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You CAN attend to these things — to the blizzard, to the hurricane, to the forest fire, to the automobile accident, to the volcanic eruption, to the political hate-throwing — with an open heart. You can respond to these with a consciousness that refuses to be drawn in with fear, but instead comes forth to attend. It’s very helpful to remember, as it’s often said: ‘This too shall pass.’ But you cannot hide yourself and say, ‘Well, it will pass, so I don’t have to pay any attention to it.’ It will pass, and it still must be attended to. ~ Aaron
Sweeping under beds, cleaning beneath cushions, emptying the jar with a half-teaspoon of salsa…. I am mindfully paying attention to pre-packing and cleaning in preparation for our heading home. Always mixed feelings about leaving Florida, but before the pandemic these snowbirds’ twinges of leave-taking were tempered by the lovingly longing to be with family in Tennessee and visiting with friends over breakfast or lunch in Indy.
The Beatles long ago named a song (In My Life) after the title of this blog post. Here is the opening:
There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
April, 2020, John and I drove straight through from Florida to Michigan, and did not even stop in Tennessee.
November, 2021, we stopped for one overnight but stayed in a hotel. Our brief time together was somewhat stressful. Only the cats seemed unaware of the unspoken perspectives that separated us more than the safe-distancing and masks.
John and I are now 9-days post our second vaccine, and we will be just under the recommended two-week wait time when we get to Smyrna on Saturday.
We are so excited that when we get home on Monday, we will be able to come together safely with others we love who are also fully vaccinated. Look out Janis and Larry. It is going to be one heck of a hug-fest!
Yesterday morning as I placed puzzle pieces and sipped tea, a “stream-of-consciousness” came through. I shared it with John, and with Linda B/G, who said, “Maybe it is important to share this now. Last year, lots of people were speaking up about this. Not so much right now, but it needs to be said.”
As she spoke, my iPhone popped in with a “notification” of the federal government having to consider a mask mandate. People are ignoring the guidelines, refusing to avoid non-essential travel. Continuing to gather in large numbers without safe-distancing or masks, and the numbers of covid-19 cases sadly are increasing again.
This is what came through:
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Open letter to my friends, family, neighbors, and total strangers who have chosen not to mask, safe-distance and/or be vaccinated to help curtain the spread of this coronavirus.
I am a 71 year old woman enjoying an amazing quality of life given how I began. My mother had syphilis when I was in utero. She spent her entire pregnancy with me fearful of any damage this sexually transmitted disease might do to me, a result of my father’s indiscretion.
When I was five years old, I was hospitalized and treated for polio. Never having spent one night away from my mother previously, I was placed in the pediatric unit at the hospital in isolation. When my mom would come, she was on the other side of the glass wall. At the ripe old age of 71 years, I can still feel my spindly legs holding me up as my urchin thin arms reached toward her devastated face.
A serious auto accident at age 12, resulted in months on crutches, and I still wear the scars from the stitches necessary to reattach the flesh to my forehead.
At age 62, a 22 cm ovarian mass was removed, along with all of my feminine parts. I spent some time in the cardiac intensive care unit, what I call the high rent district, a result of aFib, most serious of the post-surgical complications.
My blood pressure can spike and my pulse will routinely be well over 100 at just a routine doctor visit.
Am I afraid of dying? I don’t think so. Do I have PTSD around medical processes? Obviously…
I have spent the past 12 months doing everything I can to avoid “getting or giving” this novel virus that has killed so many, left many others with life-limiting complications, and wreaked havoc with our global economy, but my investment in living a long and healthy life didn’t begin in 2020.
I have spent 71 years, 72 if you count the time I was in my mothers womb, choosing life.
This may be the first time in my life I’ve ever asked you to help take care of me. I know the masks are hot. I know the bands pull on my ears. I know voices are muffled, and deaf people can’t read lips.
I know we can’t see one another smile.
But this morning I got to see the moon and the sun in the sky together. I got to wake up with my husband of 55 years lying in bed next to me snoring.
I know I won’t stay in this body forever, but I really don’t want someone’s political view or stubborn independent streak, or aversion to temporary discomfort to end my life unnecessarily. And I don’t want to end someone else’s life unnecessarily.
Is it my destiny to have you give me a deadly virus? Perhaps…
Or perhaps it’s my destiny to ask you not to….
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
Some are dead from this virus…. including my dear friend, Bonnie, the first casualty in my life. And Fred, the second. Patty’s mom. Four high-school classmates (all in one week in December). And Jackson’s Paw Paw…
Perhaps it was their destiny to die of something preventable.
Some are living….
In my life I’ve loved them all.
