The world is using the Coronavirus as a tagline for “Time to spend more quality time with family and loved ones!”
But what about those whose people died? What about grieving parents whose children aren’t here to annoy them? What about lonely widows whose spouses can’t nag them about finally redoing that kitchen backsplash?
It’s at that point that the idea of social quarantine becomes extremely sad, regardless how much you know that it’s the right thing to do.
For the past 10 months, I have jam packed my schedule with events for every evening of the week. I am more aware than ever that I can’t do that for the foreseeable future.
I’d give absolutely anything to be annoyed by my spouse right now. I want more than anything to be bored at home with Luke.
But he isn’t here.
He isn’t here to tell me “Sweetheart, this tomato bisque is your best batch yet.”
He isn’t here to cuddle me up and binge watch every Adam Sandler movie made.
He isn’t here to offer to pour me a glass (or 3) of wine while I try to hammer out a new Eagle’s cover on the piano.
He can’t turn off the news and reassure me that I am better off not watching it (he knew his empath wife so well).
He won’t dry my tears of anxiety for those susceptible of getting sick, and he won’t wrap his arms around me to soothe the worry of losing more than we have.
He can’t give me a hard time for not having enough back up condiments in our pantry, especially when I “know how much ranch he goes through!”
He can’t make my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard at the sound of his Petri impression from The Land Before Time. (Gosh, that killed me!)
When the world is in panic and fear, widows don’t get to turn to the person who would’ve made it all better. All we can do is look up and pray that they will do their best from Heaven.
I am so very grateful for those I can be around, whom without I think I might deplete my supply of Puffs w/ Lotion. I am loving on them and clinging to their mere existence as much as possible.
Luke, if you’re listening, I really miss you. I wish you were riding this wave with us down here. I know you’d find a way to make it a hell of a lot more bearable.
I love you, always. Play on.
Confessions of a 25-Year-Old Widow 