Corona Virus.
When I first read the reports in January. I thought, what is a corona virus? It seemed so far away. I did my ‘go–to–reaction’ when something or some word left me uneasy or when that little red flag warning flickered inside my chest. My go to was a U-turn in my brain to think about something pleasant. Perhaps start reading a new book.
Besides, I was consumed with grief in Jan. My husband Gene and I were both morning the loss of our beloved 9-year-old Annabelle. Our golden girl. We had loved that dog so much and our grief was equal and all-encompassing to the love we had felt for her. I did not have time to worry about no virus. Plus we had had our flu shots.
Covid19.
In February, we were in Washington state, cold with frigid winds, when I became aware of the fact that Seattle was experiencing deaths from this covid19. I tried to turn off the flicker which grew a bit stronger in the almost empty airport as we headed back to San Diego with reports of the virus blasting from every gate.
I had other things to think about. We had been visiting our grandson at his university. It had taken our minds off our grief, softened the sadness of losing our dear dog. We had lots to do and renewed energy for when we returned home. I had sent my manuscript out to beta readers. The SD Writers Festival was coming up. Lots to do. No time to worry about no virus.
Corona Virus deaths.
That tiny flicker started growing – burning steady as March blew in. The statistics were not promising. At that time the virus seemed to target seniors. Gene and I are both in our 70s. I have asthma. “But it’s under control.” I say a loud. “But you have had some serious breathing issues in the past, and high blood pressure.” As always, my devoted Gene is worried out loud.
I try to change the subject. Change my thoughts. I watch the news and shake my head. What does this all mean? Shelter in place? Social distancing? Masks? No Masks? Hand sanitizers? Wash wash wash hands?
I reach out to my children. I repeat the precautions to my adult sons, shelter in place, social distance, masks, wash, wash, wash your hands. Depending on what part of the country they live in determines their concern for safety and what is going on in the country. Kansas, Louisiana… not as concerned. The sons here in California are most concerned and already starting to work from home and sheltering in place. The governor has asked all Californians to stay home, schools are closed, no events, no restaurants, no gatherings of more than 10.
The flicker expands in my chest.
News gets more frightening daily.
I try to do my ‘go to – buried head in the sand routine.’ I turn off the news and concentrate on my manuscript. Think positive. Think future. I tell myself. This too shall pass. To distract myself I start thinking up ideas for a baby shower in May for our 10th grandbaby, due in June. Work on next step now that I have completed my manuscript. Which publishers to send to? Our Writers Festival is postponed. Everything on Zoom now. Before covid19 I hardly knew what Zoom was. Our SDMWA meeting cancelled. Zoom. I cancel our Finches book club at my home. Zoom. Our classes are closed. Zoom. Zoom Zoom.
God who knew Zoom would be a lifesaver.
Ventilators. Covid19 cases doubling daily. Hospitals running out of beds, supplies. Mask shortage. Masks? No Masks? The stock market–crashed, crashed, crashed. Businesses folding. Unemployment staggering. Bad News. Scary News. There will be a vaccine. Soon? Not soon enough.
So much conflicting news. By the end of March, that flicker is ablaze. It never lightens up now.
I tell myself thank God all our family and friends are doing well. So far. So good. And we are too. We are still sheltering in place. We are extremely cautious. We are still smiling most days. It’s a good thing Gene and I like each. Together 24/7 after 43 years is a lot of togetherness for two independent people. We decide how insanely lucky we are. How our love for each other still magically colors our days. Pinch me.
Everything still shut down. Clamped down tighter than before. Healthcare providers call and cancel our April appts. You can Zoom your doctor if you absolutely must, they say. I have not left the house in a month. Gene, only for groceries, necessities, clad in mask, gloves, antibacterial wipes in hand. It’s as if I am sending my knight in shining armor out to do war.
That flicker is raging now. It is April. Life as we know it has screeched to a halt. News too terrifying to watch. In the still of the night as I listen to my husband’s light snoring, I reach for his hand. He half wakes and squeezes mine. We have lived a good life together, through rough patches, through glorious bright days. But, our children. Our grandchildren. What will their lives be like? Will this ever end? When will their lives be easy again? Will all changes be for the best? Is this the end?
Protests everywhere. Seems like half the country wants to escape out of their homes and resume life pre-covid19. There are confusing reports daily. We see a lot of complaining screamers, demanding their rights to return their ‘normal’ lives acting out like spoiled children, oblivious to scientist and brilliant medical experts. They want their beaches back, their bars, their hair salons, their lives and jobs. Who can blame them? But is it too soon? Is this really happening?
Mixed messages daily from an administration obviously not equipped to handle this crisis. ‘There may be a vaccine by end of year… there will not be a vaccine for a year.’ Social media is in overdrive. Many lament it is the end of the world, still many remain positive, their faces to the sun, refusing to fall victim to the negativity. The daily briefings make one’s head spin. One thing for sure, our economy, our world, travel, education, life as we know it has turned upside down. I have not left the house or yard in 2 months.
Mid May.
The flicker is steady, eased up, but there. People still dying. But the air is cleaner than it has been in decades. People are cooking more, walking their neighborhoods more. Maybe we are learning how important our connections with our loved ones really are to us now that we miss them daily. Country opening up. I watch with a let us see what happens next attitude. I remain cautious. Vigilant. There comes a time I settle and accept. There comes a time I look for the good. I calm myself at night when the worries of the future bring tears to my eyes and trembles in my body. I brace myself for what may happen, or what may not. I grieve for what was and that I didn’t even realize what we had. I tell myself I will learn from this, as will the whole world. Be brave I tell myself. This too shall pass.
I hold it together on this very different Mother’s Day. I get calls and texts, smiling facetimes from all six of our adult kids and few of the grandkids. I miss their hugs, touching their faces. I am grateful for any contact and for their health and happiness.
Gene and I enjoy our new puppy. I push myself to write, to go to my Zoom classes, meetings… I try not to hurt inside when I realize there will be no baby shower and I may not get to hold that new grandchild being born in June for who knows how long. I certainly will not be allowed at the hospital for his birth. I tell myself I will not permit myself to enter that road to self–pity. I chastise myself if I flirt with that road.
“Look how lucky you are? Look at the good.” Still, I worry about the virus.
I stare out the window. Spring is beautiful as ever. Maybe more so. And there is hope. There always is.
Laura L. Engel
May 2020