As much as we get tired of hearing or talking about coronavirus, it may be with us for some time. After all, the summer Olympics were postponed and spring has only just begun. That means the big wigs at the top didn’t think bringing people together was such a great idea.
More than that, the coronavirus will forever change this generation’s view of microbes. (By this generation, I mean people who live through this and remember it, including my seven year old daughter.) I remember when the biggest and scariest contagion was HIV. You had to get bloody intimate with people to get this virus, either through unprotected sex or a contaminated blood transfusion. Even so, there was anxiety in the air. The rapidity with which the virus spread was indicative of how intimate people were with each other. Turns out there was more intimacy in the world than I imagined in my naivete. I had no idea there was that much body fluid sharing going on.
Now, the contagion is spread through air. Air. What we took for granted has now fallen into the realm of intimacy. I sat in a chair about four feet away from another woman while waiting for an oil change for my car and the woman stood up and moved to another seat. I was the leper, or the potential leper. I have to live with that. If before I lived in a community that largely ignored me, now I’m in an environment where people move away from me.
If before I lived in a community that largely ignored me, now I’m in an environment where people move away from me.
Ironically, I don’t know if this coronavirus is bringing people together or pushing them apart. On the one hand, people are banding together against the government mandated lock downs. Whether you agree or disagree, I think people coming together is a good thing. People are also spending more time at home with their families because… well…. they have to. Maybe they can get to know their kids a little better now that they’re away from school. This virus provides an opportunity for families to reconnect with the rhythm of home instead of the dictates of third parties.
On the other hand, the virus is pulling people apart. My parents, who normally invite their neighbors for dinner, haven’t had anyone inside their house for two months, including me. When I visit, I stay in the quonset hut. We eat at a t-shaped table in the garage side of the hut, with my parents and daughter sitting at the top end of the cross, so to speak, and me on the other end. I bought plastic utensils and plates so my mother wouldn’t be afraid of getting the virus from the dishes.
My parents are both over 60. My step-father has high blood pressure, which worries him getting the virus even more. I understand their concern.
The worst part about this is that I can’t hug my daughter. I can’t hold her. I can’t kiss her. I can’t put her on my lap and read with her. I can’t play a board game, because my parents don’t want us touching the same objects. I have to settle for six feet of intimacy. Oddly enough, after the bizarre arrangement we’ve been through, virtually hugging, pretending to kiss, and wrapping our arms around each other from a distance now seems intimate. It is the new normal.
Next week I have to take Polina to the dentist. I will have been in quarantine one week by myself. I will hold my daughter for the first time in two months. Then, we will both be in quarantine for two weeks. We won’t be able to enter my parents’ house during that time.
I’m tired of this virus, and I can’t wait for it to be over.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s over.
