2020, A Season of Coping By Eleanor F.J. Gamarsh

It was the first anniversary of becoming a widow. While grieving my circumstances, my heart did the atrial fibrillation dance, and I am thrown into pandemic isolation. As this new wrinkle occurred, I was in shock, and looking around, I wondered what was happening. My daughter, who is a nurse, explained things to me. But I needed time to comprehend and adjust.

I was full of questions that summer of 2020. I questioned why my heart started misbehaving and I wondered how I was going to live with the condition. What is my life going to be like since I became eighty-seven at the end of the same week? What is life going to be like now that COVID-19 has caused a world sickness? That was more frightening to me than the fact that my heart had developed AFib and I could have a stroke, a fact I haven’t owned yet. While mulling over those questions swirling around inside me like a spinning lawn sprinkler, I kept doing most of the same morning routine I had been accustomed to for many years.

In the beginning, my emotions see-sawed. I would look into the bathroom mirror in dismay over how much my self-view was being redesigned. My bedroom became my sanctuary, where I surrounded myself with books about writing. I fulfilled a longheld desire to work on unfinished needlework and sewing projects. I also gained so much pleasure listening to familiar works of classical music on my radio, ones I had enjoyed since childhood. And I still read the comics for a laugh a day.

Still, occasionally there were many hours when the handwork or sewing just wasn’t satisfying. Some weekdays, regardless of my radio playing, I was overwhelmed with being alone. There were days when nothing really mattered, and I felt little joy or pleasure in anything. As the months of living with the silence and isolation added up, my emotions went flat. Then coping is simmered down to honoring the basics of keeping my living space in order.

As time passed, I lost interest in communicating with anyone or I just felt no reason to speak at all. My words stayed locked up inside me, but the longing remained to have a conversation, especially in person. And then, when an opportunity appeared, I felt awkward and frustrated trying to find my words. Without a flow of conversation with others, I didn’t feel motivated to work on my book and my heart wept to remember how joyful I had been that spring evening when I sent the manuscript to my editor. For a while, I moved about my home with no sense of direction. I knew there were things I should have done, but I felt no impetus towards them. I thought I would put them off to some other day until necessity forces me to handle responsibility.

Many days I felt deeply alone, then I remembered there is always a ‘But’ like an old friend used to say. But, I had to turn my thoughts to the truth; I knew I could not be totally alone with my Lord living within me. My children shared time with me whenever they were able and were always mindful of my health. I looked forward to and depended on the hours when my two aides were doing the chores that made it possible to still live in my home. I was and am still grateful for my friends in my writer’s club and reminisce about the good times we’ve had in our meetings. It bolstered me to think of all the people I’ve shared with online in my city and different parts of the world. I was and am grateful for all of them. Whenever depression hovered inside of me like a tumor, remembering gratitude helped me to regain my positivity.

Frequently, I struggled to hear the dialogue on the TV programs and felt bombarded by the loud commercials, therefore I eliminated the expense and dissatisfaction of watching anymore. My window into the world became the local newspapers and my cell phone. I believed I ought to be aware of some events in the world outside of my personal space. As the weeks became months, I watched the news only to hear and see what I considered essential.

My children have been my safety net for much of my life, especially during 2020. They’ve answered my most important question; how do I live my life now? Every day, I thought of my children surrounding me in a circle of love and caring. When the holidays came along, we stayed in phone contact, never forgetting to say how much we loved each other. They knew I cherished our family gatherings, but this year I was happy just seeing any of them for a few minutes. Hugging the back of their shoulders was enough to bring me joy. When my son, Eric was ready to go home on Christmas eve, he said, “To hell with Covid. Come here, Mom. I’m hugging you, anyway. We love you and want you to stay around for a long time.”

We are now more than halfway into 2021 and I am getting back into my writing. My needlework is set aside more often now. I believe I have adapted to living single fairly well, and my health is stable. By His Grace, those around me, and I, avoided Covid-19 except for one, but it was mild. When I feel the weight of the silence begin to envelop me, I turn my face to my Lord with my prayer in my heart.

These verses from the fifty-first psalm have raised me up out of the doldrums many times through the years.

“Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.” (Psalm 51:10-12 KJV)

Eleanor F.J. Gamarsh enjoys reading historical novels and memoirs. She writes inspirational stories because of the challenges she has faced and overcome. Shortly after joining the Wachusett Writers and Poets Club, her essay, On Mother’s Day, was published in the local newspaper, The Gardner News. A few of her poems were published in The Poetry Corner of the same newspaper. Her love of a variety of the arts was born in childhood, inspired by her mother. They encompass needle arts to jewelry, making to crafts and many in between. She enjoys caring for her gardens that she designed for around her home. Through the few years of being her husband’s wife/caregiver, Eleanor was preparing a manuscript of memoir short stories with his support. She expects to publish the book in the near future. She makes her home in North Central Massachusetts.