I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying.

10 weeks ago, when quarantine started, I thought I would get so much done. I had reduced hours at work and wasn’t able to be with my family and friends, and there would be time for everything: reading, writing, housework. I would post in my blog and take classes and get that kitchen floor scrubbed. And then it happened. Or more to the point it didn’t happen. I sat around at night weary from the listless days. I binged for hours on Netflix and Hulu and even Youtube. I snacked because I needed comfort food to get me through this trying time. There were no blog posts and even the homework from classes I took to stay motivated was left undone. My house projects just sat there because it didn’t matter anyway, who was coming into my house? No one. I did the bare minimum, dishes and laundry and shopping trips for my mom and my dad, spending much more on groceries than usual because I had to be sure we had enough food to forego extraneous grocery store trips.

10 weeks ago, I had my last normal weekend. It was the weekend before St. Paddy’s Day. The band played a double header. First they played a surprise birthday party for a friend in the afternoon. Then we knew the wave was about to hit us, and that we may be taking a chance, but we went ahead with the gig at The Western Ranch. Eric loaded in all of his own gear (no easy feat for a drummer) so that contact would be minimal. Somehow we knew this would be the last weekend we would be eating out, and sitting with each other, and listening to live music. When we all said goodbye that evening, it was really hard.

It’s been a long 10 weeks but I have made it through relatively unscathed. I was able to keep working, albeit at reduced hours. It’s been kinda exciting actually, getting ready to open our doors again to an entirely redesigned bookstore. I can say this because the younger stronger members of our staff have been doing all the hard labor! My parents live locally, so I have been able to see them at a distance and make sure they have whatever they need to be more comfortable during their own quarantine. I have been able to wave hello to friends when dropping off or picking things up. My life hasn’t really been disrupted, but I am sad about cancelled vacations and parties that have also been cancelled for everyone else.

I miss the hugs. And the gatherings. And live music. But I hesitate to say I miss my freedom. I think that is a loaded word right now and the truth is that I do have freedom. And I choose to wear my mask and limit my errands. And make do with what I have without shopping for things I may not need. Those who talk about having their freedoms taken away perplex me. How is wearing a mask to keep people safe different from wearing a seat belt to keep safe? Why is it someone’s constitutional right to have a haircut or a manicure? I am as shaggy and gray as everyone else. But that means we are all in the same boat. Yes, I am speaking from a place of privilege because I have a paycheck coming in and am able to pay my bills. I get that. I know there is a lot of suffering out there, people not getting paid and losing their small businesses. But I just can’t seem to equate that with the loss of life we have suffered in this country, 100,000+ to date. And I can’t ignore the stories out of the hospitals and COVID units, people unable to breathe and in great pain.

For 10 weeks I have pushed down my sadness and despair. I have used food and alcohol and Netflix to distract me from my feelings. Then today I saw a car parade from a local elementary school staff on Facebook. One of many that have been posted during the COVID crisis. I don’t know why this one struck me. But as I watched the video made by that birthday friend I haven’t seen since my last normal day, seeing car after decorated car drive by her house, hearing her say, “I have to go get my glasses, I just can’t stop crying,” I started to sob. Crying for all the schoolkids that couldn’t go to school and see their friends and teachers,  those juniors and seniors who now have to reimagine what their futures will look like, those families that cannot see and hug each other, those people who lost loved ones to this illness and those who will continue to suffer as we go along in June and July, people suffering for the poor decisions made by others. All I can hope for is that those that I love stay safe and healthy. And that we can find a vaccine so then the world can be safe and healthy. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

Photo credit: selfie taken of my mask by my mom, Carole Horan. It was made from material left over from a dress she made me when I was just a wee one.

One thought on “I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying.

  1. Deb……this is so well done. First of all, just delighted that you wrote! BUT it is so heartfelt and honest, open and provocative…….You didn’t say you miss burgers…….I do….with you! Soon my friend!

    Like

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