The Days of the Corona

For the first two months of “the days of the corona,” Larry and I did not physically interact with our children or grandchildren, who live minutes from our home. In May we decided that since our family members were having minimal contact with the outside world, we would create an extended family pod of the seven adults and four kids. Now, I am babysitting two days a week for the “threesome,” and will help out with the sweet Emma Belle as needed as her mom and dad get back to work.

During one of my grandmother days, I overheard the delightful and still determined Elizabeth Holiday, now age five, as she covered up her doll with a blanket, talking softly because her dolly was sick with the Corona virus. That knocked the air out of my sails for a moment. 

Back on April 25, I asked, in the shadow of COVID-19, how are we doing? How are we – you and me (or is it I?)– coping, changing? The week before, I whined about closed libraries and churches, and missing the crack of the bat at the corner of East 9^thand Carnegie. I mused then that “Loss is cumulative, and the weight of loss, great and small, wears us down.” Now, it’s three months later. Our neighborhood library is still closed, as are in-person Sunday services. The Tribe is playing, but who knows if they’ll make it through a shortened season. And now my precious granddaughter is playing corona with her doll. 

In the early days, Governor DeWine held press conferences daily, and regardless of political leanings, we were encouraged by his steady presence and the calm demeanor and wise words of Dr. Amy Acton. Now, she’s resigned, and the governor is criticized right and left.

In the early days, we were grateful to find a mask of any type, any color, praying we wouldn’t infect another human. Now, we’re wearing our masks to support our favorite team or we complain every time we put them on.

In the early days, we were patient, listening to Dr. Acton and Dr. Fauci. Now, we’re grasping at straws for a miracle cure, or touting the message of America’s Frontline Doctors on the steps of the Supreme Court. One of these doctors (not the ophthalmologist) previously suggested publicly that sex with dream-demons causes certain “female problems.” Calling Dr. House!

I’ve been known to say, “I can get through anything as long as I know the end is in sight.” Even labor and delivery has its reward. But that’s our problem. With 150,000 deaths and counting, the next few months (if not more) look bleak. Why did we think we could flatten the curve and re-open life by Memorial Day? Wishful thinking, I guess.

Early on, we used the phrase, “when the virus is gone” rather glibly. But in hindsight, life isn’t returning to “normal” any time soon. In fact, the need for “a new normal” is invading our conversations all too often. So now what?

Two images help me. First, from the senior choir at First Presbyterian Church in Tonawanda, New York, where I learned about staggered breathing. If a phrase carried from one line to another, the director designated certain singers to breathe at the expected spot, and others to catch a breath before or after the normal break. That way, the phrase was sustained and no one ran out of breath.

In a column in 2018, Connie Schultz wrote of staggered breathing: “Weariness is not an issue of character, nor is it a sign of weakness. We cannot raise our voices unless we can breathe, and each of us sometimes runs out of breath . . . We are in this together. We will hold the note until you’re ready to sing.” Thank you for that promise, Connie.

And then there’s Lizzie and her doll. We can tuck a blanket around someone who is shivering with fear. We can speak softly, with words of comfort and care. As we accept what is, we do what we can for each other, holding the note, breathing, being present. And for today, it is enough.