This week my family will approach a number of crucial one-year “anniversaries” associated with our lockdown response to the Covid-19 pandemic.
Like many of my fellow Connecticut residents, March 13th is the date my lockdown officially began.
Supermarket-Sweeping across already-ransacked and bare shelves at my local Stop and Shop on that fateful Friday the 13th will long live in my memory as one of the oddest experiences in my life.
As I wrote about here that week, when I noticed my one-year-old daughter absorbing the other customers’ fear and aggression, we took refuge in the florist aisle and focused on something beautiful amid the chaos. We played peek-a-boo with a St. Patrick’s Day 4-leaf clover balloon.
I knew we were embarking on a new reality that afternoon but I had no way of knowing that would be her last time in a non-medical, non-socially distanced public setting for over a year.
Now, here we are a year later once again welcoming the first signs of spring, baking Irish soda bread, and assembling the ingredients for corned beef and potatoes while preparing for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations at our local library (though this time over Zoom).
There is a bittersweetness about the whole thing (and not just from the soda bread’s caraway seeds).
It seems appropriate to honor the moment in some way. I think of it as a “pandemiversary.” A bit dark perhaps, but not as dark as my family’s practice of recognizing Mom’s deathiversary every year on the date of her passing.
Our “pandemiversary” calls not for celebration but for commemoration.
We aren’t usually good at that. We treat Memorial Day synonymously with Labor Day; backyard barbecue bookends for opening and closing our swimming pools.
It isn’t in Americans’ nature to dwell on past unpleasantries. Uncle Sam is never painted with a teardrop tattoo though he could certainly lay claim to plenty.
Whether you’re part of the forces pushing towards vaccinated herd immunity or part of the forces blundering through herd stupidity, it’s impossible to deny that the past 365 days have tremendously impacted our lives.
It’s important to reflect upon such moments, even the unpleasant ones.
We’ve all seen enough “2020 was the worst” and “2020 wasn’t all bad” posts to know last year was a mixed blessing. Now that we’re in 2021 and done blaming a calendar year we can try to comprehend a little bit about what happened.
With Connecticut rocketing past one million vaccines administered and approximately 20% of the population already vaccinated, spring has sprung eternal bringing new light that will, with time, reveal the true scope of damage incurred from the storm which pummeled us throughout the night.
Morning doesn’t bring much help in the midst of a hurricane but it allows you to assess the damages sustained while comforting you that time proceeds and clear skies will be here soon.
From my vantage point, however, it appears as though the past year has burst our resurgent nationalism like a poorly-insulated pipe on a frozen Texas plain.
We’ve been here before.
Patriotism and disillusion are as natural to the American condition as inhalation and exhalation. I’m particularly sensitive to this because I was born into the void between Jimmy Carter’s malaise and Ronald Reagan’s shining city on a hill.
There might be nothing more American than periodic disillusionment – except for the surge of optimism that always follows.
Don’t forget to set your clocks forward next Saturday. It’s time for all of us to spring forward; together again.
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