Surreal is a very good word. Last week as I prepared to take March Break off for a much-needed vacation I thought “I would just like the world to stop and let me off for a bit.” In the category of “be careful what you wish for” this thought could be considered the best possible example.

It has been close to two months since our Mum, Bobbie, passed away. Since that day, life as we all know it has been thrown upside down. On January 30th, the words pandemic, Covid 19, and social distancing were a mere whisper. I will admit here that the time in between has been extraordinarily tough. In this fast-paced world there is little time for grief, yet I think many would say that we are now grieving together, for many things. The loss of freedom, the loss of our way of life, the loss of even the simple rhythm of every day life. And we recognize the signs of grief: anger, denial, bargaining…and maybe someday acceptance for this “new normal.”

Before our new reality, I was living (and still am) a very personal grief. Losing Mum was a shock to the system despite knowing that this day would most certainly come. We tell ourselves that we will be ready, but we so seldom are. The abrupt void where this special person once was is unfathomable. It leaves you feeling numb, shocked, sad and quite honestly, exhausted. It was this sense of deep exhaustion that enveloped me as I slid into this past week of holidays. I really did need the world to just forget me while I sought a still, quiet place to allow every and all feelings to just flow, from sadness to tears to finally exhausted sleep. In this week I also took up a book that was recommended to me by a friend: author C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed.

Lewis, the author of many uplifting books including The Narnia Series, wrote A Grief Observed under a pseudonym shortly after his wife Joy died. An author known for works that exalted faith for the first time was writing a very personal, candid account of what grief looks and feels like:

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep swallowing…At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me.”

C.S. Lewis – A Grief Observed

For me. A Grief Observed was a very timely read as in the past few weeks I have definitely felt this “invisible blanket between the world and me.” I appreciated the searing honesty in Lewis’ writing, but also the obvious and eventual shift between pain and hope. I also appreciated this edition of Lewis’ work as it includes reflections from contemporary authors who share their personal experience with his work. Author and Man Booker prize winner Hilary Mantel writes:

“‘No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.’ With his first line, C.S. Lewis reacquaints his reader with the physiology of mourning; he brings into each mouth the common taste of private and personal loss. ‘I know something of this,’ you think. Even if you have not experienced a ‘front line’ bereavement, like the loss of a partner, parent or child, you have certainly lost something you value; a marriage or a job, an internal organ or some aspect of mind or body that defines who you are. Perhaps you have just lost yourself on your way through life, lost your chances or your reputation or your integrity, or chosen to lose bad memories by pushing them into a personal and portable tomb. Perhaps you have merely wasted time, and seethe with frustration because you can’t recall it. The pattern of all losses mirrors the pattern of the gravest losses. Disbelief is followed by numbness, numbness by distraction, despair, exhaustion. Your former life still seems to exist somewhere, but you can’t get back to it.”

In this week of many distractions, and much to disbelieve or despair over, I am glad to say that rest, reflection and gratitude have thankfully won the day. I had a chance to remember what Mum meant to me, and how she would hope to surround me with love during this difficult time. In many ways she is always around me. Both Jenny and I are lucky to have some wonderful reminders of Mum. I am typing away right now with one of Mum’s favourite pink blankets wrapped around me. I’m listening to soothing music from the radio that I gave Mum when she first arrived at Watford Quality Care. You can see it still has her name on it…

And this week, I have decided to walk in Mum’s talented footsteps and try my hand at painting. The painting at the top of this post is one of Mum’s creations that now hangs proudly on Jen’s wall at home. Mum took up oil painting once her hectic life on the farm was over. I was so proud of her when she bravely shared her passion for art. And why not? It is a wonderful way to lose yourself while the world crazily spins! Can you smell the leaves burning in this ode to autumn?

With some appreciated money left to me by Mum, I purchased art supplies that will help me honour Mum while giving me a healthy outlet during this time of “social distancing.” My first subject is one of the quaint cottages I photographed this summer on a visit to Toronto Island. I plan to sketch, then apply pen-and-ink then water colour to a tiny 8 X 8 inch square of paper. You can see I have completed the sketching part of this project:

Next week I will update you on my progress.

I am not alone in seeking healthy outlets to calm frayed nerves while we attempt to “flatten the curve.” I was so pleased to see my neighbour behind me here in the Distillery District put their business to good use. The Spirit of York Distillery quickly transitioned this week from making liquor to producing hand sanitizer that they are selling through a storefront window for $3. All proceeds go to the Toronto Food Bank!

In fact, there are so many stories surfacing during this surreal time that celebrate the resiliency of the human spirit. From sharing art, to books to picking up groceries for those confined to home, we are witnessing a generosity of spirit that hopes to sustain us through the challenging days ahead. Here are a few of my favourite examples I found on my Instagram feed today:

This sense of gratitude for many big and small acts of bravery and kindness even appeared last night as I stepped out onto my balcony to take a snap of a brilliant Toronto sunset. I witnessed neighbours standing on their balconies clapping in support of health care workers around the city who are sacrificing their health to treat the sick and needy. I must admit to crying as I stood there proud of my quiet, scared yet vibrant city.

Today I am sending you a virtual hug. We will get through this if we remember our humanity. Love one another!

And wash your hands!