Devastation. Destruction. Loss. These are words typically used to describe the aftermath of Mother Nature’s fury, where in her wake an unrecognizable landscape is left in place of what was before.

Events like this evoke emotion. Grieving. An undeniable resentment at the unfairness of life turned upside down with next to no warning.

They are followed by soul searching. Rebuilding.

A chance to ask whether or not parts of the old landscape should be restored.

So why aren’t we applying this logic to the pandemic? Why is it so hard to express the feelings that arise when we admit that for many of us, things we had worked years to build – be it relationships, businesses, or, yes, lifestyles – effectively have been dismantled without a moment’s notice?

Where is the grieving? When do we get to talk about what we’ve lost? 

I guess the way we acknowledge the mounting death toll – casually, as if we’re citing the latest fluctuation of the stock market – is telling. We’ve become numb to the magnitude of what we’re enduring as some sort of twisted, subconscious survival mechanism.

As if in order to move forward, we cannot afford to be paralyzed by the depth of the void.

Well, I’m here to call BS on that. To insist that the only way to progress – to rebuild and to restore – is to actually acknowledge everything that counts as a casualty of the pandemic.

So I hope you can find the courage to join me in grieving for all the jobs that have been lost, and not just for the money they provided, but for the sense of purpose they gave to the person who held them. Even for many of us who are still fortunate enough to be employed, we’ve lost the identity that comes from rising in the morning, getting dressed, and walking out the door.

This is also why I grieve for all the relationships that have been severed by the stress of this ordeal. Couples, friends, and family members who are drowning in their anxiety, unable to properly communicate their fear, resorting instead to lashing out with their words or, perhaps more likely, not saying anything at all.

Financial concerns robbing people of sleep at night, causing a pandemic of their very own.

I grieve for the parents who have lost privacy in their own homes, who cannot recognize themselves in the mirror anymore because they’ve been asked to juggle too many roles.

And I mourn, with a very heavy heart, the children who are missing out on so many critical aspects of their development, all without the proper outlets – or vocabulary – to express their own despair. 

These are, of course, just a mere sampling of the casualties. Instances that are layered on top of our loss of routine, security, and for many, faith in the greater good.

There is no doubt that most of us, particularly reading this, remain blessed. Lucky. And are grateful to the point that survivor’s guilt for still having a home, a bank account or a semblance of a future is getting in the way of us grieving. 

But it’s time.

It’s the only way we can move forward. The only way we can understand that we just might have gained things unimaginably good in the wake of all the destruction. 

It’s the only way for us to begin to decide what to replace in the voids.