Don't Let 2022 Be Like 2020 Too

I know it is beginning to feel that way.

I'm ready for 2022

In 2020 I said the same. While I was still my Mom's caregiver, I promised that I would finish the task of caring for her, and then the pandemic happened.

It wasn't easy, and we all suffered.

In 2021, I said the same, but Mom had to rest this time. For the best, it was only a matter of time before she would catch the virus, and I didn't want that for her. To even think she would be alone in a hospital was, for me, a living nightmare.

It didn't happen. After 21 days of being with us at home, she died in her sleep; we celebrated her, and while she was in pain, all she could tell us was that she loved us.

It will be a year, and I don't know how I would feel on that day, and as we welcomed 2022, I said the same, I'm ready for you 2022!

But here we are again. The virus still had some aces off its sleeve.

And it sometimes feels that we were back in 2020. While fewer people die, they still do, and while we can go out, it still feels different.

The world will never be the same.

As soon as we accept that the world will never be the same or that my life moving forward is a life without my mother, I do catch myself trying to figure out the future and if I still fit in, in that world.

Yesterday I learned that another friend died, and because I don't spend a lot of time on social media, and whenever I'm there, I try to limit my interaction, I checked my messenger and the last time we talked was in 2020.

I knew he was sick, and I did send him emoticons the few times I would read his posts. But unfortunately, I have never bothered to talk to him again since 2020.

My grief has stopped me from talking to a lot of people.

When I read what we were talking about in 2020, we spoke of writing which we both loved. He also mentioned that he plans to move to Spain not soon but that he is doing what is needed for that to happen.

When I read that he was gone, I felt numb.

And asked me, if this is the person that I have become, while I have empathy for others, I feel like a candle that is almost consumed, and whatever flicker of light that is coming out doesn't make any difference, the world for me has become a dark space.

You will be OK, and so am I.

OK doesn't mean we will never be afraid. OK doesn't mean we will never have to be sad.

But life has to move forward, and no one expects you to move on.

Today I reached out to a friend, trying to see if I can have a job in her organization, we haven't talked for years, and it was time for us to do some catch-up.

We both have lost a parent, she lost her dad years before the pandemic, and I lost my mother last year.

She offered me advice that the pain will be lessened with time like a gentle breeze that touches the heart, not the painful needle prick like when it is all fresh.

And I have to agree. While I still think of my Mom every day, there are days when all I can feel is if I have done enough for her. Most of it is memories, and it is true. Memories are there to remind me of her but not to make me sad or cry because I know that is the last thing our Mom wants for anyone of us.

If I measure time in days, hours, and minutes, I can't wait for my days to be over so I can be reunited with her, but time, as we know it here, isn't the time she is experiencing in heaven.

I know when it is my time, My Mom would not say;

What took you long?

She will be waiting like she was only away for a day.

I'm still here in 2022, and I need to live.

Recently I watched a movie, Drive My Car. In the movie, a memorable line that stays to me to this day,

And then, at last, we shall rest.

Until that day comes, when it is our time to rest, we should not let the day pass without living it. But living the day doesn't mean you have to be busy, tirelessly pursuing your dreams, or planning your future.

It is in the little things, the things that need to be done, and the words necessary to say.

May 2022 be not 2020, but a year where we all lived.