Sister Perspective: When Covid Came Home

 When Covid came home.


Predicted pandemics had come and gone without much effect on my life. I recall the concern about HIV/AIDS and Ebola. At first, I didn’t think much about this new danger. These dreadful outbreaks happened in other countries where medical care was not as advanced and sanitation not as readily available.  And then, suddenly, it was different. Terror is not too strong a word to describe the feeling. The date was March 17th, 2020 – St. Patrick’s Day. The country was shutting down including schools, restaurants, sporting events, theaters. All non-essential travel was to be avoided. Even Sunday Mass at Marywood was cancelled. This has never happened before in my lifetime.  How long would it last? Will there be enough food? Would we have clean drinking water? 

The sky and river looked the same as ever. The birds and squirrels didn’t change their behavior. We scurried about to find facemasks. The first walks in the neighborhood felt awkward as we passed others on the road. Our smiles were uncertain. We weren’t sure how to act. Should I speak, nod, pet the dog? How wide a berth does one provide on the path? My first foray into a grocery store wearing the still unfamiliar facemask was awful. The atmosphere felt hostile as customers scuttled about with a furtive glance grabbing hand sanitizer and toilet paper. I felt like we were aliens from other planets. 

The politicians looked for someone to blame. Messages about the disease and how to respond were mixed and contradictory. Hospitals were overwhelmed with critical cases; funeral homes could not keep up with the needs. The future of a vaccination was a distant dream. Deaths circled closer to our state, our county, our city, our neighbors, our friends, sisters, and families. America’s spirit of independence, of exceptionalism, of bravado was working against us. Countries with an ethos of the common good over individual autonomy were faring better. Petulant and violent people were defying the orders that would save lives and were vilifying the governors and mayors who were trying to keep people alive through legislating protocols recommended by medical experts. Some people denied the reality entirely and attributed it to a conspiracy to unseat their favorite politicians. Others took the “head in the sand” approach and said it would all just go away. The dead bodies piled up by the thousands. The haunted faces of grieving families filled the news every evening.   

The fact that I too might die from this disease became very real. I began to label items that could be given away to family members who might find them meaningful. There is a beautifully crocheted afghan that has been in the family for over 100 years. Would my cousin Carol like to have it? Ought I shred those journals from my early life? They now seem whiney and trivial. Although I have made my wishes known for end-of-life care, I have not decided what I want done to my body. Do I want to be cremated? Will a “green” burial be available?  I do not want to be embalmed; however, being “composted” fits my belief in the circle of life. My immortal soul will not need to be encumbered by this old, tired body. That I know for sure. Spring yielded to summer; fall with her glorious color was also a reminder of endings. Winter meant closed inside, isolated, shortened days, longer nights, cloud covered days and freezing temperatures. The thought of death was never far away.

Gradually, over time, the concern about dying gave way to a commitment to living every day. I realized how much we are interconnected, and how much we need each other – not just locally, but globally. Obviously, this little virus does not respect international boundaries. We really all are in the same boat.

I think of the song from the musical, Hamilton: “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” Who will tell this story? As of this writing, half a million American citizens have died from the virus. The real numbers are probably much higher. It has been nearly one year since the shelter in place order; we wear our masks, mostly stay home, work remotely, go for walks, eat, sleep, pray, read, watch television. Wearing a mask is second nature now. We have adapted to this new world of masks, social distance, limited travel, endless Zoom meetings, postponed parties, lonely deaths, postponed funerals, tender moments of caring and sharing in the awakening awareness that we humans really are all in this boat together. What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. 

Although the latest space exploration of Mars is exciting, that planet does not look inviting for human habitation. We live in hope that we can learn to live in peace on this fragile blue marble so exquisite in its complexity and diversity, entirely devoid of physical boundaries that divide, united in what matters in our common human stories. 


- Sister Mary Navarre

 

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