2020 has been extraordinarily extra. Weather weirdness, murder hornets, racial unrest, a virus that just keeps on keeping on, political nonsense, plenty of solitude or too much forced togetherness. It’s been a huge learning curve while we navigate a very un normal, normal. We’ve had rough and calm seas, unpredictable winds, and every day determines the toll.
Today, I’m missing my family and momentarily feeling caged by these walls that, on regular days, feel like the sun on my face. I’m missing small bodies that rest against you with trust and faith. I want to watch those babies sleep, and pull kicked off blankets up to cover them, as if by doing so I could keep them forever warm and close. I’m missing the laughter of shared jokes and the joy of setting a table full of eagerly anticipated food that is a gift of love and carbohydrates. I want to gaze at the faces of my people and hear and see the familiarity of interactions built on time and shared history. I want to hear the men tease each other and watch them barbeque great mounds of delicious smelling meat, and play sports with their kids. I want to watch the children find a welcoming lap to sit on or an aunty to fill a plate for them. I want to see bigger cousins holding dripping watermelon for the little ones to bite and see them pushing them on the baby swings. I’m missing all that ties us together and I want to spend the day in the sun surrounded by our ever evolving story.
Somedays technology suffices, but today, it feels incredibly weak in the face of all it cannot provide and convey.
Dr. Suess wasn’t kidding when he said “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory”. It never occurred to me that I was taking those moments for granted because I always enjoyed and valued them so much. I also never imagined a moment when they wouldn’t be possible, even for a time. I know “this too shall pass” and that this year has much to teach us. But, today the lesson seems harder than it has in weeks past. There is a baby I haven’t met yet and a granddaughter who has surpassed me in height in the last 4 months. There are hugs I haven’t had or given, and probably, there is tea waiting to be spilt. There is so much of the day to day we have missed. Our families shape us, trouble us and lift us. They are that familiar place we long for when we, or they, have been gone too long. Despite the futility of the wish, the silence in this house today says it’s time for everyone to come back home. The heaviness I feel must be due to the uncertainty of when that might be possible.
And so, I guess I need to go back to the lessons of my childhood house and find those bootstraps to pull myself up by. There is much to be grateful for, in both the silence and the noise. I am sure there are those who would gladly trade places with me and have a chance to enjoy a little peace and quiet after months of togetherness. If the experiences of Covid were people on a cruise ship, some of us would be betting it all at the casino, some lounging in the pool, others finding comfort at the buffet, some who haven’t left their stateroom, and those who can’t keep their eye off the lifeboat. Sometimes, we’re all of those people on the same day. The only thing for certain is that the landscape keeps changing and at some point, I hope, we will dock someplace where our families, intact, are waiting.
Something to Shay 