Missing My Old Life*

*This is a sad post.

Sometimes, in order to make myself feel better, I tell myself that maybe it’s better that my mother is not here because this world would kill her. Of course I would rather her be alive. But in 2016, I said, “at least she doesn’t have to live through a Trump presidency.” Then came the horrors of 2017-2019; shootings, the rise of MAGA and white supremacy, detention centers separating immigrant families. My mother would have keeled over. She would have liked the #metoo movement, I think. And then came a…pandemic? I can hear her saying, “I just feel so depressed.”

These really are sad times. Made sadder, maybe because of the universality of the sorrow, the financial fear, and the reality of death and illness. Shock, grief, sadness…”The Walking Dead” did not unpack that part.

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Once the shock of the lockdown subsided, the dawning realization of what is happening, I felt the grief of the loss of my life. Not just salsa dancing and comedy (the two pillars of my life) but all the things I did that gave me a small but vital experience; going into a coffee shop to write for 30 minutes and sip a well-made iced Americano, browsing for jeans skirt at Ross, or my favorite *tears up* wandering through a thrift store looking for nothing in particular BUT finding a “cute top.” (Also while carrying the remaining iced Americano). I had no idea how important these rituals were to my health and well-being. Just knowing I had them.

The English language has a word for the screw in my iPhone (I don’t know it, but it’s a word), but there is no word for Sadness for the World, which is different than Sadness for Myself. They are two different states.

We are all losing in a life full of loss. I wish my mother were here.