As loss blankets the world, coating everything and every place in the weight of silence, confusion and pain, many of us stumble awkwardly. Mundane tasks take twice as long as before. Survival is a full time job. Emotions come with a tornado-like force as we feel the brunt of this whirlwind.

Fear.

Exhaustion.

Loneliness.

Anger.

Rage.

Helplessness.

Both overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time.

There is so much to feel right now. So much to process. So much muchness to this crisis.

I suppose there are some who may be enjoying their stay-cation. Happy to be getting projects done around the house or binge watching favorite shows. But most people I know are struggling to survive. Trying to balance homeschooling, working from home, creating 1001 meals and snacks a day while only grocery shopping once a week. Paying the bills with no income. Applying for grants that sound promising but feel hollow weeks later. Crossing scheduled events off the calendar. Staring at emptying bank accounts.

Naming the grief

It’s too much, these colossal losses. Jobs. Lives. Health. Rhythms and structures that kept us sane. Gathering places and people to gather with. All the things that once filled us up. Most of us don’t have time to process and really think about all the things we feel right now – yet, if we don’t, these things will smother us.

Somewhere along the line, I realized I was slowly naming the grief. Identifying various losses. Giving them names and telling them where to sit in the basement of my soul until it was their turn to be dealt with.

Sometimes we have to push things aside momentarily while we tend to our survival. But at some point, we need to remember and tend to our grief and our losses.

Tending the grief

One grief that I am tending to is the loss of meaningful work. I’ve had many different jobs over the years. Worked in restaurants, bookstores, schools. I cleaned houses, did nannying, ran a printing press. There was an after school program, a guest house, even my own home baking business. Some were exhausting but paid the bills. Some were enjoyable but didn’t pay the bills. Others were tolerable. But precious few were meaningful.

The last 10 years have been different. Since starting Kahiniwalla with my husband, work has taken on a whole new meaning. You can read more about that here. I don’t wake up dreading the thought of going to work – I love it! It felt like after all these years I finally found my thing. Even during the years when we didn’t know if we were going to make it, living on next to nothing, the meaning I got from our work helped keep me going.

Now our warehouse sits quiet and cold on the other side of town. Shelves stocked with toys, ready for shipping but no one to ship them to. Stores had pretty much stopped ordering even before the Ohio stay-at-home order was put into effect. Many are fearful and uncertain, spending money on essentials, not on fair trade toys. I get that. But even while I understand it, I grieve it.

I miss sitting at my desk in a brightly lit room, printing out orders and filling boxes. Running down the steps to let the UPS driver in to pick up the days’ stack of boxes. Emailing invoices and balancing the books. Organizing incoming orders. Having coffee breaks with my husband and planning our next e-blast. Booking flights and making accommodations for trade shows. Blogging about social justice issues. Communicating with Pebble in Bangladesh. Just being connected to this buzzing network of hope where amazing women are being empowered.

And it’s not over. Good grief. That would be a whole other level of loss. But to have something so big and meaningful on pause, for even the tiniest bit, makes me feel incredibly sad and lost.

Now I spend my mornings at a small desk in the bedroom. There is a small stash of Pebble toys in our attic, for tiny orders that occasionally trickle in. I answer emails, change shipping dates, pay bills. Since things are completely shut down in Bangladesh as well, there’s not much to do except to worry. Hope. Pray. Wait. Grieve.

Sitting in the grief

There’s a Pebble shaped hole the size of Bangladesh inside of me. Tending the grief is hard. How does one tend to a hole in the soul? I don’t know. I’m not an expert on these things. But I do know that naming it has helped. Intentionally picking it up and turning it round in my mind helps to bring clarity.

This meaningful work has nothing to do with worth but everything to do with satisfaction. Purpose. Filling up.

Morning light is hitting the trees outside my window. Soon they will be bathed in a golden glow. Dark shadows pushed aside as they soak in the light. I hold my grief up to the light, hoping the dark shadows will be pushed back a little further each time I do this.

Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.