Seems like it was just last week…
February 28, 2020, three miles down the road, the first US cases of COVID-19 are diagnosed. The global pandemic arrives on our doorstep. My second grandling was born exactly one month earlier at the same hospital that would admit those first COVID patients. Initiating the start to an unfathomable death count.
But in January with no idea what was around the corner, we could all be at the hospital to welcome her. The third grandling came this past December – no guests allowed at the hospital except his dad. In the intervening months between #2 and #3 there were so many women who gave birth without the gentle touch of a partner near them, and too many partners who missed the miracle of their own child’s birth.
The pandemic put a halt to so much. Cut us off from the taken-for-granted; forced us into aloneness with the twins – fear and anxiety. Those two show up whenever we confront uncertainty – especially about illness and death.
I weep more now than I did in the 70’s for the soldiers torn apart in Viet Nam, in the 80’s for our gay brothers (and all affected by AIDS) tormented by a slow, ravaging death, the 90’s for those sent off to Iraq and Afghanistan to fight an endless war in near uninhabitable landscapes, for the New Yorkers – the families who lived through 9-11…for coal miners, and victims of school shootings, neighborhoods plagued with too many guns, racial injustice and those who are part of the opiode epidemic to mention a few.
I weep more now.
Continue to Part III.