A Spectrum of Grief

by Liz Jansen, Executive Director

Earlier this month I was looking at a list of restaurants and bars that have closed since the pandemic began in March. After reading that article, I was in a deep, deep funk. Reflecting on why that made me so emotional, I realized it’s because it reminds me of the spectrum of grief--the losses, both big and small--this year has introduced.

Whether it’s that restaurant you loved and never got a chance to visit one last time, that barista or bartender you may not see again, that coworker who moved to another city, or that friend or family member who passed away, this year has compounded our losses and robbed us of the chance to properly mourn and say goodbye. When this is all over so many places, so many people will just be gone. 

We will be processing this devastation, this grief, these big and small tragedies for a long, long time. It’s hard to imagine the day when the traumas of this year don’t dominate our conversations, our worldviews, and our expectations for the future. As I reflect on 2020, the overwhelming feeling is loss. 

But, woven through the loss are strands of resilience and hope. 

Woven through the loss are the ways in which communities have come together to make sure people are housed and fed; the ways in which we’ve managed to push through fear and isolation; the ways in which we’ve stayed kind, generous, and radical. And I guess that’s what I’ll be holding on to this year--the big and the small. In the face of big and small tragedies, our actions, both big and small, are important. Our big and small acts of kindness, our big and small acts of resistance, our big and small acts of hope--these are what got us through 2020 and these are what will help us rebuild our communities in more compassionate, more just ways.