Dear friends this year has been a trial, hasn’t it? An unending stream of doom and disaster. Bad luck followed by bad news.
Another close family member has died this last week (not from Covid). Other friends are struggling with physical infirmities, and the list of the well known that have and continue to pass away this year is quite disheartening.
I am engaged, as I have been for months in reviewing and book-ifying my written materials. Currently it is the pandemic related work I did early in 2020. In particular, I am going through my documentation of the impact of Coronavirus on my father and other older residents of the local older persons residential facility in town, here, from back near the start of 2020.
My father (George) did not die as a result of the virus, he passed away because he was tired of struggling to get air into his life-damaged lungs, but the impact of our first-wave lockdown and precautions, and his inability to grasp and conceive of what was happening in the world contributed significantly to his world-weariness.
The forbidding of visitors and his inability to leave for small outings into the community contributed to his willingness at that time to give living, and life, away.
It is a little disturbing to encounter this writing, my account of dad dying, again. It takes me back into the atmosphere of claustrophobia that I felt lingering over each visit. Confronting.
Christmas is approaching and 2020 is coming to an end at last. I do not know, cannot know what the next year might hold, but fear we have not seen the last of pandemics and fire disasters and grave personal losses.
I hope, though, that I am wrong. That throughout our worlds we find a little peace and stability. Some wellness and good cheer. A little love and some joy.
I will be at work on Christmas Day, at my psychiatric nursing job, but I promise to take a moment to think of you who read my work here, and who chat with me and comment. You who encourage me so much.
And I will wish you a wonderful Christmas, or your equivalent of the occasion, and hope for all these things while I hold you in my mind and heart.
Be well. Stay safe. Below is a poem from the collection I am editing now, and that indirectly caused this outpouring.
6: conveying (by hand)
the old man’s hand
to the touch
it was a night
though in these times
it seems sometimes
requires the issuance
of a licensed permission
he is cool
the younger man
rubs a finger
if it is possible
what is being felt
the younger man
that is possible