The Five Stages of Grief--or Is That Guilt?

Grief. Anxiety. These are what I’ve been dealing with the last few weeks. And now I can add guilt. And it completely caught me by surprise.

            I’m a grocery worker. It’s a business that I enjoy for the most part. I like sales and I like the challenge of deciding what to sell, how to market it, and how to display it. But the last few years have been difficult for me because I’m blue in a red area. It didn’t use to be a problem. And really, this post isn’t about politics but I’m just going to say that I’m not as much of a people-person as I used to be. I do as much of the “behind-the-scenes” work as I can at the store, leaving the socializing to the other floor help.

            On my downtime, I like to cruise social media. I’m old enough that I didn’t grow up with the ability to easily reach out and connect with people from other countries. It’s an amazing thing and I learn so much. And several months ago, the chatter was about the virus hitting China. Common sense said it would spread and I planned ahead. I stocked up on groceries and refilled my prescription medicines at the end of February. I stowed away a little extra cash. My husband and I prepared, even when the people around us ignored it. And, as we all know, when it hit, it hit. Things at my little store went crazy. Our crew is small and we were overburdened, not taking breaks and cutting our lunches short. But it was our duty to take care of our community, and we did it.

But I’m not going to say I was happy to be there, because I was not. From the very beginning, a large percent of our customers treated it like it was a party, nothing but a big joke with toilet paper as the punch line. But the Governor had shut schools and people were scrambling. And then he shut “non-essentials” so the scramble continued. This wasn’t like when a snowstorm is predicted with everyone grabbing extra milk and bread. Our shelves were as empty as I’ve ever seen them and the supply chain had been broken. We had to begin to limit quantities. And still, they acted like it was a joke or an inconvenience.

            I became angry and tense and sick to my stomach. I turned my back when I had to walk past a customer, holding my breath as if that would help. I had a bottle of sanitizer that I carried with me and I went around several times a day with soapy bleach water and washed handles and flat surfaces. I’m not germophobic—I routinely handle raw meat with no problem. But it began to feel like I had this ticking time bomb in my body. I didn’t know when it would go off or how powerful the explosion would be. It might be nothing more than a firecracker but there were equal chances that it would be a stack of dynamite. Every breath I took felt like I was inhaling poison.

And still there were customers who refused to take it seriously. Customers that came in every day and walked around, pushing a cart down all of the aisles, talking with everyone they knew, only to buy 3 or 4 items—because they were bored. My chest grew tighter and tighter until I started having chest pains. I was so tense my muscles hurt and spasmed. I couldn’t sleep. I was nauseous and sometimes on the verge of tears. In short--I was a hot mess!
   

It wasn’t just myself and my husband that I worried about. I began to really feel the chasm that existed between me and my parents. Although they live far enough away that I don’t spend a lot of time at their house, I’ve always been available when they needed me. And suddenly, it wasn’t safe. They are in their ‘80s and Mom has COPD. I couldn’t risk it. And that knowledge made my chest tighter.

My husband was worried about me and we discussed it for two days before deciding we would go into quarantine. I was nervous about asking, but my boss was very nice about it and my husband was able to take a leave-of-absence, and so on April 1, we withdrew. Retreat is more like it. I felt like there was a battle happening and I was losing. A man in the store said to me one day, “Thank you for your service.” How was I supposed to respond to that? My brother, he’s a soldier. He served overseas. “This isn’t the same,” my brain yelled as I awkwardly thanked the man.

So now I’m home. And I found out that a couple more from the store have taken leave for health reasons. But still, there’s this guilt--that I’ve left my coworkers to deal with what’s going on--and it’s a heavy burden. A little voice keeps whispering “selfish” except, why should I feel like that? I do no one any good if I get sick from stress any more than if I get sick from the virus. If I stay healthy, then I can go back later and take over and let them rest.

I worry about my friends and family that work in medical fields. They can’t bow-out like I did. I’m in this bubble now, one I’m sure many of you feel. I’ve become an introvert and I’m here with my husband and son, so it’s not as hard on me as I’m sure it is on others. I want to do something for those who are still in the “trenches”, realizing probably the smartest thing I can do is stay out of their way.

All I can say is “I’m sorry. I wish I could have been stronger,” as I work through my grief and guilt.