submit to those who know more than you do, and go without?  Can you pause, wait, and humble yourself before God and neighbor?  My prayer is that each of us will respond accordingly and do our part.  Stay home, wear the mask when necessary, and don’t forget to wash your hands.

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.   —James 4:10