QUARANTINE LIFE: A YEAR OF MOURNING

 

We hurt, even momentarily, because our lives had been kissed by their gifts. Unrelated, fictive kinship kicks in. They were ours. They made us lift our eyes and our heads; walk taller; want to do better. They shattered stereotypes and tropes. They never embarrassed us, or "set us back". We never offered to trade them for anyone.

With all of the evil imps around, just wreaking havoc and seeming to prosper, why them?

We claim them, particularly when they make us proud; especially when they demonstrate to us--and the world--the genius, class, dignity, strength, poise, nobility, work ethic, discipline, wisdom, and intelligence that some damnable old narrative says we lack. 

We're relieved because we can always reach for a CD, DVD, or log on to some subscription channel and be entertained, applaud, and beam with pride all over again. Hindsight makes us notice things we didn't know before. We view differently, and never see their work the same as the first (or fifth) time. Knowing the obstacles they were facing, and sacrifices they were making to give us their best, we love them even more. But we'll never be able to tell them.

They live on for us in media. We imagine that we knew them. For their loved ones, the grieving is quite different.

 THAT STRANGE CONCERN

Every day, eyes close and never reopen

If only words could change things

But, there are those

Whose passing seems wrong

Too sudden

Too soon

Unfair

They were supposed to stay forever

They belonged to all of us

Or so we thought

What will we do without them?

They were special

Yet, we never wrote or talked

We only knew them from afar

There's no real tie at all

But why are our hearts still aching

As if some part of us is missing?

Whatever they did, filled some space

Some time

Some era of our lives

They made us proud

They made us laugh, applaud, or cry

Momentarily forget our own worries

Thank God they weren't too shy; 

They weren't too selfish to share their gift

They just gave

And never knew we received it

They shined

And never knew our days were made brighter

We hear they're gone, and tears well up

There's that heavy sigh

Stunned silence

It stings a little

"I wish I could have told them..."

"Didn't they know how much we loved them?"

"How could they not know?"

Then, we seek the company of others

Who'd laughed, and cried, and thanked God, too

"What happened?"

"Did you hear?"

We remember our favorites of theirs

And demand answers that aren't ours to know

We wonder and embrace the sadness

And wipe the odd tears that fell

Things seem so unbalanced- so off course

Why them?

Not THEM

Wait. 

Why do we even care?

Does this thing have a name?

This odd, strange, and deep concern

For someone we don't even know?

And even when the truth is told

What will we do with the details?

Will we love them any less?

We mourn the faces of strangers

Glossy, projected images 

Amplified sounds

Choreographed movement

The beautiful people

But ordinary people just the same

Souls so talented and gifted

But they never even knew our names

Still, they go, and we hurt

For a little while

And then, in an instant, we're okay

We can always see their faces

We can always hear their voices

They left behind enough to keep us occupied

More would have been nice

But we're satisfied

Then we go on about our days

As if nothing happened

While the real pain is in their loved ones' eyes.

Their parents, spouses, children, and friends

The strange concern ends

We don't know THEM.