Grief in the Time of Covid By Sandi Tomlin-Sutker
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he pandemic of the novel coronavirus, known by the name Covid-19, has brought such change to our lives that grief is one of the most common responses. Grief at the loss of loved ones, our way of life, our ability to move freely and enjoy the company of friends and family. I’ve experienced those moments of grief but my grief this year is much more personal. My husband Sam of 42+ years was diagnosed with ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease) in the fall of 2018. No treatment was available although we explored and researched every nutritional option we could find. Unfortunately, the disease quickly took its toll over the year and he quietly passed away just a few days before Thanksgiving 2019. There were a few comforting things about his passing--and we needed to be comforted. The disease took more and more of his physical capabilities and his breathing was compromised. I feared him losing the ability to take a breath, perhaps having to be intubated. Thankfully that didn’t happen. The hospice nurse told me he’d likely go to sleep one night and not wake up again; that’s exactly what he wanted and what 8
thesofiamagazine.com | August 2020
happened. He was prepared and ready to leave his debilitated body, although he said he hated to leave me and the family. Another major comfort was that he passed before Covid-19 hit the world like a hammer. It would have been so sad and painful for him not to have friends visit, and for family and friends to miss out on saying goodbye and then sharing the loss with each other. So many thousands of Covid patients died in that lonely way. That last night, he slept in the single hospital bed, relieved that he didn’t have to move anymore. Our daughter spent the night in the guest room next to where he was; I slept in our bed, really oblivious to the fact that this was his last night. In the morning our daughter came to my room, slid under the covers and said, “Mom . . . I think he’s left his body. I put a mirror up to his mouth and don’t see any breath.” We knew this was coming sooner than later; but I couldn’t move for a few minutes. “Let’s just lie here a bit, okay?” Finally, when I felt able to go see him, knowing he was gone, we went to him. Of course, he was pale and cold . . . his spirit clearly freed from the husk that had contained it for 74 years.
More blessings came to us. Our neighbor happened to be a “death doula” who could help us take care of his body at home. None of us wanted any formality, definitely no embalming. Dry ice was, surprisingly to us, available at our local grocery store. The family, including our two older grandkids, rallied around to help. Our son went home that day to build a simple and beautifully crafted, pegged pine coffin--just what Sam’s Jewish heritage suggested. We all participated in gently washing and wrapping his body in the perfect fabric. We placed boughs of evergreens and nandina berries in the coffin, and replaced the dry ice daily. We kept him home for three days while friends and family came to honor all he had meant to them. Finally, we took him to our daughter’s farm where she and the grandkids had dug his grave. We researched and learned we could legally do this with a few notifications to the county. On a Tuesday evening, by candlelight, those who wanted talked about the most important memories of what he meant to them. His brothers said the Mourner’s Kaddish (blessing) and we lowered the coffin into the grave, each taking turns with the shovel and soil. The ritual and participation helped soften the grief, at least a bit. There was so much love there, and more to come. I initially thought I couldn’t handle our big, traditional Thanksgiving celebration, but there were “messages” from Spirit that I should do it. Someone miscounted those present that day and “accidentally” set an extra place . . . for him, we felt. The first Saturday in December, friends organized a Celebration of his Life at our local community center. Another moment of comfort to share. Christmas came and went in a blur. I felt numb mostly, now having to adjust to not taking care of him, not watching Netflix together, not sleeping with “one
