Day 9 of quarantine. 17,000+ cases of covid19 detected in the US. 600+ dead in Italy in 24 hours. They do not have enough beds, enough masks, enough equipment. Neither do we.
California, New York, and Illinois are ordering a mandatory shelter in place. No one can leave their home unless they are essential employees. 220 deaths in the US. So far.
I do not know what the future holds. Do not know if I will be able to move to Canada in the fall as planned. I am quarantined with my grandparents in Albuquerque, new Mexico, and right now, my only concern is staying well. Making sure they stay well, too. I am lucky enough to have a job where I can work from home. Blessed is more correct a word. I am blessed enough to be riding this out in New Mexico, a sparsely populated state that is seldom visited. We have 43 cases. So far.
The only reason no one is comparing this to the Black Plague is because we have WiFi. The Plague feels like something historical, something that happened in black and white. I think they are one in the same, covid and the plague. In Italy, they cannot keep up with counting their dead. Coffins line the floor and pews of churches. Burials cannot be performed out of fear that coming into contact with the body will lead to infection. Those who are dying are increasingly younger. It hasn’t gotten here yet, but it will. It will.
Is it sick that part of me is excited to see what’s to come? I don’t want anyone to die, but the possibility of this reality being altered permanently, for better or worse, is intriguing. Part of me hopes that this system of social recognition we’ve created, where we are meant to constantly produce and achieve, comes crashing to the ground. No more needing to be famous. No more desperate desire to be recognized. No more being asked, ‘what are you working on now?’ or, ‘what’s next?’ In the time of mass death, it would be enough simply to survive, provide for your family, and keep them safe. What a relief that would be.
Grandma is convinced we will be out of the woods by May. Everyone has their own predictions. In my heart, I believe the damage and change caused by this virus will eat up the entirety of the year. Some are already calling this the ‘lost year’. Loss of some things, maybe. Loss of production, of profit, of industry. There may be gains, too. Gains in connectedness, simplicity, family, reflection. Millions may die. In their stead, will we have more air to breathe?
I may die. People I love may die. That is an easier truth to accept than I thought it would be. The truth is, this is bigger than me. It is global, perennial, cosmic. It unites us all. We are all rendered vulnerable. When I think of it in this light, I can’t be angry. All I can do is deal with what is in front of me, what’s in my control.
Maybe it will end here, but I doubt it. This is the result of a chain reaction of events, increasing in intensity and consequence. We are, maybe, in the beginning-middle of what is to come. I hear it in the cries of the birds, the groan of the wind through the trees.
Nothing will ever be the same, but then, who would want it to be?
Come what may. Come what may. Come what may.