I wonder what my ancestors would think; the ones who attended wars, pandemics, and survived to go on. I sit here by my beloved Mac, it is 6PM and the birds are lively, I hear people out walking. And I am going through the pandemic of my generation. Also I am drinking whiskey. My husband, having finished with work, is scrolling through Netflix, my mom is resting in her room, and my son is on PS4 with his friends. What would they make of this?
I mean, we are under quarantine like most people, which means we don’t save lives directly or sacrifice our own. I have chores, and since I’ve been cleaning so much I have no time for anything else other than twitter and a movie with mom every night.
But like during all other pandemics, and like Mary Oliver says, the world goes on; spring is here with happy noises of birds, the squirrels play seriously around the trees, the rats makes nests (in our cars!!, very disturbing really). And at the same time we hear a loved one’s father is in hospital for life emergency in England, alone, who contracted this virus in the hospital after the procedure, then we hear about a loved one’s coworker in Europe, whose husband passed away of a heart attack while they told them all was fine when they called the doctor, and now the surviving spouse has to stay home with her grief, by herself. Our hearts are wrenched.
Then I get paranoid about the hikers that walk too close to our backyard, especially when my mom is out there sipping her coffee.
I listen to audiobooks that tell me to love what is. And ‘what is’ truly sucks, especially for some of us. I don’t know how to love it. But love I feel, especially for the ones that are in unprecedented pain that this pandemic has brought, and I keep saying this Hawaiian prayer over and over, thinking of them, knowing it could be me: I’m sorry, I love you, thank you… I’m sorry, I love you, thank you…
