That was a phrase I used in my eulogy for my mother, as a way to describe the space felt by such a loss, and I came across it again in an astoundingly good book I’ve just finished, Lost and Found, by Kathryn Shultz.
It seems like a perfect description of what we are all experiencing right now.
Everywhere we look there is absence. On our calendars, on grocery shelves, in our children’s classrooms, in restaurants and theaters, in the once-familiar texture of our days, in life as it used to be. The relentless disappearance of all we’ve long taken for granted is a fact with which we must reckon daily. We can no longer truly see each other, masked as we are—we struggle with the absence of spontaneity, the lack of joy, the unbalancing of constant uncertainty.
All those absences have marked my own experience. When I saw the poem of hers Junie’s mother posted on Facebook, I sighed in deep kinship with her feelings. “Locked in a dome…lonely as a bone,” captures such universal experience with her own, a true poet’s gift.
And she was only seven when she wrote those poignant words.
That’s how I’ve been feeling too, Junie, I wanted to say. I miss my friends, having them over for dinner without worrying about where they’ve been, if they’ve been exposed—going out for lunch at The Green Café after my beloved yoga classes at Space---getting on the Metro-North for a trip to the city to see so many I love who live there, go to museums and plays as I used to. I miss my sister, last seen behind a glass-paned door, both of us masked, me freezing in the winter weather. I missed Christmas with my Covid-quarantined son and his family. I miss easy hugs, the lack of hesitancy in giving and receiving them.
I miss life without fear.
So that bone-loneliness I have felt for these Omicron months has pushed me to leave my self-imposed captivity in Northwest Connecticut to come here to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, where I write this post. Offered a four- week fellowship, I could not refuse, knowing how I needed this creative shelter right now. Comforted by the protocols—masking inside, testing twice upon coming, separation from others for most of the day in this lovely studio I’ve been given—I thankfully acceded to my husband’s offer to drive me down (no plane to worry about).
So, I’ve arrived and settled into my capacious, sunny studio apartment, stacked books, pads, and folders of poems on the table by the big cozy couch. Old friends are here and new ones await meeting. We gather for dinner, and after, around the fireplace, my first night in this weird Covid bardo. The presence of absence, indeed. I’ve been here many times pre-pandemic and never hesitated to join a group, have loved and been fed by the creative tribe and its rich interchanges.
But I hung back, feeling my way. I don’t want to get Covid, now or ever, though a doctor friend assures me with my boostered status I will not get very ill if I do. I’ve been so careful it’s become a new habit, this anxiety about mixing with the unknown. I’ll have to edge my way back into risk, balancing the desire for human and creative connection with my need for safety and trust.
I need to find a way to do that.
Junie, I want to not only “remder ther toch” (sic) but feel it in actuality, as I think you must too. I don’t want what Shultz calls “the avaricious nature of loss” to eat my spirit, to consume my time here. I don’t want Covid to hijack my life any more than it already has.
So, okay, maybe I can look at the piles of empty pads I’ve brought, the unread books I’ve brought, the unmet new friends, the walks not yet taken, and see the presence of absence too, in a more hopeful guise.
Suddenly buoyed by that thought, I think I’ll walk up to the living room and join the group having some wine before dinner.
Salute!
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Junie Hermann-Botto has been an avid reader her entire life and began writing as soon as she could hold a pencil. Currently in third grade, Junie found penning her thoughts to be a good way to cope with her big feelings when Covid-imposed social limitations got her down. February 3 was her 9th birthday.
And if you missed my book launch a few weeks ago, here is the recording. It was pretty great! https://youtu.be/MmTWYnJYx_E
Here’s the link to buy The Glass is Already Broken and all my other books: https://www.oblongbooks.com/search/site/Sharon%20Charde