COVID feels heavy here, forgotten and angry, silent and deadly, softly moving across our skin, unseen and empty threats, maybe, we hope, probably.
Masks are gone, mostly, even staff completely mouth-free for Mother’s Day the other day. I wonder how much pressure their managers put on them to be maskless, or if it really was their choice to face hundreds of strangers, alone.
I put on my mask in-between drinks, anxiety eating at my chest, breathing a few breaths, then gone again. In and out, worry and calm, wandering and hopeless and hopeful, all.
It’s good to be home.
It’s cold and warm, here, in more ways than one. People are tired and distant but excited to see me, which is sweet of them. Hugs and smiles and I feel overwhelmed, kinda, like I’m breathing different air and it’s surprising that my lungs remember how to breathe it.
Assuming that I’ll forget, this time, but enjoying the spring smells nonetheless.
It’s cold, the leaves happywarmgreen, the soft brightness deceptively cold, and I’m wishing for more long sleeves, tbh. Grateful I brought my fuzzy green sweatpants and football hoodie, both of which I would be lost without, grateful I can watch the leaves shimmer from inside.
I remember May as hot and joyful, but it’s — cold and happy, so far, maybe it’s COVID, maybe jetlag, maybe age, maybe coming from summer that tones down the heat.
I feel sad, I cried by the oven. I feel happy, hugging my mom. I feel useful, sewing and sitting and writing. I feel useless, doing the same. COVID trauma, life things, catching up, finally, time to process and heal and move, lying in bed and watching TV.
It makes me sad, knowing you’re going through the same.
At least we’re not alone, right?
Grief is the loneliest and most community-vibes emotion I’ve ever seen. Its eyes pierce deep but flash with joy when shared, laughter, almost, tinging it with blues and greys like the distant sky.
I hope you’re not alone. I hope the eyes don’t burn too deep, or if they do, that you know — you’re not alone.
COVID is heavy here, but we can shoulder it, for a breath, together.
geoa.geer @ gmail.com
say hey x