Just two months ago I was planning my summer trip to Disney World. I haven’t been there and was really excited to see the new Star Wars section of the park. I was also looking forward to maybe traveling to Chicago for a conference and getting a lot of cool things done now that the weather is nice.

Funny how that is.

Now I’ve been working exclusively from home for a month. I am playing go-fer for my kid’s teachers (i.e. making sure he is doing the right assignments, submissions, organizing, etc). I work more, walk more, ride the bike more, drink a little more, and generally am getting more done around the house. After all, when there is no place to go I save time on driving, save money on gas, and have more time to be in the here and now. An optimistic side of me says that I can build these new habits and come out of this better.

I do eat out far less which I am sure is a good thing, and unfortunately, I write less. To date my best writing is done on a day off where I have the ability to structure the day for that purpose and properly apply coffee in the right doses. I have completed a second draft of a novel – first novel – and am working on the business parts as well as learning to edit and make sure that what is on paper is the best it can be.

But I digress. What strikes me is how quickly the world has pivoted. Suddenly the expensive car we drive is paperweight on our drive way or in the garage. The friends and our social spots are persona-non-grata. The streets of the neighborhood are (relatively) flooded and I now can recognize faces. I even have had conversations with neighbors that have lives on the same street for decades.

While I feel sorry for all of us, especially those who were in less of a position to handle the change, I do find this time interesting. It feels a bit like nature is slapping us in the face and reminding us what is important. People, family especially. The rest is just window dressing. I hope the global pandemic does leave a lasting mark on the world. After all, we do our best when we are under pressure to adapt.

 

I sat in the sun gazing quietly into hidden sea of memories. Moments after the tears dried on my cheeks they would start again, and I had no rest from the fresh ache that dwelt in my heart. An old acquaintance came and gently rested beside me. We sat in silence for a while before he posed the question.

“Why do you weep?” he asked in his normally reserved voice.

“Because I miss him,” I answered simply. It was the plain truth.

He pondered my answer for a few moments before responding. “Did you not miss your father this way?”

“No,” I answered. “How can I miss what was never there? For a void to be recognized, it must have been previously filled.”

He nodded sadly and sighed in what I could only see as agreement. Wishing to be alone with my thoughts I stood slowly and glanced at him. A single tear left its wet track as it rolled down his cheek, and I was uncertain why.

Wondering, I turned to walk away. Was he sad for the loss of my dog or because I lack emotion for other losses?