Passages

I write a blog. I keep a journal. I do it to stay sane, and sometimes refer to passages as my bitch-fests.

As I scrolled through some of last year's work, I found this post, and thought I would share it. In some ways, we have progressed since this was first written. In others, well-- this little post emphasizes how far we still have to go.

This wasn't a bitch fest, just some musings during Easter week last year--the first year there would be no big family gatherings allowed. I was facing a milestone birthday, dealing with my father's dementia issues, trying to come to terms with a world-wide epidemic and wishing for better times.

On APRIL 4, 2020, I wrote the following:

This was my first and last Easter as an only child.

Math tells me that even then, my sister was present. You can’t tell, but since she was born in November, she is in the picture with my parents and me.

Just a little of the silliness going through my head today, I reckon. I come across old photos fairly often, since I do spend some time researching family history from time to time. Finding old photos of myself always gives me a bit of a jump, though. How did I get from there to here?

This is me, aged 11 months. 59 years ago. Good grief, how is it possible that the next birthday I celebrate–always assuming I last another month–I will be 60 years old?

Now, that disclaimer: No one knows when their time is up until that last second of time, that last breath exhaled. I am not suffering any life-threatening illness at this time (that I know of, at least), but that’s no guarantee. And I’m not being dramatic or seeking sympathy, I am simply stating a bold fact of life.

On the hopeful side, I am just going to assume that I will indeed be here a month from today and I will hit that milestone birthday.

It’s hard to believe. Sixty. The big six-zero. Whoa.

For perspective, you should know that as a kid, I never believed anyone would make it to the year 2000. Wasn’t possible. I could not be *gasp!* 40. Besides, the world would probably end.

As the year 2000 approached and the doomsday chants began, and Y-2K became a thing, I was more in the mindset of “Oh, crap, I really am going to be 40!” I no longer believed the world would end just because a new millennium was dawning. I went to bed, read a book and welcomed the year 2000 at midnight by getting a glass of juice and toasting the tv screen. The lights stayed on, my computer still worked and I would still be required to go to work and pay my bills on time.

So much for the end of the world.

Since the turn of the millennium, we have experienced several life-changing epidemics: Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS), H1N1 Influenza, Middle East Respiratory Syndrome (MERS) and Ebola.

The world survived.

The world has survived a lot.

My paternal great-grandmother, who was my father’s paternal grandmother, died in the influenza epidemic in the early 20th century, along with my grandfather’s brothers. Grandpa Shablo was the only surviving male child of his family.

But now, I can point to my uncles and cousins who carry on the family name. The family lost members, but it continued.

The same can be said for many other families. We went on.

Now, we find ourselves in the midst of a world-wide pandemic, COVID-19. Things haven’t been handled as well as they could have been. People have panicked and hoarded essential products. We are overloaded with information, most of it exaggerated or patently false. There is no cure, no vaccine and no proven treatment.

Unlike in my great-grandmother’s time, there is a plethora of scientific information available to help find answers. There are world-wide communities of experts, sharing communications and resources, at work in an effort to eradicate this threat.

There are real people with real information working hard to make sure what we learn is true and useful, rather than demoralizing and fear-inducing.

There are also, unfortunately, those who would take advantage of the situation by spreading rumors and lies, selling useless “cures”, buying up resources and re-selling at grotesquely inflated prices and whipping us all into a state of frenzied fear.

I want you to beware of those who seek to gain for themselves by taking from you. Some will truly appear in sheep’s clothing, angelic and caring on the surface, but evil within.

I won’t lie to you. This is a scary time.

So, is this the REAL end of the world?

I don’t think so.

I am not a doctor. I am not an expert in anything, not even my own day-to-day life. But I don’t believe this is THE END.

Humans have a great capacity for adjustment. We never would have survived at all if we weren’t capable of making the necessary changes to our lives when things went awry.

Sure, there were those who didn’t follow quarantine rules during the plague. Culled from the herd, weren’t they?

Life has ever been survival of the fittest. Sometimes “fittest” is not just physical fitness, but also intellectual fitness.

I actually have a little intellectual fitness. Not a lot, but it beats the hell out of my physical fitness, and so it is what I am exercising in these crazy days.

We were told to practice social distancing. I’m already damned good at that; I’m reclusive by nature. Wash your hands frequently. Check! I do that all day long. Stay home. Well, ta da! I hardly ever go anywhere.

My big, huge and terrible downfall will be the order to keep my hands off my face. Whining: It’s so hard!

As a person with severe allergies, I have often used masks, home made and others. I don’t like them much, but they are absolutely essential to me in some situations. I have zero issues with wearing one if I have to go out in public.

Now, you’d think that would keep my hands off my face, but I have to confess something. While masked, I practice mask-adjusting. Too high, too low, too tight, not tight enough. You can see how the face-touching is going to be the death of me, right?

I’m not terribly social, but I do miss people, and I hope this situation eases soon so we can be with those we care about without worrying that we might cause them to become ill or worse.

In the meantime, I want you all to believe that the world will not end, humans will survive until the next big threat, and we will get back to some state of normalcy that may indeed be a New Normal. A Better Normal.

We’re still okay, until the Zombie Apocalypse comes. Then, it’s every man for himself, and the last thing you’ll be stressing over will be toilet paper.

Be aware. Stay six feet apart. Wear a mask when you go out in public. Stay home as much as possible. Wash your hands. Wash them again. Keep washing them. Call me once in a while and tell me to stop touching my face. Don’t touch your face. Be smart. Be safe.

We’ll get through this. Together, apart.

Here’s to making it to 60.

Happy Saturday.

*****

Today is APRIL 12, 2021.

Since that post, I have lost my father. He suffered a fall a few weeks after this was written and broke several bones, which meant he'd have to be in a rehabilitation facility for some time while he healed.

No visitors.

He suffered from dementia, so he could never retain the memories of WHY no visitors could come inside to see him. His understanding of the situation went something like this:

Speaking on phones and looking at each other through a window--"Hi! Come on in!"

"We can't come in, Dad."

"Why?"

"There's an epidemic going around, and it isn't safe for us to go inside. We don't want you to get sick."

"Oh, yeah, I remember hearing something like that."

"Are you eating?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing your exercises?"

"Sure. Come on in!"

"We can't, Dad."

"Why?"

And so forth, and so on.

My father didn't catch Covid-19. It was not his "cause of death". Nevertheless, it killed him. It killed many who were lonely and heartbroken, unable to hug and hold the hands of loved ones while they dealt with other health issues.

We were fortunate in the fact that we got to bring him home for his last few days, and he was aware that he was with his family in his own house.

Not everyone has been that lucky.

Over the course of the last year, I have seen my friends lose their parents. I have lost friends and relatives. It has been a dreadful period to live through.

We dealt with a funeral. I dealt with a mourning pup.

If anyone ever tells me again that dogs are "just animals", I might punch them. For weeks afterward, she would give me reproachful looks if I sat in his chair. Dogs get it.

After the funeral, the flooded basement.

After that came the hurricane blizzard--on what would have been Dad's 85th birthday.

Enough should be enough, right?

But, no.

Mom and I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's alone, with brief visits from others, two at a time. After Dad's death, we all became hyper- vigilant about keeping Mom safe.

Finally, we got a call: Mom was approved for her vaccine!

A little flash of sunlight through the clouds.

She has since completed both rounds of vaccine, and I am awaiting my second dose.

Easter was nice. Small gatherings, but at least not alone again.

So what's the good news, one year later?

Covid-19 still reigns as the killer-king of the decade, but science has brought us treatment plans and vaccines, and things may soon be at a more managable level. I'm hopeful that at some point in the future we may be able to reunite with family members in a safe environment and break bread together, share conversation and give hugs.

BUT...

It's not over. People are still engaging in risky behavior by not following CDC guidelines that, especially now, encourage the wearing of masks, frequently washing hands and maintaining distance from others.

I want to blame this on the misinformation that still prevails in certain places, but I find myself most frequently blaming it on willful stupidity and selfishness. Personally, that seems the more likely scenario to me.

There. I said it. Sue me.

The American people have astonished me in the past year.

The good have been very, very good.

But the rest have been...spoiled rotten, entitled and selfish little shits!

Now, provided no gun-toting bad guy shoots me in the grocery store in the next three weeks, (it could happen; one of those rotten, entitled and selfish shits might read this) I am coming up on another birthday. It's not a milestone, but my flabber is gasted over the fact that I am in the midst of my sixth decade on this planet. I still can't get over that--how did it happen so fast?

In spite of everything, I still don't think this is THE END.

So, I repeat: Be aware. Stay six feet apart. Wear a mask when you go out in public. Stay home as much as possible. Wash your hands. Wash them again. Keep washing them. Call me once in a while and tell me to stop touching my face.(Because, after a year--damnit!--it's still going to be the death of me!) Don’t touch your face. Be smart. Be safe.

We’ll get through this. Together, apart.

Here’s to making it to 61.

Happy Monday.

This was a painful article to write. I miss my father. I miss the family and friends lost this past year, some to Covid-19, and some to other causes. I know I'm not alone in this. It hasn't been fun.

If you took anything away from this, please consider sharing with your friends and clicking that heart button below.

And please--take care of yourselves and each other.