Day 113

Daddy never liked talking or thinking about death, especially his own. In his house the topic was taboo. As a result, many things that should have been discussed never were. But I guess Dad thought he had time, as did Mom. And he should have had time, but the virus hit him out nowhere, and left us we many unasked and unanswered questions. Although the question most troubling Mom in all likelihood would never have been answered even if Dad had been willing to discuss issues regarding death: “What is the best time to have a funeral/memorial Mass? What would give Dad the most peace in the afterlife — if there is an afterlife — a Mass as early as possible even if the virus keeps people away or one that is more delayed but might draw a few friends and family beyond his immediate family?” This question is keeping Mom awake at night and causing her a great deal of anxiety during the day. If she has a Mass this summer, with the virus  still surging across the country, people won’t come. Dad’s friends are his age, they won’t want to risk it. A summer Mass would likely only have Mom, my spouse, my brother, my son, and me in the pews. A summer Mass would be no different than us still around a table remembering Dad. The scientists told us the fall would bring a second wave, but considering the first wave might never subside, I assume we should just expect another peak. And the winter might still find the virus hunting us like the Grim Reaper, but it could also bring snow. After much thought, I suggested to Mom that we have the funeral/memorial Mass on the one year anniversary of Dad’s death. By the spring there might be a vaccine. We might have a new president who could bring some order to the chaos surrounding us. And rather than simply picking a random date, it seems more meaningful to pick a date that is significant. Maybe, if we don’t rush into it, a few people might show up. And Dad was a social person. He’d want people to be there — for him, for us. Mom liked the idea. She agreed it might be the best thing to do. But she also told me she wouldn’t commit to anything without speaking to my brother first. So now, she is waiting for him to call to say hello. When he does she’ll ask his opinion.

Yesterday, I had a much needed break from the confines of the lockdown. My writing group got together for the first time since February. We were conscious of the virus, and instead of the hugs we usually greeted each other with, we waved and hugged the air. But it was refreshing to see people and discuss writing. I’ve missed dissecting work, debating a line of poetry, or working out the arc of a longer piece. It was just what I needed to lift some of the fog that has obscured my thinking since April. Even better it was wonderful to be with like-minded people — so like-mind that I got a good laugh when I walked into the host’s bathroom and saw a roll of Trump toilet paper hanging by the toilet. Of course, the highlight of the day was the Korean food my friend cooked. Braving a virus was a small price to pay for bulgogi, naengmyeon, and japchae. I embarrassed myself by filling my plate and then returning for seconds, but I couldn’t resist. With food that good, I have to eat until my stomach hurts.

My son also had a blast. My friend has twin daughters who are only a couple of years younger than my son. It was the first time he had interacted with other kids since March. Before going I felt bad asking my friend how isolated they had been. I didn’t want to risk bringing my son if there was a change that he could get sick. Since they had isolated as much as we had and hadn’t been mixing with other kids I took him with me. And he needed it. He needed a day where he could be a kid and forget all the horrible things that have happened if only for a few hours. He was excited to swim in the pool and ride on the zip line. He also had fun with the Trump toilet paper, so much fun that my friend’s husband — enjoying his enthusiasm — sent him home with it. The small gift had my smiling until he feel asleep in the car on the way home.

Today, I met a friend for ice cream. We met up in Somerville and stood outside in the 90 degree heat standing six feet apart so that we could chat. I figured we would talk for an hour, maybe two, and then I glanced at my phone and realized we had been standing in the humidity for nearly three hours. But how wonderful it is to see people face-to-face. To talk without having to stare at a screen. I miss the days when that was normal.