nancy n.

When the news broke that we were in a pandemic, the ground beneath me slipped away and the no-man’s-land of “what ifs” clogged my mind. My music drifted away and survival kicked in. What do I do? Which way do I go? Where are my parents to make me feel okay, like kissing a bloody knee from a bike fall when I was 8? The news continued to show sadness: grief without being able to touch, children unable to be children, adults not know how to cope … my music continued to drift away … learning how to order groceries online, trying to comfort loved ones via Zoom, phone calls, words … all without touching. How can we cope without touch? 

Then as time progressed I turned inward and craved those things that brought comfort … books I’d had that had been collecting dust on the shelves … the comfort of the aromas from homemade bread filled the rooms, feeling successful each night when I had survived another day … but still my music drifted away for fear of touching a note that made me feel something deep down inside that I wasn’t prepared to face emotionally. My mortality became part of each day, along with the gratitude of being able to be safe amidst the storm and sadness for those who weren’t safe.

Then one day, a call from a beloved friend I hadn’t seen in oh so many months. At the end she said the words that shaped my days from that point on: “Hold on to you and I’ll hold on to me” … my heart felt hope and love and for the first time in a very long time … I felt a song …

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