On June 27, 2020, I predicted, “Eventually I will snap out of this coronavirus funk.” Five years later, I’m no longer sure of that.
We wanted the pandemic to be over. Governor Kim Reynolds said as much when she proclaimed,
“We cannot continue to suspend duly enacted laws and treat COVID-19 as a public health emergency indefinitely. After two years, it’s no longer feasible or necessary. The flu and other infectious illnesses are part of our everyday lives, and coronavirus can be managed similarly,” stated Gov. Reynolds. “State agencies will now manage COVID-19 as part of normal daily business, and reallocate resources that have been solely dedicated to the response effort to serve other important needs for Iowans.” (Governor Kim Reynolds Press Release, Feb. 2, 2022).
Looking back on these five years, the pandemic broke us as a society. The pieces won’t fit back together and dark forces have taken us new, unpredictable directions which were unknowable before the outbreak. We must go on living, yet with a palpable sense of loss. I don’t like it, yet am at a turning point, where I must adapt to this life by living with loss. Not unlike the way people were affected by the Great Depression. I am not ready to stop living.
If we concede Governor Reynolds’ point, that the coronavirus pandemic is over, what was lost during that time?
People who were close to me died of COVID-19. Both close geographically, and with a long personal history together. They are permanently gone. Many more contracted the virus and were quite sick with it. Some still wear protective masks in public. I contracted the virus in August 2024 and thought I would die of it. Obviously, the pandemic was not over in 2024. It’s not over yet.
As we sheltered in place for months, then years, the outside world diminished in importance. What mattered more was what we did within the confines of our home, family, and property. What I didn’t understand in the early days of the pandemic was those outside activities would not come back with resilience. Trips off property became controlled and specific. There was no time for extras which were rubbed out by the virus.
For me, the pandemic coincided with leaving paid outside work and retiring. I had claimed Social Security as soon as I reached full retirement age in 2018. Loss of extra income from multiple jobs did not put us in the poor house, yet there were financial constraints on what I could do. I had never been on such a tight budget before. Being close on funds changes a person.
So now there is today. What shall I do with it? That question was there before the pandemic, even if I ignored seriously answering it. With the extras stripped away from life, there seems little else to do but work toward an answer. And so, for as long as I take breath, I shall.
It begins with harvesting cucumbers, squash, fennel, kale, and collards, and donating the excess to the food pantries on Monday and Tuesday. Where life goes from there is a blank page in an open book, waiting for us to write the future.
Journey Home 
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