The Way We Live Now

Since March when we returned from Seville, Spain, days melt into each other. Time unspools in stops and starts. Dan and I recall taking some specific action, but not when we did it. Did we make that appointment this week or the week before? The pandemic has changed so much, even who we are to each other. For now, Dan is my world and I am his. The pandemic has given us the gift of each other. Together we have established beautiful rituals.

Morning light sends me down to greet him. I climb into his California king and pretend I don’t know who he is. We have some fun with this. We talk about our hours away from each other in sleep and try to recreate our dreams. In my bathrobe, I go down the driveway for my beloved Washington Post before we begin the ritual of breakfast, fresh squeezed orange juice, bacon, eggs, coffee. Dan makes me a frothy latte, more beautiful than any Starbucks concoction. We share the paper and talk about the news, which is mostly bad. This is when our bubble bursts.

We acknowledge the great suffering going on in our country and in the world, the sick and dying, the hungry and lonely. While we can do little about any of this, it is imperative we stay in touch with the despair that has befallen so many. We give to food banks and discuss where our money might do the most good. We count our blessings.

We are fortunate in where we live. Our state and local governments have put the health of us Virginians above profits. Businesses are opening slowly and with proper restrictions. We have been directed to wear a mask inside all buildings and practice social distancing. Dan and I do not go inside anywhere unless absolutely necessary. We are lucky we can afford to use delivery services.

Last week I went into a CVS to pick up a prescription because I could not wait for delivery. I wore a mask and gloves. The place was almost empty and there was a plastic barrier between me and the kind pharmacy clerk, whose smile I could feel behind his mask. Everyone I encountered wore masks. We are fortunate that most Northern Virginia residents are well-educated and understand the contagion and danger this virus poses.

Too many of my fellow Americans refuse to admit this danger. If they understood that lives could be saved simply by wearing a covering over their nose and mouth, wouldn’t they do it? The answer is no. Their hostility comes from their deep, unacknowledged fear of Covid-19. To them wearing a mask signals the world that they are afraid. To them I say: grow up and join the human race. We are all afraid of this terrible virus. ICUs full of patients on ventilators, weeping relatives, refrigerator trucks carrying body bags are not a hoax; they’re real. Those who claim they are not afraid, lie.

And so, Dan and I live with our fear while enjoying the lush summer around us. Our garden flowers and blooms. The butterfly bush we trimmed has come back heavier with blossoms than before. We laugh daily about our spoiled cat and her antics. I talk on the phone with my sister almost daily. I meet friends on Zoom. Dan studies maps of Europe and plans trips we want to take when Europe will allow us to return. In joyful hope that this pandemic will end one day, we sent our passports to the State Department for renewal.

And all the while, the virus is with us, with Dan and me, and with you as well. It is with every person on this planet, all of us wondering: will we contract the virus and die a painful death alone? Until there is an effective vaccine, death breathes on us whenever we leave this protective cocoon, our home. Every time we get a sore throat or cough, we wonder: is this it? Have we contracted it? Daily we swim through fears of death to life, stunning beautiful life, unsure what the future holds, just glad we’re still here.