The world feels heavy.
There has always been heaviness,
but right now, we’re feeling it more acutely and often.
No matter who we are,
we feel soaked in grief and worry about what the next day will bring.
And we can’t wring ourselves out to dry because the bad news keeps coming.
And a lot of it is because we’re mourning the day-to-day losses of freedom.
But most of the weight comes from the “hard stuff” in life that has become even more challenging because we can’t be around to support each other through.
We know of a woman who has a high-risk pregnancy and ended up on bed rest in the hospital. Because of covid, this woman can’t have her family visit. She lays there day in day out, alone, afraid, and missing her family.
Thinking about her and her family makes us feel heavier.
We know of a young man who had an overdose that landed him alone and in the hospital fighting for his life. His family waited for calls from a nurse, instead of being able to be by his bedside. When he came to, he saw no familiar faces.
Thinking about him and his family makes us feel heavier.
We hear from a friend grieving the death of his spouse, and he can’t give him the proper funeral he deserves. On top of that, he’s been forced to grieve all alone.
Thinking about him makes us feel heavier.
And if we know them personally, we want to hug them and be there for them. We want to be a shoulder for them to cry on—it’s our human response-- but we can’t. We can't do anything except send love and check-in from afar. And it doesn’t feel right.
Everything is worse right now—because life’s hard without a pandemic--
but with one, well, it feels near impossible.
We know we're indirectly helping people by staying in, but it's hard not physically being there for friends, loved ones, and acquaintances. It's hard to hear about the world’s pain.
We know the heaviness will eventually lift,
and normalcy will be restored.
But where we are right now pales in comparison to where we’ve been--
and that makes the world feel extremely heavy.