Hard to see the light sometimes.

Yesterday marked 6 weeks since the Sunday I fell apart as coronavirus became a reality, and I moved in with my mom.

Life has been so very strange since then.  I have come down from the extreme anxiety I felt in those early days, and this new way of living in limbo has kind of almost started to feel like a new normal, but I'm still not ready to accept this.  I'm still hanging in there, waiting to see when restrictions might relax a bit, what the new way of life might look like when we get even just a little bit of our old lives back.

Every day, we are encouraged to hang in there.  Have hope.  See the light at the end of the tunnel.  This too shall pass.

But this past week, my God. It was hard.  It was hard to see the light.

A week ago Sunday, we awoke across our country to the news that there was some kind of active shooter situation happening in Nova Scotia, of which very few details were available.  I have been to Nova Scotia twice now, and it was hard to reconcile the peaceful, lovely maritime province with the notion that an armed gunman was on a rampage through its communities.  By that evening, the shocking details began to reveal themselves.  A 51 year old denturist from Halifax had dressed like an RCMP officer and travelled in a vehicle that looked like an RCMP officer's, and had gone on a mass killing spree.  Some of his victims were targeted; others were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.  All told, 22 were killed before the shooter was brought down by police late Sunday morning.

This is the worst mass killing in Canadian history.  And it is heart-wrenching for so many reasons.  Firstly, as I mentioned, for happening in a province and in communities that are known to be quiet, peaceful, and trusting.  Secondly, for happening at a time when we are already under the dark cloud of the Covid-19 pandemic.  There can be no group gatherings, no big vigils or memorials or public funerals.  This is a time when people would go to one another, to hug and bring food and provide comfort in any way possible.  To not be able to do that in a physical sense right now?  It is crushing.  Devastating.

Now, our little community is feeling the same way on a more local scale, as well.  Over the weekend, our village lost three people (non-coronavirus related).  Three people who were well known, who have families and many friends.  There are very few who live here who haven't been touched in some way by these losses.  It is a very sad and heavy time to go through at any time, but so much more difficult now.  It goes against everything we are accustomed to doing at this time.  We gather, we cry together, we hug, we bring food, we console, we share stories and reminisce.

And now we can't do that.

I know this is something that is very difficult, and being experienced across our country daily, as not only the coronavirus claims lives, but other losses continue to happen from other causes.  You don't get the closure you would normally get, having to put off celebrations of life, burials, funerals. It isn't the way it should be.  And I hate this virus for many reasons, but taking that comfort and closure away from people at these sad times makes me hate it even more.

These are dark days we are living in, and over the past week, it has felt even darker.

Still, we are reminded that spring is here.  Grass is turning green, buds are appearing, and there is a fresh smell of new life in the air.  Today, our province is supposed to reveal it's plan to ease back restrictions in the coming days. The light is small, but it is there.  We just have to keep our eyes trained on it, and have faith that there are better days ahead.

Keep looking for the light, my friends.  Keep hanging in there.