(Public Domain)
There’s a kind of hush all over the world tonight. No, the hush isn’t from the Herman’s Hermits song that begins with this opening line. It’s the hush of a world that’s been shut down.
I’ve been in my home for more than a week, save for the occasional trip for essentials from ShopRite or Target. The last time I went shopping, I found aisles of paper products empty, as well as bare refrigerated sections where meat once resided. Feminine hygiene products, pasta, sauce and milk were in short supply. Lines at the checkout snaked throughout the store, while faces of most shoppers were either worn from exhaustion or pale with fear. It was worse than anything I had ever seen in all my years on this planet. Coronavirus is a frightening thought, it’s true. Those who have compromised immune systems, a demographic where I’m included, run the risk of contagion by simply purchasing a prescription at CVS. The elderly and very young are also at risk, which means that if you’re sick, for goodness sake, please consider them before you venture outdoors. If you’re sick, stay home.
When my neurologist notified me on Friday that it was best to stay home unless it was a necessity to go out, I was a little upset. The thought of being purposely homebound felt a bit claustrophobic, especially because I live with a disease that has the potential to stop me from moving. After a good deal of thought, however, I realized that being “stuck at home” could be a blessing in disguise.
For example, I was able to get some much-needed rest. The rest enabled me to catch up on a few shows that I’d otherwise missed, like The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel or Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. I was able to finish a baby blanket with a matching baby and Mommy cap for my daughter’s friend, who will hopefully have her baby shower at the end of April. Hubby and I have been able to enjoy a few heart-to-hearts, and I’ve been able to slow down enough to notice things that I’d otherwise have missed, like the opening of the first crocus and my parsley plants that made it through the winter.
The hush has been priceless, to be honest. It reminds me of a simpler time, when I was much younger. The traffic was lighter, both on the roads and in the air. At night, the stars almost seemed to dance high above, while nothing could be heard except the sound of the wind or the rustle of leaves across the pavement. I stood out on the deck in my yard last night and was literally enveloped in silence. It transported me back to my childhood.
While it’s true, there are quite a few people who have been furloughed, laid off or just told to work from home, it’s important to remember that we aren’t alone. My daughter will not receive another paycheck from her school district until two weeks after she returns to work, whenever that occurs. It’s tough out there, but I’m hopeful that brighter days are ahead.
Good things always come out of dark times. For example, many supermarkets and retailers are opening an hour earlier for senior citizens and those with compromised immune systems. Citizens are banding together to help each other, whether to donate some toilet paper or food to a neighbor or are donating meals to others. Last week, my elderly mom went into Walmart, where she found the last two 12-packs of toilet tissue. She saw a young mother nearby. Mom took both packages off the palette and gave one to the mom, who burst into tears. She confided to Mom that she’d run out and had been to four other stores with no luck. Mom, who would give anyone the shirt off her back, told her that in bad times, it was important to be helpful, not greedy. Her lesson to the young mom reminded me of one of the lines from the poem, “If,” by Rudyard Kipling: “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it.” Mom didn’t panic, nor did she allow the current clime to prevent her from helping someone else.
This morning, Hubby and I drove down Old Country Road for a cup of Dunkin’ at the drive-through. When we came home, the faint roar of the LIE could not be heard. Instead, the music of a soft breeze as it rustled the dried leaves against the fence, coupled with the faint trill of the robins in the trees, were the only sounds around. As silence enveloped me, I was reminded by a line by Tupac Shakur: “For every dark night, there’s a brighter day.” Remember that, my friends, as we navigate these uncharted waters. We are made of stronger stuff than we think. A brighter day is coming, so before we hoard all the toilet paper, let’s shine a light for others, so we can become bright beacons of hope.
