Day 645

I’m not a doctor and I’ve only read a little about PTSD, but I’m willing to bet I’m experiencing some form of it after Dad’s death and my stay in NYC at the hight of the first COVID wave. It’s little things that lead me to believe this. For instance, every time I hear an ambulance, my pulse quickens and I instantly feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. That’s not a normal response to ambulance sirens. But during the early days of the pandemic, the sirens were constant, a reminder that Dad was unconscious an intubated in the hospital. Over the weekend, I visited Mom. Saturday night, sirens way off in the distance — so faint they should never have bothered me even though I am a light sleeper —  woke me up. I sat up in bed, momentarily confused. Where was Dad? What was the last thing the doctor said? Is going to come home? My mind scrambled to make sense of where I was — in both time and space — and then it hit me. I sank back on the pillow, devastated to remember — again — that Dad is dead.

While the sirens are a small inconvenience, the news of shutdowns on Broadway and the cancellation of some professional sports games has caused a massive spike in my anxiety levels. Each time I read or hear about the rise in COVID cases and the concern regarding Omicron, I’m back in March of 2020 and my body reacts with fear and concern. For a split second, I’m completely knocked off balance. As I try to right myself, I’m reminded again that nearly two years have passed since Mom and Dad went on that deadly cruise. There is nothing to worry about. Dad is already dead and the rest of my family is vaccinated. I shouldn’t be as anxious as I am, and yet, I can’t help it. More people will die. And when I read about the deaths, when I hear healthcare works discussing the impending crisis, I feel myself start to shake. Then the flashbacks come: seeing Dad, via FaceTime, lying incapacitated in the hospital. It’s an image that still haunts me. Him dying. My prayers going unanswered. Not being permitted to see him and say goodbye. It doesn’t take much to bring it all back, and this week, I’m reliving it daily.

I thought we had turned a corner. I thought things were beginning to return somewhat to what life was like before 2020. My spouse and I had even started talking about sending G3 to school after Christmas. But no, we’ve been thrust back into the chaos and uncertainly of not being able to make plans, of being stuck at home, of cancelling things we had been looking forward to in order to stay as safe as possible. And that fact that Governor Murphy is doing absolutely nothing is infuriating me. He’s just sitting back and allowing the virus to grab hold of New Jersey. At least during the first wave he followed Cuomo and put into place mask mandates and capacity limits. He tried to curb the spread. Cuomo is long gone, but Governor Hochul is picking up where he left off in terms of trying to minimize the spread and keep New Yorkers safe. She already has a mask mandate in place and she’s begun discussing the possibility of adding the Covid vaccine to the list of vaccines required for kids to attend public school. Why isn’t Murphy taking notes this time around. Is it because he’s too macho to follow a woman? Or is he afraid Republicans will verbally assault him? Whatever his reasons are for being impotent, people will die as a result. 

G3 has a cold. We wanted to take him for a COVID test, but most places are by appointment only and the appointments are booked until next week. The few places that take walk-ins have extremely long lines. We can either get up absurdly early or waste hours waiting online. I refuse to do either. As far as I’m concerned, if it sounds like a cold, if it looks like cold, and if it acts like a cold, then it’s a cold. I would have liked to get him tested so that I could keep him home if he tested positive. But if the government is going to make it so damn difficult to get tested then I’m not going to bother unless he gets much worse and starts displaying more typical COVID symptoms. You would think two years into the pandemic, the government would have figured out how to more efficiently test greater numbers of people. 

And yes, this is all bringing back my anger from two years ago. When Dad first got sick I wanted to take him and Mom to get tested and I couldn’t get an appointment anywhere. And when Dad called, the person he spoke to promised they’d call back with an appointment. And do you remember when they called back? A month later —  after he was already dead.

But enough of my anger and anxiety. We — G3 and I — had pleasant, weekend with Mom, but as always, being at her house highlighted Dad’s absence. I miss him so much. G3 misses him immensely. In the car, G3 asked me to turn the radio off while we were listening to Christmas music because one song that came on made reminded him of being in Manhattan with his Grandfather. That made him sad. This year, Mom got a small tree and decorated it and the house. She hung the stockings — including Dad’s — on the fireplace. I can’t imagine decorating was much fun for her. It must have been difficult considering she and Dad — at least in the years since his retirement — had always done it together. Putting up decorations for a holiday that is supposed to be fun, in the absence of the man who loved holidays more than most kids, was a cruel reminder of what COVID has stolen from her.

As always, St. Nick had swung by her house and left presents for G3 in his stocking. G3 was excited to get more lego-like building figures — a polar bear and a whale. He was extra surprised because he thought he was getting them from me, and when St. Nick didn’t leave them at our house, he assumed he wasn’t getting them at all.

While in New York, we made Christmas cookies. We used the same cookie press that we’ve always used, the cookie press that Dad had even before I was born. But the last couple of years it has not been working well, and this year, half way through a batch of cookies, it broke. It was bad enough we lost Dad’s waffle iron in the flood. Throwing away his cookie press was more emotional than it should have been. That press made cookies for at least fifty Christmases, and now it will make them no more.

I am completely spent emotionally. All I want to do is sleep. I need a week or more to completely dissociate from life. Unfortunately, I won’t have that luxury.