I miss
Daddy’s hugs. I still get to hear his voice, but I really miss inhaling his cologne.
The look on my sons face when we sees the fish tank at the library
The excitement of a kind waitress bringing out a steaming plate of food.
Traveling to Chicago just to see the skyline and watch the waves crash on LSD.
The plans I made for spring, for summer, for fall.
Meeting with students of color at universities around the country. Appreciating both their questions and their humor.
My old routine
The thrill of discovering new places- new shops or restaurants or bookstores or parks or museums
Wandering around Target for absolutely no reason
Holiday dinners with extended family. Girl trips, anniversary celebrations, date night, soft pretzels at that one movie theater where the seats recline.
It has been a slow realization that the pandemic is causing (at least) two kinds of pain. There is the pain of the pandemic itself. Figuring out a new way to shop, to feed your family, to keep household essentials in your home. There is the anxiety of leaving your house and finding a mask and washing your hands as often as possible and wondering if the virus is lurking nearby. There is the fear of someone you know getting sick- of *you* getting sick. There is the isolation or the quarantining, the stir-crazy feeling, the intensity of living with or living alone.
And there is also all the things you miss. The ways the tentacles of the pandemic have reached into your future, have changed the present you imagined. There are the people you miss and the disappointment of not being together. There is frustration of wanting to return to normal and knowing normal wasn’t perfect either. The weight of the present is its own pain, made more frustrating by the tentative and ever changing timelines of getting back what has been lost.
If you are feeling the weight, I’m with you. If you are struggling against fear and anxiety or a perpetual numbness, Im with you. If you’ve started making lists of the things you miss, well, I’m with you.
*written from under my covers and not edited at all*
“The ways the tentacles of the pandemic have reached into your future, have changed the present you imagined.”
Beautiful writing.
I love reading your posts in my inbox, Austin.
Thank you for this!
Love it!