Close to Home: Grief in the time of coronavirus

My brother Bruce would have been thrilled to see that I'm writing again. He would've liked the title. He would've smirked. He'll never know how hard this week has been, or even would have been, without his unexpected passing, in this new landscape of shelter-in-place.

Indeed, this past week has been one of the hardest I've ever been through. Like so many people, my world recently shrank, for most intents and purposes, to the size of my house. For most other folks, however, that was the challenge - and legitimately so. That would've been challenge enough, without the sudden death of my beloved little brother, from as yet unknown causes, or the anguish of sheltering in place rather than gathering together; without the restrictions from traveling or the no-hug quota in the new norm of social distancing.

Grieving in isolation is dreadful. Perhaps we've always taken for granted the ability to huddle around someone who's down, to get side-by-side with them in their sorrow, to bring flowers or other forms of personally delivered cheer, to listen in close proximity. Well, virtual hugs are fine in theory, but they feel pretty thin when you're heartbroken and isolated. In fact, there are physiological and chemical benefits to real hugs that we are all in deficit of lately.

Now, add to our grievous loss myriad logistical complications infiltrating the practical tasks at hand. I couldn't go to Victorville, where he lived, couldn't do my leave- taking, collect Bruce's dog or travel to Mom myself to break the news. Couldn't just show up to sign documents, get his wallet from the coroner or respectfully dispatch his things. Can't plan a gathering. Can't even overnight a package, due to limited hours.

Fortunately, people are good and kind and helpful, and many have held our hearts this week. Debby rang Mom's doorbell so she wouldn't be alone (albeit at a distance of 6 feet) when I told her. Sergio, Bruce's gardener, became our family's “boots on the ground” at the house. Becky rescued the dog. Larry personally transported to our Mom stained glass that our late Dad had made. Cheryl wept with me on the phone, Carla wrote a most heartfelt card, Karin brought curbside takeout, our pastor ministered to us by phone. Friends have called, texted or messaged us, encouraged us, empathized with us. This is how we've made it, and how we'll continue to carry on.

So if you know someone who's grieving in this strange season we're in, reach out in a personal way. Understand that their isolation magnifies their sorrow, and you can still find ways to carry it with them.

Katherine VanderSluis, an educator, is a resident of Santa Rosa.

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