A Gift in the Time of COVID-19

By Nina Shapiro-Perl, Oakland, California

My memoir group had formed pretty recently. A group of six women, black and white, who were trying to write about our lives as we approached 60, 70 and even 80.

We’d met one time in-person, and then came the pandemic and orders to shelter in place.

“Shelter in Place.” It’s actually a gentle phrase for such a harsh time. So much loss in the pandemic: loss of health, of loved ones, of jobs, of homes, of connection, of personal freedoms and simple joys …

Our group continued to meet every two weeks on Zoom, but some light had gone out for me. I couldn’t see any meaning in writing my memoir, with the world coming apart around me.

And then George Floyd was murdered. Already the pandemic had laid bare the inequalities in health and housing, access to resources, in levels of infection and illness among people of color and the poor. Like Hurricane Katrina, more than a decade ago.

But now, white people could not look away. We directly witnessed an atrocity. Protests erupted all over the country and the world. A great reckoning about America’s brutal past and the inherent racist structures of power was happening around me.

I did not march, as I would have normally. Fear of COVID, at my age, kept me on the sidelines.

I did what I could … But I grew numb.

I still was not writing.

Two weeks later, I received word from my friend in the memoir group, Helene, that her 40-year-old son, John, had died suddenly the night before, and she would be leaving for Los Angeles.

Now, more loss. And so close.

The seismic and personal losses flooded me with pain. I was lost, separated from my center. My creative voice.

Suddenly, I realized that in a few days, it would be my turn to facilitate our Zoom memoir group, the first since Helene’s son died. And she was planning to be on the call.

I felt this was a chance to do something. To use my skills in leading groups, for this moment.

I planned my opening remarks. But no notes were needed.

I said:

“Since the last time we met, there has been great loss on so many levels.

From COVID.

And the murder of George Floyd.

And now, the very personal tragedy for Helene, of losing John. A loss that is unfathomable to us all.

While our group is fairly new, in the act of writing our memoirs, we already know a lot about each other’s lives, but we can’t really know what is happening for each of us. And in the safe place we have created, let’s give everyone a chance to speak, uninterrupted.”

And so, it unfolded. Six people, all speaking, all listening. All feeling connection.

At the end of the 90 minutes, I brought the session to a close. I was listening so deeply, that it surprised me when people thanked me for facilitating so well. I looked up in shock. I hadn’t expected anything of the sort.

Tears filled my eyes. I had finally found something I could do. I was no longer numb. I could feel again. And I had found my voice.