This is a terrible time to be alive. The coronavirus may
be the most frightening thing many of us have ever experienced. In my long
lifetime (fourscore and two years) I’ve seen the development of the atomic
bomb, known the fear of a polio epidemic, survived all the childhood diseases
for which there are now vaccines, witnessed
the destructive effect of the Vietnam War and its mishandling by our
government, experienced the fright of the Cuban missile crisis, and watched the
true horror of 9-11 unfold.
Attempting to understand an unseen enemy which attacks at
random and with no purpose other than to replicate itself? Such is the stuff of
science fiction. And at my age I feel I’m constantly in the crosshairs …
elderly and health compromised people seem to be where most of the deaths
occur. I’m fortunate to be in good health. I live in isolation with a cat. I’m
grateful for the second heartbeat in my house, and swing between varying stages
of stress. Sleep doesn’t come easily. I try to stay busy during the day.
Hearing some of my fellow citizens discuss this worldwide
pandemic in somewhat dismissive terms is almost equally disturbing. “Only a two
percent death rate,” they clamor. “Open up the country.” That two percent rate
as of April 29 translated to over fifty-eight thousand American souls lost in
less than two months. More than died in the Vietnam War over a decade.
This is an eye-opening time to be alive. This event
is laying bare the serious problems in this country I love. Hero worship of
athletes and entertainers has been replaced. The health care professionals, and
I’m sure volunteers, are now our heroes. It’s a disgrace that they have to struggle
so hard to get the ammunition they need. People we never really gave much
thought to are appreciated as vital to every day life: truck drivers, grocery
store employees, delivery people, to name a few. The divide between the haves
and the have nots is painfully obvious. Over the years the rich continue to get
richer, while more and more people live from paycheck to paycheck … and some
don’t even have that. The government was woefully unprepared for this event—dismissive
of it at times—and we’ve been attempting to play catch-up ever since.
This is a bewildering time to be alive. After reading
about the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic it surprised me that so little
documentation exists in the form of literature and music from that era. People who
lived in that time were more overwhelmed than we are. We have an abundance of
information (and misinformation). They had no idea what they were facing, what
it was, how long it might last. From their experience we can learn. I fervently
hope we will.
Yes, there are the nay-sayers, the people who are convinced
it’s some kind of hoax, a ploy by who knows whom. Conspiracy theorists who defy
death, convinced “the Rona” can’t get them.
This is an amazing time to be alive. There is a great outpouring of concern and
love among I believe the vast majority of Americans. Small and large
kindnesses. I’ve experienced many of these personally, and I am very grateful
for them. Women spending long hours at sewing machines providing face
masks for health care workers, friends, family. Volunteers providing free
meals—at a local church, daily. Pick up at curbside, no questions asked, anyone
is welcome. First responders providing some fun for children’s birthdays, since
no birthday party can happen except for people living in the house. Sirens and
lights and a short parade to the birthday child’s house, sometimes with
balloons.
I see people putting the technology we enjoy to excellent
use: providing diversion and encouragement through the arts. Coronavirus humor
abounds, much of it appearing on Facebook. Another positive use of technology.
More entertainers coming up with brilliant parodies. “Virtual” meetings by use
of technology, a way to connect as we continue to be “socially isolated.” A
better expression I’ve heard is “physically isolated.”
All of this, as I see it, signs of hope for the future.
We’ll survive this. We can wish that changes for the better will come as we
learn more about ourselves. I’ve urged my young friends to keep journals of
this time.
I’ve found it difficult to concentrate and attempt to write,
but this essay is a start. In Doctor Zhivago, Boris Pasternak gives Yuri
this thought: “How wonderful to be alive. But why does it always hurt?”
This is a painful, wonderful time to be alive. And
hope never dies.
