The Grief of Isolation

I wrote this during a recent power outage that accompanied a spring snowstorm here in Maine. Somehow being without what electricity brings to our lives paved the way for many emotions and sensations to surface. I have hesitated to share this, but as I recover a bit from the fatigue that came after 60 hours without power, I realized how important it really is to name what's going on. Especially now. I have come to understand that in order to be with whatever comes, learn from this (or any) time in our lives, we have to acknowledge what's there.

The Grief of Isolation

First off, I do know
that I am not fully alone.
I get it, I really do.
However,
in these days and weeks,
now likely to be months,
of the physical distancing
of Covid 19,
I am isolated, 

spend much of my time solo.
A widow,
one who has worked hard
to explore and learn from
the many facets of loss,
the grief of not having him here
is true.
A mother,
who did her best to be present

with our chidren

after his death,
there is grief to what
shifted between us.
A teacher,
one who thrives
on the inlets and outlets
of sharing in a classroom community,
there is grief in not being with students,
to being unsure as to how to find a new flow.
A sister,
whose brother died long ago.
A daughter,
whose father is gone
and whose mother cannot see.
A poet,
with a book full of her love
and healing,
but that sits in boxes with
nowhere to go.
All these pieces and more
are mine,
are part of me.
There is deep grief present.
I will sit with it, learn from it,
partner it with gratitude for all that is good.
But, I had to name it.
It’s real and strong,
just like me.
I’ll be okay,
but deep grief
 is definitely present.

Sarah Carlson

April 10, 2020