April Showers Bring May Flowers

Thoughts on Loss, Grief, and Rejuvenation during Coronavirus

So here we are, in the midst of a worldwide pandemic and global quarantine. If someone asked me last year where I pictured myself turning 20, I guarantee you, this would have been the very last place. Yet, I turned 20 a couple weeks ago, and here I am, sitting on my couch in sweats that I’ve worn for the last three days, shamelessly scrolling through TikTok with absolutely no plan to move from my post anytime soon – that is, unless food is involved.

This anecdote is aesthetically rough and perhaps, for many, quite relatable. However, while my life is not currently that exciting, I would be lying if I said I am not experiencing quite the emotional rollercoaster. And although some looks can be deceiving, the whole world is along for the ride as well.

It’s important to acknowledge that everyone is coping differently. Some people have established successful routines and are using this time to take a much-needed break and focus on personal health. Others are having difficulty finding a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Heroes are still working. But we are all experiencing a plethora of struggles and stressors – mental, social, physical, and financial – that, although are not distributed equally, unite us.

In talking to friends throughout the last few weeks (via Zoom, of course), I have been keeping track of common sentiments. Interestingly, those who are having the hardest time and those who are quite content have expressed similar feelings. In recent conversations, the following statements have been the most common:

I feel extremely lucky.

I feel worried.

I feel foggy.

I feel an utter lack of motivation.

I feel guilty for being unproductive.

I feel hopeless at times.

I feel sad.

Yet, I still feel hope?

It makes sense. As college students, we are used to receiving constant stimulation. We go to class, we look at our phones, we talk to friends, we check Instagram, we study for hours, we listen to music, we line up our extracurriculars, we scroll through Twitter, we go to parties/sports events/wine nights/numerous social activities, we miss home, we work for internships and jobs, we modify our resumes, we struggle with mental health, we binge Netflix, we check for updates on Facebook, the list goes on and on….

And then, all of a sudden, it just stops.

We are going through A LOT of loss. Looking back at it, I don’t know how I managed it all – I can’t seem to get through a day of doing nothing during quarantine without taking a nap. But this loss isn’t necessarily loss of life. It’s a loss of normalcy. And with any type of loss comes grief. A recent article interviewing David Kessler helped me see this more clearly.

David Kessler, “the world’s foremost expert on grief” (HBR 2020), is famous for co-writing On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Life through the Five Stages of Loss with Elisabeth Kübler Ross. This text has been used throughout various medical and nursing school curriculum to prepare health professionals for their work ahead. But I think it can be very helpful for all of us during quarantine too.

Kessler asserts that we are currently experiencing many different types of grief, and these stages of grief are not necessarily linear. But currently, the grief is collective. One rather eye-opening type of grief he mentions, especially prevalent during quarantine, is “anticipatory grief.” It’s “that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain” (HBR 2020). It’s the feeling we are all experiencing right now. Anticipatory grief weakens our notions of stability and safety. It undercuts our routines and destroys our plans. It ruins our motivation and shatters our productivity. It makes people find comfort in saying things like “Oh, well I guess this is just the new normal.” We vacillate between hopeful sentiments such as “This will all be okay; it will be over soon” and hopeless sentiments like “What’s the point?”

I think acknowledging grief is extremely important. It’s a reminder to be kinder to ourselves, that we just need a little time. To deal with anticipatory grief, Kessler says to work on being “in the present.” This may mean spending time with family, calling a friend, or just going outside for a walk. It means attempting to appreciate what’s in front of you, what currently gives you meaning (Kessler’s newest sixth step of grief), instead of focusing on what you can’t control. Most importantly, it means self-compassion.

However, as Kessler noted, grief is a merely a stage. Hope continues to push us forward. With a little time and proper social distancing, we will live to see unmasked days. After all, April showers (or perhaps April hurricanes this year) do bring May flowers.

Strangely, quarantine has generated so many unexpected opportunities. It has brought out the best (and yes, sometimes worst) of humanity. Acts of human kindness are not rare. The healthcare community is currently receiving amazing unprecedented support. Although hospitals are running low on supplies, communities are contributing in as many ways as they can. At home here in Sacramento, restaurants are preparing meals for doctors, chefs are doing free Zoom cooking classes, families are fostering animals, many colleges are providing useful meditation and mental health resources for students. It’s the little things.

Perhaps most incredible are the positive effects that quarantine has had on the Earth. Fish now swim in clearer water, air quality has significantly improved, and greenhouse gas emissions have decreased.

However, this, like all things right now, is temporary. When quarantine ends, its environmental impact may end as well. That’s why it is extremely important for us to learn from the experience. Quarantining reminds us of the importance of taking care of ourselves, the people around us, and the environment. It reminds us to find meaning in the little things. And most importantly, it reminds us to be patient with ourselves.

So maybe I’ll sit on the couch and watch TikTok just a little while longer.

After all, flowers can’t grow without a little rain.

By Hannah Kaplon

Duke student, dog lover, nap enthusiast, aspiring peacemaker, future world traveler