When the dam broke.

So, Thursday, April 9, it happened.  What is “it” you might ask.  Well, I came unglued.  I had a full blown go to pieces.

The events of the previous 3 weeks finally took their toll, and I cracked.  Once that fissure materialized, it widened with seismic effects.  The tectonic pressure finally showed itself and plates shifted, with the expected ugliness of such a moment.

The dam broke, and I cried like I haven’t cried in a long time.  I cried hard.  Unfortunately, I was on the phone with my son at the time.  It wasn’t pretty. 

He is my rock, the singular object of my love and all that I believe is good in the world.  We hadn’t seen each other since March 9, just before all hell broke loose and the world, once again, became a new world of undefined expectations, existential threats, imminent bad things.  Time with him is a heightened reality, each moment precious and reorienting to what is important on this plane.

He’s been through a lot in this time.  I have too.  We all have.  Reconciling all of this erratic data and experiences finally took its toll, and I had an historic meltdown.

Let me back up, and share my Covid tale of the last few weeks.

So, Wednesday, March 18, I had been feeling pretty crumby for a day or so – sore throat, cough, “intestinal distress”.  Bought a thermometer and realized I was running a fever.  The head honcho at our company is a wonderful guy, and a germaphobe.  The virus was well known at this point and we were full on preparing for a shutdown.  All efforts were made to get folks ready to work from home and carry on. 

While out on my duties, Thursday, two things happened which piqued my attention.  Thing one:  I went by a bank, a block from our office, and was told they were under quarantine for two weeks, as the county reported an increase in infections. (Days later learned the positive case was in the building, not the bank branch, where I frequented.  The first few days, the infection was in the branch).  Thing two: I drove past an assisted living facility, and a hearse was pulling out, with a retinue of employees standing out front, waving.

After a few days, and (in my mind) symptoms got worse, and jived with Covid symptoms, I sought medical help.  Called the county health department, they said call your personal physician, who said call the local emergency room.  Thankfully, our health care provider set up a “free” telemedicine connection the week before.  After about 36 hours of calling, Sunday night, I talked to a doctor, who told me to go to the local emergency room.

I did (with a co-pay of $350) and received a flu swab, a strep test, a chest xray, and a Covid swab.  It was a very odd experience but very efficient, surprising for my rural community.

The take home message was stay put for two weeks.

So I went home.  I had food, TP, all the essentials for two weeks.  But now, I was on high alert – What the actual fuck is going on?  What’s happening “out there”?  I live in a very rural part of Tennessee, and work in Chattanooga, not a major metropolitan area but larger that my world.

After two and a half weeks sitting on the couch, watching the news, trying to be informed as possible, I was getting stir crazy, then I went back to work.

Chattanooga was a changed world.  No one was on the roads, the courthouse was pretty much closed down, people were locking the door and asking why you were there.  I suppressed my freakedoutedness for the two work days, Wednesday and Thursday, before we had Good Friday off.  It was all I could do to not express outright panic every moment I was in that world.

In my head, I didn’t go so far as “this is the end of the world”, but “we have no clue where this is going” was the predominate thought.  Where’s the bottom?  No idea.  Hang on because the ride is going to be rough, and weird. 

Talking to my son, a very bright 17 year old who has seen more expectations shattered in less time than I ever experienced, it was impossible to conceal my concerns.  I have no worries that this is going to be a death toll equivalent to the flu of 1918, but the societal disruptions will, I am confident, be far greater.

He, in my mind, is at the epicenter of this mess.  His future is entirely up in the air – senior year coming up, is going to college still a thing, the job market.  Good lord, to lay all of this at the feet of kids is unimaginable. 

Thursday, my defenses completely collapsed.  I couldn’t take it.  John Prine had died.  I had no idea which way was up, which way was forward.  Now, a new groove has settled in.

I had the opportunity to spend a few hours with the boy yesterday, and he gave me great hope.  We sat outside, socially distanced, and shared cheeseburgers from our favorite restaurant, Shenanigans, for almost 3 hours, sharing our stories.  We will be OK.  It will just take a while.