Remembering

“Oh, that I were as in the months of old…” – Job 29:1

Sometimes I think back on the last time I had coffee with someone. The last time I went to the gym and the library. The last time I scrubbed into a case. The last time I sat in a sanctuary and heard the voices of people singing around me. The last time I went shopping at the mall. The last time I tried on a shirt before buying it. I can remember almost every detail about each of those times: how it felt, what I wore, who I saw. Back then, I had no idea I wouldn’t be doing those things again for a long time. Sometimes remembering makes me mad. Mostly it makes me a little sad. 

The complicated thing is that I find I’m remembering not only for myself, but for my kids as well. I feel an inexplicable level of frustration, for example, that Eric can no longer swim, that something so much a part of his physical and mental and social life is suddenly gone. It’s just sad to see it and it makes me hurt. I feel the same way when I see Ellie waving at her best friends in class zooms. I know the kind of pre-teen camaraderie and inside jokes and conversations she had with her friends in class is just not possible now. 

And just as I’m processing my own sadness, I’m watching them process their own grief too, in different ways and at different times. This morning, an angry outburst from one of the kids about homeschooling turned into them admitting for the first time that they miss school and wished they go back. Even eight weeks in, we’re still adjusting. We’re still remembering.

Job spends an entire chapter remembering his old life. Back when he was in his prime, when his “steps were washed with butter.” How he felt, how people responded to him, what he did, what he dreamed of. Part of loss is remembering. I told the kids this morning what I’m telling myself, that it’s okay to remember, to talk about it, to feel sad and sometimes mad. Job does. He talks to his friends and to God, and we find out later in chapter 38 that God was listening the entire time.