disruption

In the fenced in area of 436 days, things were disrupted.
None of us are ever to be the same again.   

His father died, and they still haven’t gotten to mark it aloud and be witnessed in ceremony. He’s been quiet about it, but rattled. The ripples of this loss affects his courage and urges him to be grateful for his age. He wonders what could have been different. Death still surprises us, even in old age, and robs us of the time to repair all of the conversations.

She had a baby in the deep south this year. There were many losses before he made it over to earth side. A little boy with a round face like the moon, and no one was ever more wanted or cherished. I hope she knows, as I know, being an older mom comes with wisdom and less frenzy. I hope she leans towards letting the dishes go and holds his warm body a little longer in the morning chair. 

He lost his husband. I cannot imagine his pain and I have only watched and worried from 2 degrees back. She said that he is a miracle, and his raw process has been inspiring and rapid. He is shedding skin and redecorating, all while honoring his husband’s life and making little altars everywhere. Grief can swallow us whole sometimes, but it sounds like he is becoming more awake instead. 

They have found an opening in this wild year. They are now a vocal and articulate activist, and no longer leaving out parts of themselves in the bio and description. They have new hashtags that invigorate and point to places where they had previously been quiet and vague. It has all been a gift to watch, and I feel both proud and sad at once – wishing that there wasn’t so much to conquer. 

She is a black woman and has wondered why some of her white friends have been cautious around her and have not checked on her as much. She is not one for small talk or fluffy book clubs, and she, like so many of us, is recognizing who she will keep and who she will let go of. This year has a theme of house cleaning, and I hope we will all end up with only what belongs to us. 

She got divorced and likes talking about it on social media. It seems to help her to have an audience, and I hope she is seen and validated in triple time. It is hard being a single mother while also carrying betrayal. It is all too heavy and dark, even for the artists. Her little boy is lucky to have such a mama, and I think he will take good care as he grows into a man. 

She said she no longer wanted to be friends. It is hard to examine life while on the phone with someone, when in person touch is your language. We didn’t learn to make bread or weave anything new for our old walls during this time, and we both let the chaos get the best of us. I was heartbroken there was nothing historical to keep us together. But the wreckage has left us trust, and that has to be enough. 

She is hesitant to return to in person meetings. She may be the only one I know who is relishing zoom, because there is a powerful collective of women rising in the private chat of her college while the white men speak to the masses. These women are calling each other in on this thread, and the calculus is riveting and necessary. It is orchestrated and changing the patriarchal landscape. When she told me about it I got chills and wished I was a part of something so alive. You need to say something now, she said to her. Now you. I need you, now, to speak up because you are white and they will hear you. Can you step up and then name me and then point to her to speak? I wonder how they can keep this cadence and not lose the importance of what they have built on the right side of the screen, when the world returns to in- person. 

She is a little late on her language, but this little bear is first working on her physical process instead. We don’t progress in all areas at once, and her fingers are so detailed and nimble. I rarely worry about her falling or losing her balance. She is on top of her world, wobbly and grinning, and not worried at all about how many words she has in her bank. 

He lost his business. Mostly, because of the perfect storm of the virus and the long-awaited reckoning. And there was not enough attention on the details and the homegrown stitching that people originally loved about what he built. What is in store for the hole that is left? I think something spectacular and still in seed form. I am watching from another planet, and trusting the voices that are rising in the rubble. There are some new callings I hear, and some old ones dying. 

His parents did not know he was gay, and they are planted in bigotry and fear. Luckily, he has good friends on his lily pad, and he is brave and made of gold and will go someplace else to thrive. The cost of hiding any longer could destroy him internally, and we have to protect him. We have to protect all of them. 

She found a new piece just for her.  Things had to break in order for her to find it, and now, everything is different. She sees, when she looks in the mirror, a light that was not there before. She dances every day,  even in the big windows. She calls herself a writer now. Let’s call it a permission to finally be who she has been all along.   

He finally asked himself what he had been waiting for. There was no more time to waste, and so he hurriedly put together a new life. No one was surprised but him, and I am hopeful for what’s coming and I am rooting for him. I think he has all new light fixtures. 

And all this, just in my local orbit. 

How different we have all become.