IT’S OK TO NOT BE OK:

Dealing With Loss During Quarantine

How does life go on — even when it doesn’t?

Can I call you really quick?” — A friend texted me yesterday evening. I am definitely a “talk on the phone” person when it’s not just a quick note, so I typed back “yes!” and waited for their name to show up on my screen.

I answered and started joking about something we’d been talking about earlier — my friend half answered, then took a deep breath.

I felt it then.

The twinge of something is very wrong.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, hoping he’d say it was.

I heard his voice start to break.

“I hate to be the one that has to tell you this…” he started to say, and immediately I started shuffling through a mental file cabinet I didn’t even know I possessed, doing recon on everyone I’ve ever loved.

Have I heard from them lately? Have I seen them post something lately? Who would he know about before me? Who is it?

My breathing quickened and I felt like I was going to choke, throw up, and I really needed a blanket. I didn’t have the awareness to focus on any one of these things.

As the words left his mouth and traveled over the cellular network to my ear to be processed by my brain, everything happened within milliseconds before he told me who had passed away. I realize how how quickly all of these thoughts and feelings happened, and I am still processing it almost 24 hours later.

I know we have all felt this before, this universal feeling of “who is it?” coupled with the feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach and your soul that you forget in between occurrences because you just can’t walk around with it after you’ve processed that grief.

You are forced to forget — even if you remember the general sadness — nothing is as bad as the moment when you find out, because your reality changes. You can go back to your day-to-day, but it’s not the same. Nothing will ever be the same, even if you are relatively unaffected.

That’s another thing — your feelings, thoughts, and emotions feel selfish in that moment.

How am I feeling, how will this affect me, how am I doing?

Nothing is selfish when it comes to loss.

As he finished the sentence, I could hear his voice get ragged, and I felt the emotion and energy that it took to deliver the message. That’s the thing about the messenger — it is so incredibly hard to be that person.

To know how it will impact someone else who is blissfully unaware that someone in their life is not there anymore — and then have to somehow tell them? That is one of the most difficult things in the world to do, even though it must be done.

I thanked him for telling me so that I didn’t have to find out from someone else with less tact (it’s happened), or through a social media post. My heart breaks for anyone who finds out that way, but it’s impossible to get to everyone before it goes there.

I told him I know how hard it is to do, because I have been that person.

It’s a service to be that person, and to deliver a message in a way that is both empathetic but informational — you never know how the other person will take it, or how they will process, but you are doing it for the person they’ve lost, and for them even though it is incredibly hard to muster the courage.

You are allowed to process however you process.

I would say “however you’d like” or “however you’d want” to process, but no one wants to process this type of news.

After I hung up the phone, I sat and cried on my bedroom floor for a few minutes — I couldn’t help it.

I heard the friend I’d lost in my head, and her voice said, “Don’t cry over me, silly! Don’t waste those tears”.

And… I laughed a little to myself as I wiped the tears off of my cheeks, because I knew this was true. She wouldn’t want anyone to cry over her. She would be making jokes about it, being sarcastic, and she’d just want to talk about something else — anything else. She always wanted to focus on the positive.

After I sat there for a moment and wondered if I was crazy, I peeled myself off of the floor, grabbed the dinner that I’d made 30 minutes prior that was now room temperature, and tried to stick a piece of gnocchi in my mouth.

It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t about to throw away my cauliflower gnocchi (if you know, you know).

Normal routines, like eating and sleeping, are so incredibly difficult after a loss.

I actively knew this when I tried to eat my dinner. In the past I’ve gone days without eating after losing a loved one, and I know that’s not good for my body, mind, and soul.

I knew it would be hard to sleep, so I tried to distract myself.

Prior to getting the phone call, I’d decided to just put down my many screens and work for the night and do something crazy — watch Twilight on purpose.

After some contemplation, I decided to move forward with that plan, pausing when I got texts from other people who found out. This sounds extremely strange — and probably even cold, but I feel like it’s important to explain for that very reason.

You have to try to do something for yourself, even if it feels like it’s not OK.

I did this because it was mildly normal. Watching Twilight may not be normal (except for millennial women who will forever have it imprinted in their psyche — see what I did there?) but somehow it helped me cope.

The fact that you can’t go anywhere and do anything “normal” is going to magnify everything. It already has. It’s going to hurt, but you are going to grow.

Watching Twilight gave me a place to be that I didn’t have to pay a lot of attention, but got my mind off of it for a moment.

Someone once told me that funerals and memorial services are for the living — that the dead don’t care — but this is even more highlighted in a time when the living can’t gather together to work through it.

“I wish we could get together, do something, anything,” one text said. “I can’t believe we can’t talk about this in person,” said another.

I didn’t know what to say, and I still don’t.

This is not normal — we’ve lost a lot of freedoms — for a good cause and to try to keep each other safe, but when loss occurs and you can’t follow the routine that you know to be “normal” for that, it’s highlighted even more intensely.

You might feel guilt.

“But I didn’t know them as well as someone else,” you might think, “I haven’t talked to them in a while…” — it’s OK.

There are levels of how much people will feel based on who they were in that person’s life. Who that person was in their life. It’s very personal. But that doesn’t invalidate anything you’re feeling either. You can feel sad and not have to put that away.

None of us know what to do.

I don’t know that any of us will ever know what to do, and that’s OK.

Things you can do:

• Check in with yourself and be honest with how you’re doing
• Do something kind for someone else
• Talk to others via phone or video chat, as impersonal as that sounds
• Take a deep breath (seriously)
• Go for a walk
• Listen to an audiobook, podcast, or music
• Take a salt bath or a hot shower
• Drink a few sips of water
• Do something you would normally do, or — don’t.

If you need to watch Twilight and somehow get through the next 2 hours before you figure out your next steps, do it.

Rinse, lather, and repeat, if necessary.

It’s OK to not feel OK — I know everyone keeps saying that, but you might start to feel like “well, I’m doing better” and that might last a while, but it may hit you again.

That’s when you can do another self check-in.

And watch another “dumb” movie or read a “cheesy” book, or listen to music that resonates with how you’re feeling.

Take another deep breath — you’ve been holding it in the entire time you’ve been reading this article.

Maybe take a couple…

…Because even if you haven’t lost a person yet, you have been dealing with quite a bit of loss, of your normal life.

We all have, and the very least I can say is that even though no one knows how to do it.

Just when it seems like it’s getting easier, loss smacks you in the face — at least we can relate and comfort each other, even if we are all alone.

Thank you for reading this — please be selfish today.

Be kind today. Do something for someone else, or send them a nice text.

The person you are remembering would want you to live your best life — maybe even have a margarita or two — when you feel like you can do that.

Do something for you, even if it’s small. You deserve it.

I needed to write in order to process a loss. I decided to publish this instead of just keeping it in my drafts in hopes that it helps someone else out there who might be feeling it as well. Sending all my love.