Coming out of COVID: Joys and Losses by Rev. Kristen Rohm, Spiritual Care Counselor

As we begin to gather in person most of us are experiencing a variety of emotions.

At Hospice of Santa Barbara, we work with grief which, similarly to these times, comes with a mix of strong emotions that can be confusing and overwhelming. One of the things we know that helps is to name the feelings, to give them some space rather than trying to push them away or deny them.  So let us harness the transformative power of naming emotions and challenges, of acknowledging them together.

Most of us are feeling excitement about seeing people we treasure, the possibility of travel, the ability do our work in a more direct, face to face way.  It will be an immeasurable joy to hug family members and friends, to put our hand on the shoulder of those we serve. We have hungered for these life affirming touches, for the simple pleasure of being in the company of others.

And I am hearing from almost everyone some level of anxiety about ‘opening up’ or returning to gathering in groups. I’ve heard introverts and extroverts alike wonder if they will feel overstimulated in groups after so long in isolation and pods. How will it be to navigate large groups again?  What of the slower pace of life many of us have enjoyed?

For leaders there is the added stress of figuring out procedures and policies for how to be in person safely. Conversations about how to include everyone even though all haven’t been vaccinated; conversations about managing risk. How to balance continued desire to work remotely with also meeting in person. Creating new hybrid systems means more work for leadership.

We also need to name that when we gather, there will be some faces, some beloveds who are not there. All our communities have had folks die in the past year and we have not been able to gather together to share our grief. When we do gather, will that grief well up? Possibly, probably.  How will we make space for that among our families and communities? 

And we will grieve not only the loss of individuals but the loss of experiences like time with newborn babies or those near end of life, loss of public ceremonies like Memorials, graduations, and weddings, and for some, financial losses. The happiness of coming together may be tempered or paired with the sadness of these losses.

We might want to plan a ritual for ourselves and our communities to name all that was lost or left behind during the year of COVID, to support the journey through loss toward healing. We might pair it with a ritual of hope for moving forward, naming what is important to take with us from this time.  This could be having everyone hold a rock in their hands while all these dynamics are named. Maybe a poem is read, music is played.  Then inviting the gathered to set those rocks down, symbolically beginning the release of sadness and weight of the past year. Then transitioning toward our hopes for being back together.  Lighting candles or planting seeds for this new way of being together. What would fit you or your community?

It might also be helpful to acknowledge the physiology of long term stress on the body and nervous system.  Nearly everyone I talk with speaks of feeling weary, less able to focus, less productive. This is how long held anxiety shows up in our bodies and our spirits.  Movement based practices (yoga, tai chi, etc.), breath work, guided meditation with body awareness/release focus, journaling, and getting out in nature can all be helpful to release some of this stress and attend to our bodies.

As we gather in person we may also notice easy annoyance with others as we get used to being with many people again. Let us be patient with ourselves and with others. We might be intentional about starting first with small groups so that we renew our skills for interacting in person and allow our physiological systems to adjust to larger groups.

Another thing we know from our work with grief is that language matters. When someone is grieving a death or significant loss, the language of ‘returning to normal’ is not helpful because it is not possible. For all of us, there is no going back to the way things were before COVID when so many have died, when so much discord has occurred, when so much loss and anxiety have been stored in our bodies and our collective spirits.  

Let us create safe space and find language to acknowledge the many losses and imagine new ways to be together as we move forward. Let us name what we have learned and the things we want to take with us from the past year.

Rev. Kristen Rohm

Spiritual Care Counselor                                                                                                         

Hospice of Santa Barbara

Poetry for Healing: Antidote to Isolation during COVID-19 by Perie Longo

“I read [poetry] not only to feel connected to the world, but to remember that people have managed to make incredible poems out of deep suffering. Just that simple fact gives me hope.”

                                                                        Ada Limon, New York Times, June 15, 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/11/books/poetry-poets-recommendations.html.

Poetry has had a varied reputation throughout history beginning with the oral tradition in ancient times, the chant having the power to heal. More recently authors have written articles and books about if poetry matters and why. Then 9/11 happened and our idea of national security shrank. I remember one newscaster interviewed Billy Collins, then Poet Laureate of the United States, and asked what poem he would recommend. At first he said, the psalms, then added, the poem “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver.  I still hear her words that were heard over the radio across the country. “Tell me about your despair, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on… Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.”

Here we are again. Home, in a very different way, sheltered and isolated to dodge the Coronavirus as best we can. Whether we take to poetry or not, we turn to it at times of celebration like birth and marriage, as well as times of great sorrow—death, and crisis like the one we are experiencing today. Poetry has been exploding on the internet, people writing about their despair, their grief and anger and fear. Poetry can connect us to the world, at the same time, reaching deep into the “I”, the self, trying to understand a collage of feelings suddenly risen demanding attention. When a poem speaks of our experience, there is a sense of comfort, which holds the word “fort.  A poem can fortify us, light a way to hope. And poetry is a container. Words in shorter lines with the wide margins like a fence, hold our emotion so we won’t fall off the edge.

Not every poem is one of healing, which brings me to poetry therapy, also described as poetry for wellness or healing. I have been facilitating bereavement groups at Hospice for many years.

A poem selected for inspiration, must always point to hope in some way, while also speaking of struggle. The process begins with a poem that addresses specific emotions of the group in language that is understandable yet fresh, perhaps with metaphor and imagery, and most often personal details with a natural rhythm. I like to describe poetry as a song without the melody.

The poem is printed up, a copy for all, read, and then explored, not for what it means as in an English class, but where in the poem does your heart land. What phrases or words speak to you and how do they relate to your life? From that place, participants write their own poems, which are read out loud. Group members respond with heart so the author feels heard, seen, not judged, but opens more to the self and others with compassion. Poetry becomes a communal event, starting with a few words that spread, like a pebble dropped in a pond, pulsing outward.

Once sheltered, Hospice turned to technology to keep our lives moving forward, on the Zoom platform. Early in April 2020, NPR’s poet-in residence, Kwame Alexander, pointed to a poem by Nancy Dross Dunham titled “What I’m Learning about Grief” which was published on Morning Edition. It was followed by an invitation from NPR to those whose lives had been affected by Covid-19, and write poems beginning with the line “What I’m learning about grief is…” and send in their thoughts. NPR staff would pick out a sampling of poems from around the country. On April 30, the national “communal poem” was posted by NPR on Zoom for all to hear and read.

https://www.npr.org/2020/04/30/845910766/if-the-trees-can-keep-dancing-so-can-i-a-community-poem-to-cope-in-crisis

Continuing with the national outcry, I brought the poem to our Hospice group, reading some of the lines, and members wrote their own poems and thoughts about what they had learned about grief or were experiencing that day, as they always do. What was different is that this time they were united with a wide swath of others experiencing grief as if looking through a glass window West to East, South to North, seeing themselves reflected, encouraged to take another step, which is one of the healing effects of poetry. It only takes one line that opens the heart, and another ear to hear it, and nod Yes.

Perie Longo, PhD, MFT, Bereavement Counselor

Perie leads our bereavement poetry/writing group, which she has offered since 2003. What attracted Peri to Hospice originally was the support she received from HSB in the aftermath of her husband's death. After attending the widow/widower’s support group, she was invited to lead a poetry/writing group. Perie has been in private practice as a marriage and family therapist since 1991, and is also a registered poetry therapist and a past poet laureate of Santa Barbara (2007-09). She has led poetry workshops for California Poets in the Schools and the Santa Barbara Writers Conference for 30 years. She earned her M.A. from UCLA and PhD from Sierra University. She has published four books of Poetry: Milking the Earth, The Privacy of Wind, With Nothing Behind But Sky: A Journey through Grief, and Baggage Claim as well as individual poems in many journals. She enjoys hiking, beach walks, reading, and gardening.