A year in and our families are still shattered.
My family and I had always been close until COVID-19 hit, and we fractured into a million shattered pieces.
A family member here, one there, each on different sides of the fence when it came to what we could do, where we could go, what we believed would hurt us, and what would keep us safe during this pandemic.
Over a year ago, when this all started, if you would have said my relationships with any of my family members would be strained or broken, I would have responded by saying you are insane. We are a tight-knit family. My children always turned to me for support, and they always got it. My children are the world to me, but right now we are in different camps with Covid.
This pandemic made the impossible happen—it tore my closest relationships apart. There was no more hanging out. No more spending time at each other’s homes. Now, gathering placed us at risk. The more people we saw, the more we exposed ourselves to sickness and possibly death.
We feared seeing loved ones would give us Covid. No more hugging as we may have it on our clothes. We wave across the distance if we are even lucky enough to meet up.
Recently, I wrote a poem about my son. He made me a mother. I miss spending time with him, my daughter, and my family far and near.
This poem allowed me to process my feelings about us not seeing each other, not spending a weekend together, and basically how I felt.
May it be of benefit to you, dear reader, who I know may also be struggling with this pandemic right now.
Dear Sweet Boy
Dear sweet boy, know you brought me sweet joy. You made me what I am today, a mother, your mom. It was love at first sight. I grabbed you and held you oh so tight. You were a tiny snow pea in my outstretched arms.
As you grew older, you spread your wings, you soared so high as an eagle that I was afraid you would land with a thud, so I stayed, arms out under you, circling and waiting for you to land. When you fell, I caught you by your hand. I bandaged scraped knees. I kissed away your pain. Through it all, I felt you pulling away.
And you flew again, without fear; I cheered you on. My heart breaking each time you fluttered away; you came out ready to fly my sweet child. Life went by so quickly. From a baby who was so snuggly and smelled of baby powder to a toddler who loved the word, to those pesky teenage years when I could not teach you anything; you had to learn the hard way. Again, I was ready to catch you should you fall.
For you, my sweet child, I would lay down my life; for you who explores the world seeking new wonders, for you, my sweet boy, I would hand you the world to hold close. You who light up my world, you who loves without boundaries, for you, my sweet boy I would do anything. You are a light in this world.
One moment I held you inside; then, I held your bike as you flew away, each of us learning to adapt to each other’s new freedoms, how we felt and processed things so differently—but we ended up showing each other kindness. You who hold my hand and heart, you are my heart’s delight.
I was your whole world once, your home, your womb, and now, my sweet love and hearts light, you set your own pace, you lay down your own track, but love still surrounds you, this time from your wife. My job is not done, but it is now time to be free and run. A new chapter has begun.
Know, my sweet child, I am only a call away; I am in your heart as you are mine, and for the rest of our lives, your love is my light. May our remaining days be filled with laughter and love and may you always know you hold your mother’s love.
Poetry is filled with emotions and right now my heart is breaking like so many families who do not see each other, much less speak on the phone. We are working on moving through this together, but apart.
Loved ones are suffering alone with depression, anxiety, and so many mixed emotions. I pray that soon we may all heal. I hope we all gather.
I hold you in my thoughts and know you are not alone. We are all in this together even if we see the darkness and the light differently.