Our everyday life has been fractured, and we are all in the process of putting pieces back together. Previously, I could imagine that I saw the political and social world through a telescope or microscope, but now I’m looking in a kaleidoscope. My initial shock at seeing mostly empty streets and grocery shelves is receding, but the pathway to discomfort, anxiety, even depression, is still just a few steps away. So far, my ragged attempts at living in a new world fall into three categories.
They’re sometimes called the question words: who, what, when, where, why, how? Our minds are filled with questions about income, health, investments, school, job, friends, contacts, children, future, etc., etc. but essentially, no one has answers. Not Dr. Fauci (infectious disease fighter since 1984), employers, teachers, or government officials. Down deep, we know that nothing is certain and we have little control over much of our lives. But adding uncertainty about income (for food, shelter, and clothing) and essential human contact is a heavy burden to carry.
One reason is the hidden nature of the virus. I feel healthy, have no symptoms, and believe I would be one of the 90+% who recover if I became infected. But I could still be carrying the virus and spreading it to others more susceptible. Or, I could receive it from other healthy people in stores, with family, etc.
In times of national crisis, we naturally seek guidance and reassurance from national leaders. President Trump has often emphasized his right to free speech. But the Supreme Court years ago suggested that no one has the right to shout “Fire!” in a crowded theater. Initially, Trump’s random tweets and scattershot approach were like shouting “There’s no fire here” in a burning theater, or “There’s a fire but you’ll have to put it out yourselves.” Forcing states to bid against each other in a desperate search for medical supplies again shows Trump washing his hands, not to prevent the virus, but to avoid responsibility for his constitutional mandate to “promote the general welfare.” Unified action — from the top down— is required for the physical and mental health of our society.
For many, this is a crisis of life and death. Some people deflect concern by pointing to deaths from the flu, pandemics through history, or God’s mysterious plan that includes unspeakable war, genocide, and natural disasters. Those ideas might be comforting until a tragedy hits close to home. Losing thousands of elderly and vulnerable people doesn’t lessen the heartbreak attached to each. This virus is killing many who would not have died anyway. The deaths don’t replace others; they pile on top.
Just two quick stories, neither of which occurred in my immediate social circle. One virus death is the grandfather of a fine young teen who is close to our family. The elderly man had health problems, but the added tragedy was the isolation involved. His family and wife of many years could not visit, and she can’t receive visits during her immediate grief because of her exposure. Many of those hit hardest by the virus will suffer and die alone.
We also have a family friend with Alzheimer’s in a care facility. She doesn’t know names, etc., but knows she had family visits, which have ended because of virus restrictions. Her agitation and anguish have multiplied in this sudden vacuum.
Everyone will feel these stories soon enough. We can only hope and pray there is an end on the horizon.
As the uncertainty and heartbreak mount, I try to count my many blessings daily. One is living in a rural area as spring arrives. The warm earth will still smell rich and fertile, grass will grow, and flowers bloom. We are still free to enjoy the majestic and uncrowded spaces plentiful in Western Massachusetts. Walking, biking, and hiking can keep the blood flowing at a safe social distance.
And don’t forget the children. They need our help, and we need theirs. If it’s possible, enjoy the fountain of youth that bubbles forth from children and grandchildren. They are struggling, too, but are often astoundingly resilient in the mysterious ways of the young. Help them focus on an enjoyable experience in the present, and what is passed between you is not a virus, but a joyous, timeless moment. The kaleidoscope becomes a stunning vision of beauty rather than a patchwork of sharp angles and mismatched colors.
Allen Woods is a freelance writer and author living in Greenfield. He completed this unpublished piece in late March 2020 and notes it is mostly still applicable. Comments are welcome at awoods2846@gmail.com.