Reflections on fear in a pandemic
/
As a parent who has lost a child, I am hyper aware of threats, real and imagined, for my surviving child. I feel a need to be a super protector of my second child — if I can just work harder, then I can save this one.
I know this is a crazy way of thinking, but when an actual threat is occurring worldwide, it sends my panic into overdrive.
When my rainbow baby was first born, I used to say a chant in my head in the dark hours of the night when everyone else in the house was sound asleep. I lay there on the verge of a panic attack, trying to remember how to breathe. Over and over I would say Please let him be okay, please let my husband and I be okay. I felt by chanting those words, that talisman, I could protect him and our little family.
As survivors of intense loss, we are programmed to imagine the worst case scenario of every situation. In our experience, the benign turned into something tragic and it seems possible that could happen again at any time. Once you have experienced such a traumatic grief, you lose the stability that ignorance provides. We are constantly making Plan B and always thinking of next steps, just in case. It’s hard to shut your mind off from that.
In these pandemic times I’m enjoying this extra time together with my family, but staying home without daily distractions gives me too much time to overthink. My imagination tends to go crazy with speculation. Even when I try not to watch the news, it seems as though news stories are coming at me all the time — from phone calls with clients to headlines while scrolling through Facebook.
I am also grieving (again) missed milestones. My son going to kindergarten has been such an amazing and healing thing for me to see and I am devastated to miss his kindergarten graduation. I realize that this scenario is vastly different, but it still makes me sad to know that I will not get to see either of my sons participate in this ceremony. It adds another layer on to my existing grief.
I’m trying to give myself some compassion. I will continue to avoid the bad news as much as possible, enjoy the extra time with my little family as best I can, and keep trying to remember how to breathe.
I will feel sad about missing events, family, and friends, but also try to give myself some grace. Unlike losing my son, there are a lot of people feeling the same sadness and fear right now. And for those of us who share losing a child, we share the same post-traumatic stress that this worldwide fear inspires.
And while no one wants a place in our group, it is a comfort to know that we are here together, sharing similar fears and griefs.
How are you doing in quarantine? Does grief give you additional anxiety, additional perspective, or both?