My niece died three weeks ago. Since I became besties with Death while caring for my father, I thought I knew how I would feel. Nope. Death arrived with a new bag of tricks, ripping the rug from underneath my feet. My father died at 84, after 60 years of marriage, five children, an infinite number of golf rounds, and three bouts with cancer. My niece died at 32, after living with a disease for almost half of her life, and left behind two sons. I woke up tethered to my bed by the weight of my tears. My chest felt tight and I had a lump in my throat. The rug Death ripped out from under me was replaced with a muddy bog. My attempts to slog through it were met with inertia and a sinking feeling. With hesitation, I said, “Hello,” to Grief, my unwelcomed houseguest.

On a typical day, I find the fleeting moments that spark joy and gratitude. They’re in my cup of coffee, my Zoom calls with friends, and in my homemade meals. Since my niece’s death, I struggled to find those mindful moments. 

A friend said to me,“Wrap yourself in cotton balls.” I was thankful to have my slogan on self-care echoed back to me. For me, the saying invites you to add a cushion between you and life. Give yourself 5 minutes to sit and breathe. Make yourself a cup of tea. Turn off the news. It was time for me to take my own advice and insert the pillowy, white, cotton balls between me and the rest of the world. I tucked in a cotton ball when I made the tough decision not to fly home in the middle of a pandemic. I tucked in another cotton ball when I gave myself permission not to do laundry or dishes. I gave my brother handfuls of cotton balls with phone calls and random text messages. Any time the word “should” entered my mind, I inserted a fluffy ball of self-care.

My cotton ball stash created space for reflection. In the solitary moments, I thought about my niece’s experience. Although my niece spent almost half her life with multiple sclerosis, she embodied a fearless love for life. I found gratitude for being able to walk freely, unencumbered by disease. I reminded myself to look for reasons why I could do something, instead of searching for reasons not to. Looking at photos of my niece, I found gratitude for the impact a beautiful smile can have on another human being. I replaced my impatience with compassion, and remembered all of us are grieving the loss of familiarity, jobs, and loved ones. I also gave cotton balls to individuals who annoyed me, for it is likely their minor infractions were the unintended outcome of their search for grace. After connecting with myself, my cotton balls made space for community. Conversations with friends, emails, sympathy cards, and Facebook posts reminded me I was not alone. They allowed me to celebrate my niece’s life, while still feeling the sharp pangs of sadness.

This pandemic has uncovered and exacerbated so many aspects of our lives. When you layer loss on top of loss, the stress and uncertainty make it feel unbearable. Whether you are grieving the loss of your routine, your job, a loved one, or all of the above; please be nice to yourself. Wrap yourself in cotton balls.