Saturday, September 26, 2020

I'm suffocating and struggling

 The pandemic has done a horrible number on all of us. I, like so many, have not been near another human being for the most part. For about the first 3+ months I didn't venture out anywhere. Then, one day, I went to Trader Joe's to get some food. I was the first one in the store with my mask and gloves, and I was in and out in 17 minutes. It's now nearly October and I can count on less than both hands the times I have gone into a store to do some really quick shopping. Abbott has been the one to do most of the shopping for me.

So, I've been home or rather, in the house for several months. I say 'in the house' because it's been horrendously hot here since the pandemic started.  It's been too hot to even sit out on my patio.  I'm able to walk Snuggles very early in the morning and sometimes pass other dog walkers, runners or bicycle riders but we give each other a wide berth. Sometimes we even wave. But that's it.

Since my beloved Warren died, I had become used to being alone so the self-imposed isolation because of Covid-19 didn't seem to make much difference, except that I missed the occasional breakfast or lunch date with some friends.

But in the last few weeks I have begun to feel as if I'm suffocating and gagging from the almost total lack of human contact. And it certainly didn't help my mental state to watch my precious little doggie, Sterling, get sick and eventually die. He and Snuggles were brought up together during 12 years of love and she and I are having a hard time adjusting to his absence.

I often think about how this horrendous situation would be if Warren was still with me. We'd be laughing throughout the day because that's how it was when we were together. We'd be walking Snuggles together, cooking together, and having great conversations with one another, as we often did. Together is the important word here. We may have felt a bit trapped as many of us do now but at least we'd have the joy of interaction with another human being.  Right now, I miss his hugs most of all.

 I'm grateful that Ethan calls so often, that I'm able to see Abbott a few minutes at a time, that I can keep in touch with family and friends via phone, emails and some Zoom sessions. But the struggle of loneliness continues.

Copyright © 2020. Reisa Sterling Miller. All Rights Reserved.