I felt like I should write about the pandemic although I don’t really want to because I just feel so tired and I worry that I won’t have enough energy to use proper punctuation perhaps this will be one long run-on sentence and my english teachers will haunt me saying, “period. exclamation point. comma. comma. comma, amel-i-a.” you know like the song. i did it. i used a period but i will no longer use capital letters because i can’t. what day is it? i just want to go to target. or somewhere. anywhere.
me and my littlest breathing treatment buddy…a fave pic from years ago
but i am vulnerable. and i don’t choose to be. i have a lung disease and an auto-immune disease and so i have been staying home for weeks. almost 4 weeks. but who is really counting? oh, me. i am a busy body. i like to go. ever since i quit working weekends in the hospital years ago, i dreaded the medical paperwork. the “occupation” box highlighted my insecurity because i hated filling in “stay-at-home mother.” because i don’t. i am a “go wherever i’m needed mother.” like most of my mama friends.
oh, man. my heart just keeps aching for my fellow hospital working sisters and brothers. i wish i could sneak into the equipment rooms and give them all a big hug. a long one. or an iced water. or something substantial. i cry for them. those with grieving exhausted eyes. those who hold their pee all shift long. those who have the tenacious capacity to hyper focus on the patient: the daughter, the sister, the mother in front of them and care for her in the most extraordinarily compassionate and self-sacrificing ways.
when you have been the patient far too many times to count, like me, its all too easy to imagine the pain. the terror. the sufferering. and yet, the tangible love and beauty winding its steady way through every hospital room, hallway, stairway, waiting room. the helpers have carried me through my darkest moments. they have showed up in the wee hours of the moon morning when i needed to get out of bed but i couldn’t do it all by myself. the helpers have brought me my medicine. my iced water. an extra gown to cover up my ass. they have taught me it’s ok to be the weak kind of strong, the scared kind of brave and that healing is a journey not a moment. they have listened to me moan, laugh, cry, and they have recognized my silence.
i read about them. i know them. i worry about them. we pray for them. i squeeze my eyes shut to hold my tears inside when my precious eleven year old boy pleads for God to care for those working in the hospitals. please, God, please, hear his heartfelt prayer. please make this all end soon. please help us all to do our part. give us the courage, the strength, the love and place your hands on top of ours as we grow weary yet still hold onto hope.
4 thoughts on “Coronavirus helpers”
so much truth here. so many feelings. so much much much. so many many many.
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Can’t wait to share some yoga floor space with you soon…..hopefully soon.
Heartfelt. Pure. Really chewed on the “they have taught me it’s ok to be the weak kind of strong, the scared kind of brave and that healing is a journey not a moment. they have listened to me moan, laugh, cry, and they have recognized my silence.” Well stated.
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Thanks so much for reading and sharing your comments with me.