Covid-19...A Life-Changer
Here I sit, safe and comfortable in my room...well-fed...in need of nothing I can think of-
except, of course, to have my "life" back. And yet, I know that it will be a long, long time before that happens...before life is some semblance of what we once thought of as "normal". So I find that, as much as I would like to believe otherwise, I am in mourning, grieving for the life that once was and which may, realistically, never be again. Oh, I don't mean to sound pessimistic but let's face the facts- and they are actually very few: this virus is unlike anything medicine and science has seen before and regardless of where it came from or how it began, it is affecting the whole world to one degree or another. The experts in medicine and public health are not at all certain about more things than about which they are sure. Yes, they know this virus is especially communicable. That seems to be a given. But what they do not know is 1) how many of us are walking around spreading the virus because we have it without symptoms- and are unable to get tested; 2) how accurate the tests really are and if a person needs to be repeatedly re-tested; 3) how long immunity lasts after one recovers from the virus; 4) if having the virus even confers immunity on a person; 5) if a person, once recovered, is still able to spread the virus to others and, if so, for how long; and 6) what the long-range effects on the body may be for those who get the virus, are hospitalized, and recover, since the virus effects so many different organ systems.
So I, for one, am in no hurry for things to re-open until we have more data, more facts, more information. But as I look around my neighborhood, my city, I seem to be in the vast minority, as- especially since we have moved to Phase 1 in North Carolina- there are so many people out and about not social distancing (which is still part of this phase), not wearing masks (also recommended in Phase 1), and acting as if everything is over and back to "normal". Traffic here has pretty much reached pre-shutdown levels (though I'm not sure where everyone is going) and I've been seeing groups of people outside (up to 10 is permitted in Phase 1 but only with social distancing) with seeming disregard for any of the restrictions still in effect.
As a clergyperson, I am very aware of the desire to return to in-person, corporte worship. I am very aware of those who are lonely and depressed and fearful. I am very aware of those who have been laid off or lost their jobs, with the accompanying loss of income and all the problems inherent in that. I am very aware of the strain and stress of having to home-school children, of working at home, of trying to shop safely, and all the rest staying-in-place entails. But I am also very aware of the numbers of my parishoners who are elderly, as well as those who are especially vulnerable because of health issues, precious lives I am unwilling to risk for the sake of opening up the economy. These are not "expendables" but are children of God, and they deserve our loving consideration and protection.
For you see, I am wearing a mask when I go into stores not only for my own protection but for the protection of my neighbors, for the protection of anyone with whom I might come in contact. I am washing my hands and using hand sanitizer for all I know and don't know who might be at risk. This unseen, little-understood virus is threatening all of us and I, for one, do not want to be part of unknowingly passing it along to someone else- not when I can do something to help prevent that.
But to get back to the grief I am feeling each day...and trying to deny. I miss my friends. I
miss my family. I miss worshipping together. I miss going out for lunch or having people over for dinner. I miss browsing at my favorite bookstore and sitting at my favorite coffee shop with a cappuchino while I read. I miss the simple things of life which now are off-limits. And the thought that life will likely not return to its pre-virus status for a long, long, long time hits me in the pit of my stomach. The thought of not being able to sing in the choir or during the worship service makes my heart ache. The thought of not being able to hug anyone for months more is almost unbearable. And yet, I persist.
I believe we must ALL persist...because this is the most loving, compassionate, responsible thing to do...in spite of the hardships, in spite of the financial struggles and ramifications, in spite of the grief and loneliness and separation. Because life is precious- EVERY life. And the responsibility of each one of us is to care about and for those around us, until answers are forthcoming...until the numbers of cases begins to drop...until the public health officials tell us with certainty that the pandemic is over, whether we are happy about this or not. To NOT do all we individually can is both selfish and inconsiderate at best, threatening and death-dealing at worst. Surely we can do better, friends and neighbors. Surely we can.
except, of course, to have my "life" back. And yet, I know that it will be a long, long time before that happens...before life is some semblance of what we once thought of as "normal". So I find that, as much as I would like to believe otherwise, I am in mourning, grieving for the life that once was and which may, realistically, never be again. Oh, I don't mean to sound pessimistic but let's face the facts- and they are actually very few: this virus is unlike anything medicine and science has seen before and regardless of where it came from or how it began, it is affecting the whole world to one degree or another. The experts in medicine and public health are not at all certain about more things than about which they are sure. Yes, they know this virus is especially communicable. That seems to be a given. But what they do not know is 1) how many of us are walking around spreading the virus because we have it without symptoms- and are unable to get tested; 2) how accurate the tests really are and if a person needs to be repeatedly re-tested; 3) how long immunity lasts after one recovers from the virus; 4) if having the virus even confers immunity on a person; 5) if a person, once recovered, is still able to spread the virus to others and, if so, for how long; and 6) what the long-range effects on the body may be for those who get the virus, are hospitalized, and recover, since the virus effects so many different organ systems.
So I, for one, am in no hurry for things to re-open until we have more data, more facts, more information. But as I look around my neighborhood, my city, I seem to be in the vast minority, as- especially since we have moved to Phase 1 in North Carolina- there are so many people out and about not social distancing (which is still part of this phase), not wearing masks (also recommended in Phase 1), and acting as if everything is over and back to "normal". Traffic here has pretty much reached pre-shutdown levels (though I'm not sure where everyone is going) and I've been seeing groups of people outside (up to 10 is permitted in Phase 1 but only with social distancing) with seeming disregard for any of the restrictions still in effect.
As a clergyperson, I am very aware of the desire to return to in-person, corporte worship. I am very aware of those who are lonely and depressed and fearful. I am very aware of those who have been laid off or lost their jobs, with the accompanying loss of income and all the problems inherent in that. I am very aware of the strain and stress of having to home-school children, of working at home, of trying to shop safely, and all the rest staying-in-place entails. But I am also very aware of the numbers of my parishoners who are elderly, as well as those who are especially vulnerable because of health issues, precious lives I am unwilling to risk for the sake of opening up the economy. These are not "expendables" but are children of God, and they deserve our loving consideration and protection.
For you see, I am wearing a mask when I go into stores not only for my own protection but for the protection of my neighbors, for the protection of anyone with whom I might come in contact. I am washing my hands and using hand sanitizer for all I know and don't know who might be at risk. This unseen, little-understood virus is threatening all of us and I, for one, do not want to be part of unknowingly passing it along to someone else- not when I can do something to help prevent that.
But to get back to the grief I am feeling each day...and trying to deny. I miss my friends. I
miss my family. I miss worshipping together. I miss going out for lunch or having people over for dinner. I miss browsing at my favorite bookstore and sitting at my favorite coffee shop with a cappuchino while I read. I miss the simple things of life which now are off-limits. And the thought that life will likely not return to its pre-virus status for a long, long, long time hits me in the pit of my stomach. The thought of not being able to sing in the choir or during the worship service makes my heart ache. The thought of not being able to hug anyone for months more is almost unbearable. And yet, I persist.
I believe we must ALL persist...because this is the most loving, compassionate, responsible thing to do...in spite of the hardships, in spite of the financial struggles and ramifications, in spite of the grief and loneliness and separation. Because life is precious- EVERY life. And the responsibility of each one of us is to care about and for those around us, until answers are forthcoming...until the numbers of cases begins to drop...until the public health officials tell us with certainty that the pandemic is over, whether we are happy about this or not. To NOT do all we individually can is both selfish and inconsiderate at best, threatening and death-dealing at worst. Surely we can do better, friends and neighbors. Surely we can.
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