Mama – Day 67

Last night, when I got home my spouse asked me how I was doing. I sighed, “I still miss him.” She hugged me and said, “You will miss him for the rest of your life.” Then I made the mistake of looking at our wall calendar and taking note of all the things we were supposed to do this spring and summer. Yeah, you all have events on your calendar that have been canceled due to the pandemic, but once the pandemic is over you’ll be able to reschedule. Your lives will resume. But for me, for my friend, and for others who have experienced the death of a loved one, there is no rescheduling, no resuming. The things that we were supposed to do will  never happen. As for the moment, you all at least have the option to do some things virtually. There is no way to communicate, via zoom, with the dead. 

Simply waking up in New Jersey, in this condo, is enough to put me in a bad mood. Buying this condo was the biggest mistake of my life. This morning I took my daily walk and instead of roosters cock-a-doodle-doing, there were landscapers everywhere. The noise was painful and unending. I already miss the solace of the beach.

The most enjoyable part of the afternoon was a brief bike ride with my son — brief because he didn’t have the desire to go far. But at least I got him out for a bit of exercise. My lungs, however, have not completely recovered from the virus. It doesn’t take much for me to become winded. And I can’t inhale as deeply as I once could. Hopefully, someday, my lungs will heal.

We have spent the day shopping, packing, and prepping for our camping trip. For the first time in weeks, I went to a grocery store in Jersey — Shoprite in Somerville — and I was appalled at how there appeared to be no social distancing guidelines in place, or if there were, they certainly weren’t enforced. In the grocery stores I went to in NY, there were arrows on the floor indicating which aisles you could go up and which you could go down. But in Somerville everyone walked anywhere they wanted, and most shoppers had little regard for the other people in the store. One guy wore a mask that hung loosely around his mouth but it didn’t even cover his nose. People stopped in the middle of aisles and made no effort to move out of your way. I won’t go there again, not until the world is a safer place.

Getting ready to camp is always an elaborate ritual. My spouse loves camping food and spends hours preparing the food. The marinated roasted potatoes and mac and cheese we cook on the grill take forever to assemble. But she enjoys dinner at a campsite more than a gourmet meal at an expensive restaurant. As we were working together in the kitchen she observed, “As awful as things have been — here and everywhere else — it’s really nice to be doing something normal. Something that we always do.” At which point I started to cry, because now even normal for me means different. The night before a camping trip — any trip — I would message Dad to let he know when we were leaving. I’d let him know if we were going to be in place without cell service and that if he didn’t hear from us he shouldn’t worry. And then when we were away, I’d take picture of my son — at least one a day — and text to it him. To let him know we were thinking about him. To let him see the fun my son was having. But there won’t be any texts this time around, no more correspondence, because Dad is dead and my life has lost a bit of its sparkle.

Today, Trump visited a Ford plant in Michigan and despite state law, despite company rules, he refused to wear a mask. He believes he is above the law. He believes that rules don’t apply to him. He is a despicable person. There are no other words to describe him. Except maybe deplorable. Hillary Clinton got that right four years ago. Anyway, his defiance mocks the 95,000 Americans who have died. It disrespects the health care workers who are risking their own lives every day. And it demonstrates his depravity, that fact that he has no qualms about possibly infecting — and killing — someone else. Just because he gets tested every day, doesn’t mean he won’t get infected. And considering the man’s aversion to telling the truth, how do we know for certain he gets tested as frequently as he claims? How do we trust that even if he is tested, that he hasn’t tested positive? Maybe a better question is, considering how he so brazenly exposes himself to the virus, why hasn’t he gotten infected? Is it possible that he’s just so reprehensible the virus wants no part of him? 

One of the biggest questions looming over the entire nation is: Will schools resume, in person, in September? CDC guidelines include wearing masks. But when the president refuses to wear one, he is setting a horrible example for millions of students around the country. I guarantee my son isn’t the only sassy child out there. On the first day of school, how many kids will show up and claim they don’t need to wear a mask because the president doesn’t wear one? (My son is sassy, but he’s also intelligent, and he completely grasps the fact that a cockroach has more intelligence and dignity than Trump. He also witnessed first hand how deadly this virus can be.) The president is teaching the youth of this country that it is okay to break the law, be disrespectful, and ridicule those who are smarter. Trump is everything I want my kid not to be.

The campsite we are heading to is in a remote location and the last time we were there we had no phone or internet service. Therefore, I will be unable to update my blog until I return. But please tune in again on Monday night (or Tuesday morning) and I will share our weekend adventure.

Snapshot Rewind

Early 1980s: As a child, I enjoyed riding my bicycle. My parents, because I was a girl, bought me a pink bike with a banana seat. Shortly after I learned how to ride a two wheeler, Mom and Dad bought a bike that they could take turns using so that they could accompany me. I liked going out with Daddy because he’d take me on longer rides up through Forest Park. One Saturday afternoon, as we were peddling along Forest Park Drive, a car sped passed us and its hub cap flew off the wheel. It came close to hitting us, but we were lucky. It missed. That day, as Mom, so often commented, our guardian angels were watching over us, protecting us. They kept us safe. But two months ago, I guess Daddy’s guardian angel decided to take a vacation. Either that or the virus was just too small for even an angel to see and protect against.