She was in her seventies, like my dad. Both have seen many things happen over the years.
Dad was complaining to me about Trump, how it doesn't make sense, Trump babbling about how nobody has ever seen anything like this pandemic before, and we have no idea what's coming. It's just not true.
We know what's coming. I mean, in general.
People will die.
We will bury our dead, or burn them.
We will grieve, and we will move on.
I look around me at people living in a space of fear, or stress, of the unknown. How long will the children be out of school? When will they go back, if at all this year? Will the economy recover?
I see a few friends talking about the numbers, but still only expressing ghastly horror at the idea that lines of fresh graves are being dug in Iran and lined with lime. This is not horror. This is reality. Horror is on the TV, in carefully crafted stimulation. Important to turn that off sometimes. A lot of the time.
So much power is in the hands of the banks, the lenders, the landowners. No one HAS to go out of business completely, right away. It's a question of when bills are called due. When penalties are permitted again.
A friend of mine expressed fear of getting sick. Watching for the signs.
I've been sick for almost two weeks now. Temperature on and off elevated - but only in the 99s or at most 100 degrees.
Not high enough to warrant testing.
Sweating through naps and restless nights. Tossing off the covers, getting chilled. Concluding that too hot is better for my respiratory system than too cold. Glad I have my symbicort inhaler. And lots of ramen noodle soup.
Glad to be a type O and to know my daughter is too, and so is my dad.
Brian is type A+ but he's sturdier than me in every way.
We go on.
When the time comes, if necessary, we will bury our dead. And grieve.
And we will go on.
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