Life in Covid 19Times

I wrote this 2 weeks ago but for some reason it didn't go through. I'm publishing it late; oops.

My Dad is singing in the bathtub.  He's 80 years old and has COPD.  He worked at the Algoma Steel Plant all of his life, in horrible conditions.  He was born in a small town in Austria during WW2 and remembers his family's struggle to keep food on the table.  His older sisters had to hide in the attic so they wouldn't be raped by German soldiers.

My 75 year old Mom is downstairs, watching the news.  She was born in Canada, after the war, but her family also struggled with money. She remembers having only one doll as a child, but she didn't have it long as an older, jealous cousin speared it with a hot poker from the fireplace.  Later, as a teen, she had one roller skate, and said she loved that roller skate so much. Mom is a 2 time cancer survivor.  She is tough.

I am 55, and have had severe chronic asthma since I was a baby.  I've had pneumonia so many times.  I used to be a teacher, but could no longer teach after being assaulted by a teenaged special needs student, who almost broke my neck.  It took me 3 months of recovery to be well enough to go to physical therapy, 6 months of physio to be able to turn my head side to side, or raise my arm, and another 6 months to get back to almost normal.  I still have pain in my neck and limited mobility when I try to turn my head to the left, years later.

We've all dealt with our issues and carried on, but now it seems we are all at risk due to the new corona virus, Covid 19.

I took it seriously from the start and have been self isolating.  My parents only started taking things more seriously this week, after Ontario shut down everything except for essential services.  They still think it's OK to go to the grocery store or pharmacy every day.  My Mom likes to go for a walk in the mall every day, but now that almost everything is closed she is walking outside, which for now we are told is still OK.

Yesterday I went for a walk in my neighborhood.  There were only a few other people out and we all gave eachother a wild berth, not walking closely to one another.  Except for one young guy on a bike who was weaving his bike all around the road and onto both sidewalks, coughing away.  I think he thought it was funny.  It wasn't.

I live in my family home.  Every time I see my parents, I wonder how much longer they'll be with me.  I wonder if I'll remember that my Dad likes to sing in the tub, and while he vacuums. That he likes to cook.

I'm trying to hoarde memories, in case I need them.

I am worried. I hope I'm overreacting, but I've read so many dystopian novels and watched so many post apocalyptic movies that I am having a very hard time seeing how things can get better.

I am also a writer, with a vivid imagination. If I were writing this, in future chapters things would get worse.  Health care workers would contact the disease and be unable to work.  People would start dying from things that they would normally have survived because the health care system is broken.  The workers who package and deliver our foods would get sick and there would be riots over food and medicine.  I am glad I'm not writing this and I hope with all my heart that I am wrong.

That people will be peaceful and cooperate and things will get better.

But I don't see that happening.

I hope that if anyone is reading this, that you are safe, and healthy, and that your family is safe and healthy too.

I'm writing this mostly for me, to document my feelings right now.