Today marks one year since the last day that things felt normal. On March 7, 2020, I met a friend for breakfast and saw Onward in theaters and went exploring in a local park. I suppose technically I had another normal day or two in there, but by Thursday, March 12 we had switched to working from home and by the next Monday everything was shut down.
I’m sure we’re all sick of people sharing those memories already. If not, we will be soon, especially as Facebook Memories remind us all of the pain of those early days. But it still feels appropriate to share a poem from those early(ish) days, when the emotions were raw and the fear was great.
I will note that in reality, this last year wasn’t all that bad after the first month. I solo-traveled a little; I read a lot; I made new friends in online communities; I started embroidering; I ran (or walked) a number of 5Ks; I saved a LOT on gas from cutting my commute. And I learned a lot about myself. Would I have chosen a quarantine year? No. But I’m grateful I got some good out of it.
Originally Written April 20, 2020
I’ve never minded living by myself,
With my own thoughts to keep me company;
To do whatever’s best for my own health,
Behaving, I guess, somewhat selfishly.
But now my fears have taken a new form,
Like—who can even tell if I’m alive?
If I breathe it—this illness is airborne—
Well, who will find my body if I die?
And yet—I know the God who made the stars
Has numbered every hair upon my head,
And for my sake, his body bears the scars
Of being beaten—suffocating—dead—
If I remember he is here with me,
I’ll isolate in place quite comfortably.