Friday the Thirteenth, 2020

The pandemic fatigue grows worse with each passing month. We’re eight months in now.

The pandemic itself is growing larger, darker, and heavier, too.

Today was a weird day. I think I’m a bit numb. It’s hard to keep track of everything that’s going on, much less emotionally respond to all of it.

Today was a sad day, but that hasn’t set in yet.

The third wave has crashed into us. The cases are higher than ever before. There were over a thousand new cases in Oregon alone yesterday. 1.3 million people have died from the virus. I just learned that today. The wave has crashed, but I doubt its yet broken.

Today my trip home for Thanksgiving got cancelled. I kind of feel as if the rug got pulled out from under me about it because my Mom and sister both felt strongly that flying wasn’t a good idea. I have definitely been feeling anxious about traveling with the pandemic raging, but I probably still would have gone. I was supposed to be there, on the farm, for three weeks—what loss. I’m numb.

This has been a year of sacrifice, of loss, of grief.

Maybe we’re all being ground down like diamonds or washed smooth like rocks in a stream, but somehow, certainly, pressure is being applied. We are all feeling the strain.

My body aches. From being cooped up, and from being tense, tight and anxious with the stress. We’re all clenching our jaws, hiking up our shoulders, and bracing for impact. Again and again and again.

I grow afraid to answer my phone with all the bad news.

It has not been an easy year for anyone. We are either waiting for the other shoe to drop or being stomped on.

Today, Friday the Thirteenth, Portland went back into lockdown. All the restaurants have been set back to takeout only, gyms, theaters, and museums have to completely close, grocery stores have to limit capacity, etc, etc. I wouldn’t be surprised if a stay at home order follows.

It’s a very bleak thing to face the bare fact of looming lockdown. I need to get groceries, stock up on non-perishables.

I was so looking forward to being home on the farm. I was really ready to pack it up for the year and just spend simple, quiet time with my family. I imagine coffee on the back deck in the mornings, walking through the fields with the dogs running ahead, sipping whiskey while we watch bad TV and mom pets my hair…

I want to write about some of the themes of the day, some of the forms of pressure, some of the disappointment, some of the loss, something about Friday the Thirteenth being unlucky, but I’m tired. I guess I just want to write this as a documentation of this day.

We were here. We lived through this, 2020, the pandemic. Yes, it really did suck.

I still have hope. I know there will be a time after this. I know there is still great beauty in living, though admittedly the blows come harder and more often. I know we must be developing a resilience, a survivorship. I know this too shall pass. I still have hope.

And, yes, today was a hard day.

Love to the people near and far from me.