Let’s leave a legacy of grace, patience, caring

But, all of us didn’t make it.

More than 550,000 of us did not make it.

And, although vaccination numbers are going up at an encouraging rate, infections and deaths continue to mount.

We did not all make it and this past week, numerous medical and infectious disease authorities who served during the previous administration delivered crushing, yet unsurprising news: the first 100,000 deaths were largely unavoidable, but the next 450,000, those were largely avoidable.

The loss, pain and trauma that the deaths of 450,000 Americans represent is impossible to calculate. I imagine for many that the depth of that loss, pain and trauma was made worst still upon hearing that the loss of their loved one did not need to happen.

We did not all make it, but as many as 450,000 more of us could have. They could have celebrated the spring holidays with all those families who now have empty seats at celebratory tables.

The cruelty of that knowledge is matched only by the cravenness of those who allowed their deaths to occur — deaths without proper goodbyes. So many of these half-million plus people died alone or with only caregivers by their sides, rather than surrounded by loved ones who had those last precious moments snatched away, unable to say all that needed to be said.

Since my own mother’s death at the end of October 2020, I’ve spent a good bit of time thinking about loss and contemplating trauma. This pandemic has created trauma for so many of us in a multitude of ways. My mother, Joan Senecal, died from pancreatic cancer. She had been diagnosed the previous February, just as the pandemic was ramping up.

At the time of her diagnosis, my two sisters and I sat down with my mom and dad and we talked about how we would all be there to support one another as my mother embarked on her treatment journey. This was not something my mother was going through alone, but a challenge that our family would face together. We envisioned much of our support being in person.

What followed was a series of recalibrating expectations and reimagining ways to be close, though we could not be together. There were many losses along the way and then the most terrible of those when we said goodbye.

But we were able to say goodbye. More than that, my sisters, father and I were able to care for her at home where she had chosen to spend her remaining days. We were with her 24 hours a day. She never opened her eyes and did not see one of us there beside her. All her grandchildren — following COVID protocols — were able to see her face to face, talk with her, ensure she knew how very loved she was and how confident they were in her love for them.

As painful as all of this was, even in those moments, we knew each was a gift. They were gifts and so many times during this horrid pandemic, I have felt both blessed and guilty for receiving them.

We measure our pain against one another’s. Most of the time, we don’t intend to. It just happens. For me, that comparison has left me hesitant at times to talk about how painful losing my mom has been because so many have lost mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters and loved ones of every type imaginable — and they were not blessed to be able to say goodbye. How selfish for me to share how difficult that goodbye was when countless people would give anything to have had the time face to face that I had with my mom?

But that’s not how loss works and I am trying hard to grant myself the grace that I hope I show others, regardless of the form their loss has taken in the past 14 months. If you are someone who has who has experienced loss — that loss, that trauma — it’s enough to justify mourning. If we are to all heal, we need to acknowledge what this past year has taken from us and let go of any guilt we feel as we measure our loss against those of others.

Whether it’s a job, a business, missing the first year of a grandchild’s life, prom and graduation, that final high school or college sports season, the senior play, one last Thanksgiving with a family member you know won’t still be with us come November — it’s enough. It’s all enough to acknowledge and share, to make you feel not OK, and to ask for patience, love and support in whatever form you need.

This most terrible of years has had an impact on us all. That impact will be studied for many generations to come. What they discover will be up to all of us. Let’s try to leave a legacy of grace, patience and caring for ourselves and for those around us that leaves future generations with the sense that, when we all needed one another the most, we found ways to take care of one another and move forward together.

Lisa Senecal is co-founder of The Maren Group, a writer, and member of the Vermont Commission on Women. She lives in Stowe. Email letters to news@stowereporter.com.