Day 366

One year ago today, my son, my spouse, and I all had our first virtual day of school. It did not go well. I knew immediately that I would not survive the semester. My son was cranky and irritable, and halfway through his assignments I was already talking about pulling him out of school. Watching him watch a video about how to write a paper was the epitome of ludicrous. I was a writing professor. I could do more than a video. But it was only supposed to be for a month. We were originally told we’d be back in school by the end of spring break, and so we all settled in to make the most of it.

By the end of the day, I had the insane idea to start a blog. We spent so much time complaining, screaming at each other, and hating life that I figured it might be cool if my son and I used writing as an outlet. We could bitch all we wanted on the screen and then someday, when it was all over, we could look back and laugh. Laughter and posterity had been my intention. As it turned out, there would be far more tears. What was meant to be a light hearted project morphed into being an outlet for my anger and sorrow. I expected my blog to last a month, maybe two. I certainly didn’t expect it to run through the summer. In the back of my head, I figured maybe I’d keep it going until G3 went back to school. I certainly didn’t foresee him still being out of school a full year later. As for posterity, I’m fairly certain I will leave behind a complete testament to how horrific this pandemic has been for my family. Some future scholar may find something of value within its pages.

Earlier, I emailed a friend and said that sometimes I feel as if this year has dragged, other times it feels as if it has raced by. Mostly, I feel as if I’ve lost an entire year. My life had been so different last March. How could I have been so flippant in my first post? How could I have thought that some day I’d look back and smile at our pandemic experience? How could I not have realized that all the tears and explosive tantrums could be perceived as foreshadowing? But that’s how foreshowing works. I never pick up on it in a book the first time I read it. I need to know how the story ends before the foreshadowing makes sense. (My first post, a year ago today: https://jaegerwrites13.wordpress.com/2020/03/16/mama-day-1/)

(And G3’s post about Day 1: https://jaegerwrites13.wordpress.com/2020/03/17/g3-day-1/)

I certainly don’t feel as if I’ve been productive this year. I’ve been revising a novel now since September and I’ve hardly made any progress. In fact, I’m ready to scrap the whole project. I’ve written a few essays about Dad and my son and I’ve been lucky to have them published. So not a complete waste of year — artistically — I suppose. Despite feeling unproductive, I guess one could argue I’ve written more this year than any other. This blog alone — my Pandemic Diaries — is nearing 200,000 words and I’ve hit 400 pages. Other failures though still haunt me. An even longer list of literary agents who have rejected me. My attempted literary journal for kids completely died. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it off the ground. No one wanted to submit, and so I buried the project. But out of its ashes I started a new one, a literary journal titled Conversations on the Empty Bench, which grew out of my grief. I’m still struggling to build it up, get out the word, and have people submit: https://conversationsontheemptybench.wordpress.com/about-2/

Lastly, a year ago tonight, my parents landed back in New York. They were home and I was looking forward to seeing them, but first we had to wait two weeks. My son and I were going to close ourselves off to make sure we weren’t infected and I hoped that in two weeks my parents wouldn’t get sick. Two weeks at the time felt like an eternity and twelve days later, that’s exactly what it became. Aside of brisk hello and a frantic drive to the hospital, I never would see my father again. My son would never again cuddle on the couch with his grandfather. One year ago, we had so much we were looking forward to as a family and now, I still can’t believe it all ended the way it did. Of all the people on that Viking ship, why did my father have to be the one to die?

Yes, we are now coming out of the pandemic. Vaccines are available, though getting an appointment is impossible. Mom is getting her first dose on Thursday. I still can’t find an appointment, neither can my spouse. As for children, who knows when the vaccine will be approved. But when it is, I’m sure the distribution process will be a nightmare. Rich kids and kids with connections will be the first to get vaccinated. The rest of us will wait on an endless line with our children. But eventually it will happen. The world will get vaccinated, but somehow the idea of a return to normalcy exacerbates the emptiness caused by Dad’s absence. Everything will go back to the way it was, except I’ll still be fatherless — and jobless.