Always beneath

We took a weekend finally. To get out of town. Out of our heads. Out of this strangeness weirdness of Pandemic Quarantine. To refresh. Dust off the cobwebs. Stimulate our senses.

We visited our daughter.

Before this. We dutifully went to get tested for Covid. For I don’t know what number. Lovely sweet kind nurses. Dressed in as much armor as they could muster. Swabs jammed up noses but not to our brains so that was good.

So we could receive tests and negative results 72 hours prior to entry. So we could do everything in our power to not infect impact negatively effect the lives of others.

(Mom’s small group of residents that has been super isolated from other residents staff family. They were fully protected. Fully negative for 7 months. But then it came. Arrived via an asymptomatic staff who receives testing every week. Someone who has changed altered their life to protect others. Still it came. One resident has died. From it. Covid. Another one is in critical care. Everyone even more isolated in their darkest most final hours on earth. Now all remaining have tested negative but must wait longer more time. To be absolutely positively sure this is real. That they are safe to be in the same room. To be helped with every possible human experience and interaction. To be cared for as they are no longer capable of the easiest most simple tasks. This has illuminated the most vulnerable. And the most moronic.)

Landed late on Friday evening and met Macy and her friend Aidan at our hotel and then drove to the seaport section. Row 34. Amazing oysters and sister restaurant to Island Creek which we also love and from where we order oysters. To shuck. Taste the ocean.

Stories and laughter and amazing food and wine. Wonderful. Soulful. To be with your people. To smile. To anticipate reactions and familiar faces. To feel free. Lightness of being. For this special moment. Hanging in time. Suspended in quarantine.

The next day was filled with more fabulous food and laughter and apple picking and piglet petting and apple cider donuts and then shopping as the sun set along Newbury Street. A late dinner with more oysters. More smiles. More exhalations of breath. Feelings of contentment and bliss.

(But the nightmare that awoke me in the middle of the night. Of my mom needing extreme care. Of part of her being so sad and angry and humiliated. Part of her being unaware of anything really anymore. My stomach turned. Nausea set in like it sometimes does when I am swarmed bombarded drowning in images of my mom. In pain. In suspension. In this unreal unworldly place between living and dying. Labored breathing. Her increasing inability to swallow. Her lack of appetite. Her overwhelming needs. To be helped. To be free. From pain.

I reached for my phone. Wondering if perhaps something had happened transpired to trigger my urgent need to wake up. Other than the sudden sadness tumultuous emotions. Of being scared. Apprehensive. Anxious. That I might not be able to be at her side at the end. Holding her hand so she is not afraid of the next part of her journey.)

J.P. and I walk out into the cold windy beautiful stillness of early morning. We love our walks together. A chance to see different scenery. Experience the heartbeat of a faster pace. This is my happy.

But I notice how he asks about me. Even more so. Am I ok? I suggest perhaps it is because we are constantly in masks and thus he cannot see my facial expressions. To know that all is well.

We return and dress for breakfast and wait for others to be ready. He shares that he worries about me. Feels a sadness. In me. Underneath it all.

It is inescapable. Always there. Mostly just beneath. I struggle to push it deep. So it does not interfere with the joy and love I have and feel with my people. The fun. The lightness. I crave stretch reach yearn for that freedom of being. The absence of sorrow.

In this time. This place. Of grotesque examples of inhumanity. Of division and hatred. Of extreme hatred. For others. Anyone. Even children. Defined. Quantified as others. Perceived as somehow not human. Not deserving of equality. Basic rights.

No one. Not one person. Is ok.

We pretend. We take moments to assess our scale level of being alright. How do we compare to others. This is no longer about scaling up expanding lifestyles. Collecting more goods. This is about basic needs. Do we have shelter and food. If we can check that box, how can we help others not so fortunate. Mental and physical health. We hope for mediocre. The bar has dropped crashed fallen into a deep hole. Because none of us can be whole while so many suffer. None of us can be human while others are treated inhumanely.

And I feel guilty. Somewhat. Somehow. For taking time to step away. Because I can. Because I have that privilege. That every human should have. Entitlement is about basic human rights. To be safe and healthy. To have opportunities to provide. To be able to protect and shelter and feed the next generation.

Perhaps even to help the oldest generation move shift adjust to the afterlife. Whatever that may be.

To be able to take a break from being responsible. Consumed by sadness duty obligation. To be on call. Every single moment of every day. Just. In case. The moment comes. The unscheduled untimely death.

(Please don’t let it be when I am unreachable unavailable)

No one. Not one person. Ever. Needs to be reminded. Of the daily pain they live with. That no one is ok. That being ok has been redefined.

(So much so that sometimes I giggle inappropriately when asked how I am doing. Or if I am ok. I have all basic needs so yes. Emphatically yes. But I hope yearn for a time in the future when humanity has evolved and the bar has been raised to allow opportunities for all to thrive. Not to just be ok. Or less than)

Instead, we sometimes need to be reminded that it is ok. Acceptable. Good positive mental health. Practiced. Lived. To step away. To feel the sun on (masked) face. To feel lightness. And happy.

(And now I am back. After 48 hours. And mom continues to decline. And I cannot yet visit)

But I can breathe more deeply. Because I got to take a break away from it all. And spend time living loving being with my people.

Breathing. Deeply.

(We need a collective deep breath. And another. Until we can find a place of calm. A place of humanity. Of truth and compassion. Safety. Opportunity. Growth. For each and every one of us)

(Pic in front of Union Oyster House, Boston)