The Lost Year

April in The Lost Year.....

I am looking out the window peering at the view of gray monochromatic trees through the window with the sounds of life breaching the enclosure in the spring of 2020. Much has changed. I am in isolation from much of the world because this is the lost year...the year of COVID. I have a handy bag of almond M&Ms at my disposal so this evening seems complete minus many, many things. 

I am looking back through the rear view mirror as the year started with many projects planned, trips with family, gatherings, and friends. But the steady pounding of this virus hitting China and then Italy tickled my hyper-vigilant instincts to protect my world kicked me in the ass and kicked all my best laid plans for the year aside. 

So here we are, in something akin to the Mad Hatter and Alice and Wonderland as life as we new it holds still as we grapple with the fate we have been dealt. Struggles of each nation and states and people trying to control and balance economics with life. Those are our stark choices....many that others before us have made. Survival....how do we survive? The new norm? Everything ending with a question mark. 

Echoes from the past, my arguments with Michelle, my sister, about being "bossy" because I was saying in February that Mom was not going to the gym anymore. Ironic that it was me, that pushed her there for personal training along with protein shakes in my attempts to try to care for those I care about.  Harsh....that's what is was as I sat in my car listening to the endless berating as to how "bossy" I am trying to "control" everything. "Mom should make her own decisions" as the virus crept closer and closer as my fears consumed me. Knowing soon coming home would not include enjoying the comforts of crawling into my own bed. 

I have always said I was "resource rich". That I could go anywhere in my circle. That I was able to move in my world in a seemingly seamless steady adventure. Being alone without any partner makes all decisions easier. So I move....easily between my "homes". Now, tonight, I rest with my sister in isolation on her comfy couch above her garage, it even has my own bathroom! I am close to family tonight instead of the sparce but accommodating dorms where I truly am alone. 

I swerve between tears, fear, visions of what I believe is our future, rays of light, feelings of gratitude, and highs and lows that fail to dip too low or rise too high. I am numb. 

Time is stealing our time. We are left frozen as we guard those in our lives that we love while being held at a distance from those we love. No embraces. No kisses hello and goodbye. I remember Lili, my 3 year old granddaughter running after my car as I was leaving with her Mom running after her as I peered into my rear view mirror. I stopped my car as she ran to my door,  pounding to be heard, "I need to kiss you goodbye"  as my heart joyed as it broke. Every emotion cutting both ways. 

I listen to the people in my life telling me what I know myself, that we can't focus. That we often lay numb. Watch series on Amazon, Netflix, or the news all reinforcing that we are prisoners. We put off today to tomorrow.  Lucky are we?? No...we are prisoners, held captive by a deadly virus. Fear of getting infected, or infecting those we love condemning them to a death without us there to hold their hand as they pass. 

My mother always finds humor in everything and here, I find my struggle. I am pissed. I wanted this time to spend with my parents...and I feel robbed. I can see them from a distance, but I cannot go in. I can't make a fabulous dinner. I can't cuddle. I can't watch the insanity of General Hospital with implausible plot lines with my Mom. I look around...it is time we all are losing. Time we cannot scratch back and they have to face a world that is actively threatening them and their very existence.

I drove to my garden place. This time without my Dad to pull a couple extra wagons full of plants to gather some rays of what used to be normal. Our day together. Our oohs and ahhhs "oh look at that" admiring the flower show that we were helpless to control ourselves from adding to our garden beds. I see him instead washing off all the things we leave at the door in a bag as we step away. 

How is it that I find some humor? Ok Trump talking of ingesting disinfectants was funny if we didn't have to consider that he was our President. Or finding the bright spots of people coming together to make moments special or delivering food to those captive in their homes. What is American....or perhaps who feels their sense of humanity in this crazy mixed up COVID world? How will we define who we are? What will change? Will we ever have what we had back again? Will I be here to see it or will it get me too? 

May 8th in The Lost Year.....

Another gray cold damp day leaves little comfort for those seeking refuge from the isolation that COVID demands of us. I find the emotional burden it inflicts on us to be all consuming at times. It is in our dreams leaving us no where to escape the weight of the every day in your face reality that our freedom has been curtailed and we are being threatened. My co-workers are expressing the feelings of fatigue, and it is common to hear, "I got up but there was nothing to do so I went back to bed and slept all day". We all are sensing some sort of depression as we navigate new experiences that test our stamina as healthcare professionals. 

I did my first Zoom Goodbye. The stress load mounting trying to work a new technology, while knowing this is a goodbye. I cried throughout, listening to the "I love you's, you fought the good fight, everything will be taken care of, don't worry, don't be afraid we are here with you" as my N95 filling with snot and tears. I have done this before with family at the bedside, but this hurts even deeper as it becomes a compound injury. We are creatures of contact, not isolation. 

I had revisited the garden center to pick up more perennials to bring more cheer to spring blooms. Everyone was wearing masks and social distancing in the vast outdoor arena. I felt both good and bad at the same time. It reflects most all my experiences these days. I find myself tearing up at the most inconvenient times. I saw an older man, possibly mid 70's waiting in line. He had a self made elastic band with a piece of white cotton flapping in the wind offering little protection. I reached into my bag and handed him a pen and paper, asked him to write his name and address and I told him I would send him some masks made by my aunt and other types I had at my disposal. He was initially stunned, but gratitude filled his face as he talked of how he was having difficulty finding masks. We are in this together...to do nothing is not an option for me. 

The stress of COVID has also put a strain on some of my sibling relationships. My greatest worry is protecting my parents as their age makes them prime targets for COVID bad outcomes. I am acutely aware of contact, exposure, and transmission. Many here at work feel we are at war with the outside world exacerbated by the foolish protesters, bad political policies, lack of testing, and the carelessness of many in our population that doom us to stay in this war longer. It doesn't help to have Trumpsters in the family. Flying to visit friends at peak saturation is crazy in our eyes. One of my sister in laws is brutal on Facebook. I have no patience left as everything we do has been altered by COVID. I am told I am being "bossy" and "controlling" because I said "no masks, don't bother coming to visit" parents. No trust there for some. The once close knit family has found its cracks and I have lost any energy to to say it nicely. 

I have developed a cough , but no fever or other symptoms. It is most likely due to mouth breathing under 2 masks, but any cough now has to be investigated as healthcare workers are not less likely to contract COVID, but more likely. The swab penetrates deep with a stinging sensation as your eyes water on contact. I am officially on quarantine until results can set me free in 2 or 3 days. Sounds like my life since this started in many ways. Not much different for me except I cannot work. I feel in some way violated. I find myself resisting the notion that I could really be positive. It's like I am saying, "how can I be pregnant if I haven't had sex?"!!!

There was some good news today. The ray of light that gives us hope....something to hang our hat on for the day. Sonny, my Mom's 30 year old quarter horse, has been having difficulty walking. We were greatly concerned that it was her advancing age and that this may be the time to let her go. A visit from the Vet diagnosed it as hoof thrush, a very treatable ailment. Relief. A silver lining for our day of wows. We have to steal good moments and find our treasures as COVID tears at the fibers of our society and even more intimately in our own lives.

August 27, 2020….. in the lost year

Time in the lost year is slipping away as our New England fall knocks on the door. I have to reflect back and remember the anxiety I and my co-workers felt with COVID beds filling up at the hospital. I have since moved back home, it took 3 months and testing availability for me to feel safe coming home and entering my home again. The treasured loves that reside here cannot be replaced. My mind drifts to lunch in our cars parked side by side with the heaters on and windows open. We managed while we waited for warmer weather to allow us to sit on the porch. I was able to work on the farms landscape…my obsession as I talked to myself…..”if my parents were going to have to be locked down to stay safe, I was going to make it the best year yet in the gardens”.

I have said many times, “Trump fractured relationships, but COVID cut it like a knife”. My family was once vigorous political debaters until Trump. When COVID came, I told members of my family on a group text to “fuck off”. Perhaps not my best moment. Masks make a huge difference and anti-mask members were seen as a threat. My sister in-law went as far to have a drunken stupor moment and attack my sister publicly on social media over protests….what is worse is we are all reeling from the diagnosis of stage 4 cancer for my Dad. She couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to get drunk and stupid.

Many in our country are left feeling sad as our physical connections have been largely severed. Social distancing makes hugging grandchildren…or anyone a potential threat. Dinners out to celebrate or gather require logistical preparation and trust that we are all being equally safe in our exposure. Deaths occur alone and funerals can bring on more death and loss if we mourn together. Weddings have moved on to next year where we hope it will be better, but can see things will be problematic still. We have been stripped of our family traditions, ceremonies and celebrations. We mourn for the loss.

I struggle to sleep at times because I am helpless in my world to fix what is wrong. I am left wishing my dreams will whisk me away and give me peace and reprieve from what is ailing our country and the world….and change my reality that my Dad has cancer. I can except that he has cancer, but I can’t except the barriers in our healthcare system obstructing him from getting the care that he needs. You would think that with three different insurances and guarantee of 100% payment that healthcare would be easier to navigate. But our system is defective in so many ways we are left heartbroken and helpless despite our efforts.  Months of phone calls, call centers, doctors, second opinions, ER visits when the system fails, and failing health in large part caused by the very system failing him. Being a seasoned healthcare worker makes it more difficult because I know what is possible. I know the language. I know too much.

COVID kept us from his bedside in the hospital and appointments where we needed to be his second ear and ask questions if needed. We write them on paper, we try to be on speaker phone. It’s not the same. This is not going away. We have no leader in the White House. He fans the hate the other flames and we are the others because we call out his criminal behavior and incompetence. Our economy crumbles as businesses close, millions remain unemployed, millions will lose their homes and life’s savings, but the stock market is up….but we are paying trillions in taxpayer dollars to hold it up. So disheartening to know what we are leaving for our children to clean up, if we have a country left when he is done destroying it. Uncertainty. We have a very uncertain future that we are ill prepared to manage. No wonder we are sad, frustrated, angry, and feeling helpless.

In this lost year, we have to find our happy spots. Those moments that can make us laugh….I miss silliness and cheer. We need to be creative while we wait for our post COVID days. I am going to try to do a another drawing….at least one in the lost year as I run as if I am running from something at nipping my heels. My happy spot….create, build, design, and care for those I care about. My parents left for the doctors, they were stopping at Dunkin Doughnuts and shouted out from the car, “what can we get you?”. I wanted nothing, but sometimes letting someone take care of you is what is needed. I shouted back, “a glazed doughnut please!”. 

August 31, 2020 …….in the lost year

The memo stated our new policy going forward…”all patient contact areas are required to wear eye protection with our masks”. The notice goes further, stating that there is a study that masks with eye protection are 70% more effective in preventing COVID transmission. It sends a message that lands like a pit in your stomach…’get ready, it is coming back and we need to be ready’.  I am grateful that my employer is taken a forward position in protecting its employees and patients, but my eyes can’t control the reactionary surveillance of the bags hanging on our walls like a Christmas decoration of garland. It’s coming back. Get ready. You can see the body and facial reactions and hear the anxiety in their voices as we all prepare. We had a reprieve, but we know the cooler weather is upon us and schools are trying to open safely. The struggle in this pandemic that controls us is unrelenting.

I remember my glass door kisses with my granddaughters at the peak of saturation. I felt it was me that could give them the virus. The cries from Lili pounding at the door….she wanted to hug me, kiss me and she did not understand the barrier of glass was meant to protect her. Our failure as a government lends to the weekly rise in predicted deaths that weighs heavy on my heart. Each death is a loss that is someone’s special somebody. My mother tries to console me and soothe my sadness for our country. We all are suffering.

I reflect on a call I made for my Dad to try and find a better way to get him the blood transfusions he needed to live. Anemia has plagued him and our fervor to address it has been the greatest war we have been waging. The woman in the office gave a sincere and sympathetic “Don’t worry, we can help. We will take care of this for him”. I lost control and started to cry, for in that moment she lifted the burden of the fight and I broke. My mother heard my voice crack from the other room and she understood and felt my pain because she too….felt the same.

We plod on. ‘Move forward’ my Mom has taught me. Dad worries about our future and wants to take care of what he can so we are moving ahead with our plans on renovations and amendments such as a gas auto start generator system. We lose power frequently with storms. The tree lined winding roads lend themselves to falling trees and power outages. I made my way up from the barn and glanced down at the driveway and I gasped. The tree that had fallen and was removed lay barren the screen that had once provided cover from the street. It shocked me. Privacy gone. My mind quickly moved to how could we block out the world again? This is our secret hideaway that so many could never find and now we lay open to peering eyes.

My Mom and I were so tired of the news we chose a movie. “Morning Glory” staring Rachel McAdams, one of my most favorite actresses seemed like a solid escape movie. Simple, easy and so funny we kept laughing out loud uncontrolled. Dad stopped his puzzling to join us. He got the message he was missing out. Laughing…..I have been trying to find the silly funny side of me and leave my cynical thinker out of the evenings experience. A success, but relieved of my shield I started to cry when it was over. My depressed self is so depressing. I feel like I have lost my fun.

My youngest son called me to tell me that he and his fiancé were moving up their wedding plans. Seems like next year is expected to be another wipe out. They decided to get married now in a small farm wedding and have a party when the world allows a happy gathering of unmasked family and friends in our someday dreams. They struggled to keep it as small as possible and will zoom in the intimate guests that would not be included for an in-person ceremony. COVID World. Take no prisoners. Our new normal. Find our silver linings in small celebrations and new beginnings to hold on to what is sacred…family, friends and loves. 

Oct 18, 2020...in the lost year

The rock of the swing carries me……outcroppings of massive stone, trees pushing up towards the blue hue off in the distance. Fall is upon us here in New England. Orange, yellows and browns decorate the landscape. Cool air rests quietly around us. We have made our COVID compromises. Outdoors requires warmers of all sorts. Electric heating pads under my Dads blankets, as our Doc says….”don’t let him get cold” and we all sit with our abundance of lap blankets on the porch as we steal our visits and extend the season of safe gatherings. COVID can restrain us, but it cannot keep us apart while making all gatherings bittersweet.

We held our second farm wedding in the fall of 2020. Precious, celebratory with our 12 guests and important peeps in on ZOOM. Our new COVID highlights. My youngest son, decided with all of life as we know it in flux, perhaps he and his now wife should, just do it. Maybe in our someday dreams…have a bigger more appropriate celebration, but for now…..the farm is the best place to make a small marker in history, to capture the timeless moment that will extend generations. As the Mom, and the Farm as the backdrop, I revel in the history and memories created here.

The mums I had unknowingly planted just for fall show became the back drop in our celebration. Of course there were many baskets of additional color propped along the scenery to create a fall wonderland moment as we celebrated our joy of two….becoming the one family building a life together. A happy time even with our heartaches for absence of those not present. COVID always carries that edge. It cuts at odd moments when we are imprinting it to long term memory.

And today, we have a gathering on the porch, sun blazing, soft tunes David Gray warming our emotional sensors, the “room” full of colors to add to our porridge of the day’s gifts. The Magnolia dominates the backdrop with whispers of tall flowers crouching into the field of vision. One special prize is a brilliant perfect pink red rose peaking in through the rails as a gift to the day. Its marvelous rose bud fragrance is well appreciated as we take turns smelling the bloom. My sister reaches in to pull a peddle to bring it to our Dad to share in our experience.  

Laughter echoes throughout our visit even with COVID separation. Our distance is measured, and it makes the day nostalgic. Michelle is forced to separate and take a moment to clear the tears. We all pretend to move on, unnoticed, but this is not our robust touchy feely family. COVID holds us hostage in intimate moments. We are pack animals, gathering is in our genome. We continue unabated expressing our dreams, struggles, hopes, and the future.  Our family is a strong network of support.

I am inundated with projects of bathroom tiling, kitchen rehab, renovations, design, art…..so busy it leaves little time to think about what is missing from my big picture. FORWARD> get me through this starlite evening with sleep that will embrace my troubling unrest. Mazzy Star “Five String Seranade” softly plays on Pandora as I continue to rock on the swing and night falls around me. Holiday celebrations we will miss and we all hope next year will bring some relief from our prison as the invisible virus rages on.

Jan 2021 and June 2^nd 2021, in the Lost Year

Time has past. I wrote in January, but grief kept its hand on me. Those who have lost understand, loss stays with us with its streaming in and out finding our vulnerable moments, often unexpected, pulling us back to reexperience the pain of loss.

The clock chimes as the hour hits 8 o’clock. A short melody of ringing followed by eight chimes. I remember the many times my Dad sat at the dining room table when the time to reset the clock came due. “Somewhere over the Rainbow” plays softly on Pandora as background noise. I peer out my bedroom window from my bed where I can see Free, our jumper champion, dancing up on the ridge. Something has her excited. Voices chat in the distance, Geoff is looking through the books in the bin that were stored away for the renovation.

Tears roll down my cheeks as I relive talking with my Dad in his last days with us. He asked to talk with Geoff, and I called for Geoff at the top of the stairs. As I started to make my way down, I looked through the rails and watched Geoff fall to the floor limp and sobbing with grief. Mom was working quick to console him and find a way to help lift him up to make his way up the stairs.

Broken, our big and blended family heart broken. A kind and gentle man, but a watchman and defender of our interests. My Mom’s best cheerleader with her writing. Editor in chief. Family drifted in and out during those last days to have their moments with him. Quiet conversations and sometimes just sitting with him. No one gives you a book on how to deal with death and dying. We all do the best we can, relying on each other to express how we are feeling.

The summer is now at our doorstep with flowers blooming, familiar scents of spring visiting us. It was different with COVID. We were limited at the cemetery, less still at the house as we did not have our vaccines yet. No time to grieve with each other. My niece feels guilt that she was away at school, even though she couldn’t have been here anyways. Closure and ceremony is the thing I believe that in the lost year, was robbed from those who lost. My brother arranged for a street goodbye as the hearse drove down Main Street. He sent out a message when my Dad would be passing so that others could say their goodbyes as he was driven to his resting place.  

The grieving process feels confused to me. I cry a lot. I cried through a dinner out with one of my best friends. I don’t know if this is normal. What is normal? I cry more when watching TV. I mean I have to be honest, Dad was always asking why watch a movie if I was going to cry so much. So I am confused. I only know he was my sounding board for my projects, always in the background and many times in the thick of it. A funny renovation of the washroom comes to mind. I came home and the wall was opened up and he catches me at the door. “Mom says no. She doesn’t want us to do it. It too much with questionable insulation”. I had to go sit with Mom on the couch and it took a good 30 minutes to convince her it was going to be ok and she would love it. And she did.

When I had to go for my annual flower pick up at the local flower center, I had my friend Flo at my side to distract me. Telling her about the types of flowers, and the “look at this” helped me get through what was my annual trip with my Dad. We always bought anything and everything we became enchanted with. He was always especially focused on what Mom would like. I fail at birthdays and such with my work schedule, so I made my own ways of celebrating off schedule. This was their birthday, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day combo. Annuals and perennials and planting and maintaining the garden beds.

My promise to him, was that I would keep fresh flowers on the table for her. He was a flower guy. And the lost year is slipping away as vaccines are bringing normal back into our lives. But what was lost is lost. There is no scratch back and opportunity for a re-do. We move forward, but not move on. Our loss was not from COVID, but COVID made everything so much more difficult in our battle for my father. I know my Mother knows. She is a good reader. This has left a deep pain on us all. We share a common experience in our own unique ways. The Lost Year…coming to its welcome end.