Grieving in times of pandemic

I don't know what is like to grieve outside of a pandemic. My husband died on the 01/11/20, I held his hand as he took his last breath, this image is forever etched in my brain. 

Worthing Pier

As we are in lockdown, I have none of the social outlets available that would help me and my children navigate through our sadness. It feels, at times that we are being punished twice, first we lost Julien and now we must endure it alone.  When my feelings get the better out of me, I  stew it over like a bad soup of loneliness and sorrow. These are feelings that cannot be wished away with a zoom call, I need a hug, very much like a toddler who just hurt herself.

My mind knows that lockdown is a necessity but my heart needs the warmth and comfort from friends. Isolation and grieve is not a good combination.

My children who are 4 and 7 need my constant attention, they are full of energy and very chatty, in one hand I feel privileged that I have their energy  around the house, on the other my energy never matches theirs. They have a lot less to fill their time with, no football, no swimming, no sleepovers, all they have is me and I am outnumbered.

 I have to work, look after the house, fulfill their needs, and somewhere in between I need to fulfill mine. My needs come at the bottom of the list and I feel stretched like an elastic band. I know I will not snap, I will push it through for all our sakes, however lockdown has pushed us to the very limit.  Not only covid but winter too, we can't enjoy BBQs in our garden or picnics in the nearby fields, our walks are cut short by rain or some times made miserable by wind. If the weather was nicer we could look for frogs in our garden, go pretend fishing in the nearby streams, or go bug hunting in the field near the old windmill, look after our garden etc, but we can hardly do them now, or at least not for a very long time, one of us will get cold and then we will have to head home. 

Nearby footpath

Of course it is not all doom and gloom, we still find joy where we can, we cook together, we draw. We will cope but with a lot less support  and no cushioning from the grief, which we now face head on. 

I miss Julien all the more, his hugs, his affection, his laughter, his voice. I know the children miss it too. Let's hope for sunnier days, surrounded by friends; no masks, no sanitiser and no covid.