Reflections on Identity

I Tried to Outwit Grief, but Grief Caught Me Anyway

When the quiet finally comes, the grieving begins

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Having quiet time to myself is a rare luxury, with kids coming and going at all hours of the day and night, houseguests dropping in for a night or two, my mother staying in my daughter’s bedroom so she is not alone to grieve the death of her husband of 45 years. I am a social creature but also one who requires daily doses of alone time, a delicate balancing act that if not done correctly leaves me itchy when I am with people or feeling isolated when I am alone.

The arrival of the pandemic eradicated the carefully constructed time to myself that I had so assiduously protected until that point. I had, in the before times, sent my son off to high school by seven o’clock and then had a precious half hour to myself before waking my daughter. I would pour myself a mug of coffee, then sit at the kitchen counter with faint morning light creeping through the windows, two newspapers spread in front of me. Starting with my daily cheat sheet, The New York Post, I would snap photos of stories that were particularly absurd and text them to my friend Jessica, also an early riser and fan of strange stories. Once, there had been a story about a nanny in England whose employers had killed her and then…