I don't know if it's maturity or just weariness, but over the past few years, I've somehow managed — finally — to develop some emotional callouses that keep me from feeling every darn thing so very much. I can see the drawbacks of that, but I also see the benefits. If I were to allow myself to perpetually swim in the emotional stew prompted by life and the world we find ourselves living in these days, I'd swift become a basket case. And ain't nobody got time for that.
Festivus in March
Consequently, I've not really allowed myself the luxury of dipping deeply into the feels of The COVID Times, but as we hit the five-year anniversary of that scourge, I'm going to indulge it and air my grievances — we'll call this "Festivus in March."
To begin, I have to go back a bit further. The fall of 2019 was a tough one. My Dad's health was rapidly declining (Alzheimer's), and he was in and out of the hospital and rehab facilities. My daughter and I moved from a house to a second-floor apartment, which, while adequate and fairly cozy, wasn't optimal. My beloved golden retriever made the move with us but was struggling enough that I had to haul him up the stairs at times, and he was a 65-pound dog, so that was quite challenging. Sadly, he passed just a couple of weeks after the move.
The First Whispers
In late December, I recall hearing/seeing some news reports about a mysterious respiratory ailment circulating in China. I wasn't overly alarmed at that point, but as we edged into the new year, the reports continued — and those creepy videos of people seemingly dropping like flies on the street had me a bit unsettled.
My Dad passed on January 15th of 2020 — heartache, but, in hindsight, a blessing in disguise, as we were not forced to navigate hospital and rehab stays and in-home healthcare through masks and lockdowns and family separations — things he wouldn't have understood at that point. And I can't fathom the absolute torture it would have been for my Mom to not be able to be by his side. Moreover, we were able to hold a proper visitation and funeral for him. As hard as it was, I am grateful for that.
I recall around that same time standing in the doorway of my law partner's office, musing about this Coronavirus thing buzzing in the news. He was semi-dismissive of it, but I remember saying something to the effect of, "I don't know. This has a weird feel to it. It could get ugly."
Creeping Closer
We started hearing news reports of cases cropping up in the U.S. — first Washington state, then elsewhere. It hadn't really picked up steam yet by mid-February when I traveled to D.C. for CPAC, but there was an anxious energy in the air over it. I returned home with a case of the CPAC Crud — and I was as sick as I think I've ever been: fever, aches, cough, felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest whenever I tried to sleep. I don't think they were regularly testing for COVID at that point, or we were just getting there, but I tested positive for Influenza A, so I assume that's what I had. Do not recommend.
I was just getting over it as we made our way into the first week of March, but felt well enough to attend the St. Charles County Lincoln Days on March 7. Missouri Governor Mike Parson was slated to speak that night but had to cancel at the last minute — Missouri had officially gotten its first case of COVID. The anxious energy in the air ticked up.
A Sad Senior Sendoff
My daughter was a senior in high school at the time and had her Spring Break that following week, which seemed fortuitous — maybe give the kids a short break from one another and lessen the chance of the bug spreading. Her birthday was on that Sunday, at the end of the break. She was turning 18, and all she asked for was a tattoo. I'm not a huge fan of them, to be honest, but the one she described was tasteful and meaningful to her, and she was now going to be old enough to make that decision for herself, so I took her and her friend to a well-known tattoo parlor in the Delmar Loop on her birthday.
She was in the chair, getting the tattoo, when I got the alert from school: Don't come back. School was going to remain closed for at least a week while they sorted out how best to stop the spread. As it turns out, she would never return to it. She had no last quarter of school as a senior. No prom. No senior prank. No yearbook signing. They did their best with a "drive-through" graduation parade in the school parking lot so the kids could wave goodbye to their teachers and one another. It felt hollow and sad.
More Family Heartache
As the cases ratcheted up and the world locked down, we faced additional challenges as a family. First one beloved rescue kitty (Hurricane) took ill and left us unexpectedly in February. Then his brother, Stormy, had to be put down in June — on the same day that my 87-year-old Mom was diagnosed with Stage-4 lung cancer. A course of treatment was mapped out for her that included a couple of weeks of radiation — tricky to navigate, of course, because of the COVID restrictions.
But we were fortunate as the bug let up a bit in the summer. Enough that we were able to accompany her to her treatments — necessary, because they made her quite weak. And enough that my daughter's class was able to have a quasi-graduation ceremony in early August, and we were able to throw her a party for it, albeit outside — on a day when it rained cats and dogs.
The Ugliness of Isolation
She was set to start college later that month. The rules for dorms and class attendance were restrictive. Sorority rush went completely virtual. (You can imagine how well that worked.) She pledged a house but barely got to know any of her pledge sisters because they couldn't let them gather together.
Three weeks into the school year, she came down with COVID. The school's solution at that point was to shuffle kids who had it off to an isolation dorm where they'd basically be in solitary confinement, with cafeteria food delivered to them outside their doors. I saw horror story after horror story in the parent Facebook group about kids not getting food or getting beyond subpar meals delivered. I knew without question that my already emotionally overwhelmed daughter (had left a boyfriend back home; had made few friends; had a rude, messy roommate; was beyond homesick) would not weather that scenario. I had her come home, and the two of us quarantined for the whole month of September. (I never got it during our time in quarantine, by the way.)
The rest of her freshman year was pretty much a disaster. It was next to impossible for kids to get to know one another or settle into campus life. Even moving into the sorority house at semester didn't help because restrictions still kept them fairly isolated. The remainder of her time at college improved as time went on and restrictions eased, but I think she'd agree with me, were I to ask, that starting college during the height of COVID was flat-out awful.
I was still practicing law at the time. As a litigator, having to operate remotely was a huge adjustment. Obviously, there were no trials for a while. Court hearings on Zoom were awkward — particularly given the number of presumably sentient beings with law licenses who couldn't figure out how to mute themselves when not speaking. Cases backed up. Everything slowed to a standstill.
The Strangeness of Everyday Life
Forced to work largely from home, I got in the habit of taking long walks. Those times out in the fresh air and sunshine felt almost normal. Except when someone would be walking the other way and would stop and move across the street to pass me — wouldn't want to come within 6 feet of a stranger, even outside, after all.
I complied with the directional arrows at the stores and the social distancing guidelines and the masking recommendations. I even had a little bit of fun with the latter, sporting decorative headbands as masks — because why not? On some level, I questioned the efficacy of these recommended measures, so many of which seemed counterintuitive. But I wasn't inspired to rock the boat. Mostly, I just wanted to tuck my head down and muddle through it — get to the other side, where my daughter could have more of a "normal" college experience, and my Mom could continue to get the medical care she needed without fear we were placing her in harm's way.
The Vaccine Arrives — And So Do the Questions
There was a glimmer of hope when the vaccines arrived — maybe they'd help us push through it. I was still a fairly trusting soul at the time in terms of the information and guidance we were given by healthcare professionals. Numbers nerd that I am, I tracked the COVID stats daily and by state. I think that was my own way of coping with the anxiety. I watched as the number of cases soared, as did the death toll. It was unsettling and surreal. No one super close to me succumbed to it — I was lucky in that respect — though I did have a friend who was very sick and hospitalized with it early on, for whom it was touch and go for a bit.
My siblings and I were anxious for my Mom to get the vaccine — she was turning 88 and battling lung cancer (on top of missing my Dad terribly). Thank God she was able to remain in her own home instead of being at the mercy of whatever guidelines had to be followed in nursing and assisted care facilities. For that matter, we were anxious to get the vaccine ourselves since we were spending a lot of time around her — and God knows none of us wanted to risk getting her sick in her condition.
My daughter was less sold on the idea of the vaccine. She's never liked doctors or shots, to begin with (perhaps residual PTSD, compliments of her early weeks in the NICU). She'd done her own research on the vaccine and was unnerved by some of the side effects people — especially young women — were reporting. (Remember when doing your own research subjected you to utter ridicule? Because God forbid anyone employ critical thinking...)
I think she expected me to insist she get it, but I didn't. Just as I allowed her the autonomy on the tattoo, I told her the decision regarding the vaccine was hers to make. It wasn't easy because that created some discomfort among family members. We are a close bunch, and there is much love, but even in our tight-knit clan, there was unease for quite a while — fear as to who might unintentionally get who sick.
Knowing what we know now, I am thankful she stood her ground on the matter. And I am proud of her for that. But those were not easy conversations or times. And she was still just a kid trying to navigate her way through troubling, scary days while away from home for the first time.
The Cure Becomes Worse Than the Disease
Meanwhile, speaking of difficulty navigating, I was in the process of transitioning from a full-time legal career to a full-time writing and editing career here at RedState (with some radio on the side). In both the digital medium and radio, we were fighting a constant battle, attempting to discuss COVID — its origins, its true risks, mitigation measures, government overreach, government deception — on a tightly monitored, censorship-happy playing field. Use the wrong words or framing in an article? Risk demonetization. Say the wrong thing on Facebook or Twitter? Kiss your account goodbye. Say the wrong thing on the radio? Have your Facebook or YouTube account taken down.
I still recall what that felt like — the pall that hung over seemingly every move we made. That sense of being constrained and knowing it was wrong and knowing we needed to push back against it but fearing if we pushed back in the wrong way, we'd lose what little voice we had. Wondering if we'd ever come out the other side of it or if we were just on an inevitable downward slide into an Orwellian hell.
Five Years Ago, Something Happened That Forever Changed the World—and Me
People lost loved ones — not just to the SARS-CoV-2 virus, but to the societal sickness that accompanied it. People lost their businesses. People lost their livelihoods. People lost hope. People took their own lives due to the isolation — physical and psychological — forced upon us. People lost trust in our government and medical "experts" because they lied to us, and when we tried to point out that the emperor had no clothes, they tried to shut us up. They broke that trust, and I'm not sure it can ever be mended.
They took school from the kids. They took outdoor parks and restaurants away. They took church away. They forbade family gatherings. They kept people apart from dying family members. They fundamentally altered the way we handle elections. They debanked people for trying to stand up for what was right. They forced people to take a vaccine about which there were legitimate questions and doubts — or else. They showed us they could crush us if they wanted to.
In the name of "safety," they shredded the Constitution and lied about it while doing it. I have no doubt that many of those "in charge" had honorable intentions when it all first began. They didn't quite know what we were dealing with or how best to address it. But instead of acknowledging that and working with the public to get through it all together, they insisted they knew better, and they made the cure worse than the disease.
Coming Out the Other Side
I consider my family lucky overall. We muddled our way through it. But my heart will never not ache for all that my daughter lost — the completion of her senior year of high school and graduation; the adventure of starting college and a new life chapter; the certainty that her extended family accepted her and supported her.
And again...she was one of the lucky ones. In hindsight, she remained strong and weathered the storm and came out the better for it. I'm visiting with her this weekend, celebrating her 23rd birthday. She's healthy and happy and finding her way in the world as a young adult.
But the same cannot be said for many of her peers. And none of them will ever get back what was taken from them — none of us will.
Pandemics are a genuine threat. Pathogens can kill or cause significant harm. Reasonable measures must be taken to mitigate against those risks. But what we witnessed — what we lived through — beginning five years ago was not reasonable. It was irrational and distorted and a gross abuse of power — for which there's been very little accountability. And I suspect many of us will struggle the rest of our lives to make peace with all that was lost.
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