Readers react to grieving amid the coronavirus pandemic
Today’s column, the fourth in a series, shares readers’ responses to the poignant topic of grieving the death of a loved one during a pandemic and its atypical social restrictions.
In February, Denise Axtell postponed the “celebration of life” service for her late husband to give herself more time to heal from surgery nine days after his death. Since then, the COVID-19 pandemic has postponed his memorial again and again.
Without a formal, traditional service, Axtell was forced to grieve through more creative ways since her husband’s death.
“Since Keith passed, I keep a basket of all the cards and notes we received in the foyer. I consider it a basket of ‘love’ with over 150 cards in it,” said Axtell, of Lisle, Illinois. “This brings me peace and closure, as does a handembroidered framed piece, during this difficult time.”
The embroidered piece states in part, “Do not weep for me for I am not here. Please do not shed a tear for I am free!”
Keith Axtell died Feb. 17 after a lengthy struggle with Parkinson’s disease and dementia. After his death his wife compiled a collection photos of their life together to present at a memorial that would never materialize.
Once again, creativity gave life to her grief.
She had all those beloved photos scanned onto a flash drive, then uploaded on YouTube. She also asked everyone who would have spoken at her husband’s memorial to instead write their words for a celebration of life booklet, in both print and digital form.
“I am really appreciating your wonderful articles on mourning amid the pandemic,” Axtell wrote to me last week. “Thanks again for how you are lifting so many people up at this time.”
My initial column summed up this series, “Death is death. Grieving is grieving. The governmental reaction to the pandemic – its social constraints, mandated quarantines, and public health precautions – has punched us in the gut at a deeply emotional level. Its lingering pain will likely stay with many of us until our own deaths.”
I had no idea how many readers would resonate with these words.
“You brought tears to my eyes this morning as I read ‘tears come at unexpected times.’ I lost my mother in January and I know those tears so well,” Dianne G. wrote.
Since this series began earlier this month, readers’ responses have been anything but typical. Their feedback has been raw, candid, touching and painful, reflecting their feelings at such a tender time in their life.
“Jerry, I wanted to write to you after your first column as soon as I read that the first man you wrote about died on May 10,” wrote Mary Spreitzer. “That was the day my dear, sweet 72-year-old special needs brother died of COVID.”
Her brother, born in 1948 with severe mental retardation and cerebral palsy, was the oldest of six siblings. He lived with his family until he was 10, when he went into the “system,” first at a facility named Dixon State School. Last November, after 40 years at a group home, her brother had to be relocated to a new group home with 100 other residents in one large setting.
“To our delight and surprise, Mike found the new place stimulating and he had much to look at and learn about,” Spreitzer said. “We spent extra time with Mike on move-in visits and intakes… and bought all new bedding and things for him. In hindsight, we were so blessed to have had that time with him.”
The last time she spent time with her brother was in late February for his 30-day review.
“I have a precious picture taken on that day,” she said.
Two weeks later, pandemic-related restrictions closed his new home to outsiders.
“There was no visiting,” Spreitzer said. “We couldn’t be with Mike at the end. He was not able to communicate by phone. No last-minute pictures. When I asked about someone taking a picture, they said no, they couldn’t.”
After his death, his family asked the crematorium for an earlier requested photo of him.
“The crematorium said he is so wrapped up in plastic because of COVID, there is no way to take a picture. They don’t unwrap him,” Spreitzer said.
Her closure, however, came through the realization that they shared a meaningful life together. Not through some kind of traditional expectation at the end of his life. Our society seems to sell “closure” as something strictly at the end of a life, she noted.
“Maybe for some it is. But not for me. Closure is loving someone the best we can while they are with us. Closure is doing what is right throughout your life. Then, at the end, nothing has been left undone. For me, this is closure,” she said.
Other readers shared similar reactions to closure, mourning and healing.
“Every writing you share leaves me with a sense of sadness, joy, awe, and a sense of hope for the future,” wrote Mona Moede, of Naperville, Illinois. “In this my 80th year, I feel the pain that has been thrust on the population of the world as death statistics drastically climb.”
Sharon Putz, 78, of Oakbrook Terrace, Illinois, wrote, “The loss of a loved one is hard enough without the limitations that these times have imposed on us all.”
Last December, her husband of 58 years died after a brief respiratoryrelated illness, complicated by underlying health issues. When the pandemic lockdown emerged, her grieving process was dramatically altered.
“The grief is hard enough when you have been able to be part of the end of life experience, but when you are deprived of even that moment, the loss you feel is even more intense,” she said. “Your mind and heart questions whether you did enough, did your loved one know you were there in spirit, and a million other thoughts that come to you in the quiet hours. It is amazing how loud silence can be.”