Death

selective focus photography of tombstone — Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

Each week I have a list of people I think I should check in with. Some are family. Some are colleagues. Many are friends.

Today I was able to speak to Nana. The caption phone didn’t work for the first fifteen minutes, and I was forever grateful that her aid, who still goes to work with Nana for four hours a day, was willing to help out. Eventually, the captioning phone kicked in and if I speak slow enough, the words pop up on the phone’s screen so Nana can read them. This does make for stunted communication, but it is communication. And since Nana is in a NJ nursing home where Covid 19 is making the rounds, every communication is golden.

I also reached out to a co-worker just to chat. It gave me a sense of normalcy to speak pedagogy. And it was great to hear that things are well at home. She and her kids are having a bit of fun.

Another call I made was to a friend. He’s alone right now, and somewhat disconnected from the world. I’ve always enjoyed our conversations and listening to different viewpoints about books and movies. But today’s conversation began with him telling me he lost a family member to Covid 19.

I knew this would happen, and that it would only be a matter of time. It’s like playing six degrees of separation Kevin Bacon style. You know that someone will know someone affected by the virus. Unfortunately, this someone passed away from it. It’s horrifying.

I wonder how many other people I know have someone in their lives who is ill, or hospitalized with Covid 19. There has got to be at least one more. I do know a couple from church who both have it. So far they are kicking it. I have family members working on the front lines who have been exposed, but as far as I know, they aren’t ill.

But it is just a matter of time. I wonder how close to our front door Covid’s Death will come. Not to sound morbid, but there is that possibility.

Have you played Degrees of Separation from Covid?

Stay safe dear reader.

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My heart is broken. Six weeks into 2018 and there have been so many who have passed on from this world hopefully into the next.

First it was LeGuin, whose Left Hand of Darkness shaped my early college experience. As a middle-aged adult I remember reading how she stood up for women writers.NPR’s tribute speaks of her need to be counted as a writer and as a mother.

And then it was Dallas Mayr, AKA Jack Ketchum, a man I had met a few times at Necon, GSHW meetings, and a friend’s birthday. Dallas was generous and warm, an everyday man who wrote about the darkest side of human nature. When I heard of his passing, I ran to the basement to rummage through the book shelves for Peaceable Kingdom and its personal inscription, wondering how I had not thought of him often. Entertainment Weekly heralded his death to the masses, complete with Stephen King’s tribute. And to think I shared a drink and a meal with Dallas.

I wanted to write this post just after Dallas’ death, but I didn’t have it in me to put any words down.

Then a friend died. An older woman I had wished to know better, and had intended to visit, but didn’t because of life’s hectic nature. I remember thinking how I would visit her in her nursing home room. She had liked the cookies I had brought the last time. Maybe I would ask a friend to come. Only I didn’t.

And then this week, the unthinkable happened again. The Parkland School Shooting. As an educator, I am afraid, afraid of when it will happen in our school. It has happened so often in America and yet we play out the same response, pray, debate, and drop the subject. As a mother, I cried and ran home to hug my son. I pray everyday it won’t happen in his school. The memory of him recounting the first time he had a lock down drill in kindergarten shook me. Children should not have to experience such things.

Death is so often casually dealt with. Some grieve. Some ignore it. But one thing is true to me, the Grim Reaper is walking about our purple mountains, our fruitful plains, from sea to shining sea.

May we transform to become better human beings.

JMonell

Tag: Death

Day 32: A Death Close to Home. Six Degrees of Separation