The Covid /
Separation
Cheryl L. McLean
I had never been a patient person...What time is it? was a frequent question. Now it seems the day, the time, doesn't matter much.
I feel the pain and grief of this covid separation. Grieving the loss of the old life, normalcy, dinners and in person visits with friends and family ending with hugs, having coffee at a coffee shop that was always crowded and too small, squeezing in next to strangers who became friends at the end of the too long coffee time, going to a concert, dancing with a crowd, or just going anywhere without the social distance. Today we are wearing masks on our faces, our hands in gloves, stepping forward and quickly backward, living with the suspicions that this or that or he or she may be infected.
The unknown does not respect social distancing. It is the unknown that has settled in way too close, in through and around me. I can try to distance myself from things strange and unsure, things that have no answers , places once familiar like grocery stores now obscure and confusing, from listening and watching the news where promises and directives from sober leaders seem like care and helpfulness, strict rules to be observed for the good of us all, I think, all this too must be wiped down with bleach and disinfected carefully before taking it in to my house and storing it like another bag of suspect bread or toxic cereal.
I am acutely aware that my mental health depends on knowing what is and isn't true, so I try to observe at least six feet clearance from the daily infection rates and up-to-date death statistics stay far away from opinions and fake news and the infectious and sad evidence of grossly insufficient preparation and profits over people.
What I know and what I am sure of today is that something is very wrong here as I live through this covid separation and I lose patience and feel like weeping as I grab again for my face mask and squeeze out upon my open hand some home made solution of aloe vera and vodka we made because all the wipes and hand washes are sold out where I live and everything around me is closed, vacated and empty.
I grieve for togetherness, the old ordinary that I knew, those days of simple living and human connection, I grieve for the trust I had that things could be ok and fine just the way they were. And when I feel the wave of loss and sadness returning I remind myself, we still have so much here in the covid in between, for now. In my immediate circle we are all well at the moment, we can communicate with family not in person but in other ways, there is more than enough food, we can turn on the lights, watch TV, read, write, sing, or open the door go outside for walks and come back home to a warm solid house to isolate in, a place to sit, to sleep. I must hold tight to these many ordinary but extraordinary gifts I still have in my hand, these threads of the new moment because, in truth, one never knows when one by one these threads too may be yanked from the hand and another perhaps even stranger new moment will begin.
The Covid /
Separation
Cheryl L. McLean
I had never been a patient person...What time is it? was a frequent question. Now it seems the day, the time, doesn't matter much.
I feel the pain and grief of this covid separation. Grieving the loss of the old life, normalcy, dinners and in person visits with friends and family ending with hugs, having coffee at a coffee shop that was always crowded and too small, squeezing in next to strangers who became friends at the end of the too long coffee time, going to a concert, dancing with a crowd, or just going anywhere without the social distance. Today we are wearing masks on our faces, our hands in gloves, stepping forward and quickly backward, living with the suspicions that this or that or he or she may be infected.
The unknown does not respect social distancing. It is the unknown that has settled in way too close, in through and around me. I can try to distance myself from things strange and unsure, things that have no answers , places once familiar like grocery stores now obscure and confusing, from listening and watching the news where promises and directives from sober leaders seem like care and helpfulness, strict rules to be observed for the good of us all, I think, all this too must be wiped down with bleach and disinfected carefully before taking it in to my house and storing it like another bag of suspect bread or toxic cereal.
I am acutely aware that my mental health depends on knowing what is and isn't true, so I try to observe at least six feet clearance from the daily infection rates and up-to-date death statistics stay far away from opinions and fake news and the infectious and sad evidence of grossly insufficient preparation and profits over people.
What I know and what I am sure of today is that something is very wrong here as I live through this covid separation and I lose patience and feel like weeping as I grab again for my face mask and squeeze out upon my open hand some home made solution of aloe vera and vodka we made because all the wipes and hand washes are sold out where I live and everything around me is closed, vacated and empty.
I grieve for togetherness, the old ordinary that I knew, those days of simple living and human connection, I grieve for the trust I had that things could be ok and fine just the way they were. And when I feel the wave of loss and sadness returning I remind myself, we still have so much here in the covid in between, for now. In my immediate circle we are all well at the moment, we can communicate with family not in person but in other ways, there is more than enough food, we can turn on the lights, watch TV, read, write, sing, or open the door go outside for walks and come back home to a warm solid house to isolate in, a place to sit, to sleep. I must hold tight to these many ordinary but extraordinary gifts I still have in my hand, these threads of the new moment because, in truth, one never knows when one by one these threads too may be yanked from the hand and another perhaps even stranger new moment will begin.