What. A. (insert swear word) Year.
Why revisit this year? Fair question. Chapters 3 through 12, aka March through December, jumble in my brain. How could anyone unscramble this unbelievable time in history — with a global pandemic, devastating wildfires in the West, a derecho in the Midwest, racial inequity and social unrest, and a polarizing nail-biter election in the USA.
I can’t make sense of it, but a few things encouraged me to try.
Scrolling through my photo gallery one day sparked surprising joy. And after starting on our family time capsule, the thought of opening it in the future reminded me that this year’s storm is blowing over.
I want a record of 2020, good and bad, beyond the memory of masks and hand sanitizer.
Oh, and I had plenty of time to reflect.
I friended Des Moines Parks in 2020.
Looking back, I took much for granted. January and February are one mostly happy blur
of coffee/lunch/dinner dates, movies and plays, baby showers, concerts, trip planning, and wedding dress shopping with my future daughter-in-law.
I never imagined that nearly a year later we’d be editing the wording of a COVID clause in the invite for a spring 2021 wedding.
Like many families, both sides of my family were eager to celebrate weddings this year, including my niece’s planned for South Bend, followed by a second wedding later in Ecuador, Nicho’s home.
Virtual shower party favors They were the epitome of grace when they chose to postpone their wedding celebration.
In early March, family gathered at our house to meet my great-nephew and to celebrate an early St. Pat’s. Little did we know how fast life would change or for how long.
We loved on sweet baby James Patrick in March and were sad to miss his first birthday party.
On March 17, Iowa’s governor declared an emergency proclamation, closing many businesses, including bars, on St. Pat’s Day. A new March madness.
Around this time, my husband began working from home, eventually converting our son’s old bedroom into his office. We are fortunate that he has a good job that he can do remotely. And on the bright side, I now had 24/7 tech support.
This Sheryl Sandberg quote became one of my early 2020 mantras.
I was never one to swear. But this year. I swear.
In the beginning I was an optimistic cheerleader, rooting for all. I was wowed by every single person who was kicking the sh*t out of Option B — doctors, nurses, teachers, home schoolers, students, parents, my hair salon and Pilates studio owners, truck drivers, direct-support providers, mail carriers, restaurateurs, small business owners, Black-owned businesses, musicians, artists, nonprofit leaders …
But over time, compassion/COVID fatigue set in. Scanning news headlines day after day brought grim death milestones, scenes of makeshift morgues, depressing drone images of car lines for food, and stories of businesses struggling to stay afloat and the elderly isolated.
Friends and family lost jobs. Took pay cuts. Became seriously ill with the virus. Cancer took their breasts, lymph nodes, and spouses. Families were upended by suicide, accidents, bomb-shell health issues, miscarriages. A beloved Dowling teacher, and my son’s former field coach, died.
My son had to put his cat down. My nephew’s dog had to have her eye removed.
Sadness, big and small, stacked up.
I was fine. But others were not. While I nature walked, kids were doing PE online and parents were juggling work and dizzying choices and changing statuses about distance learning and hybrid schedules and extracurriculars. While I lounged in comfy PJs, frontline workers labored in personal protective equipment. And while I looked for new recipes, others struggled to put food on the table.
This quote from a mental health therapist in a news article said it best: “We’re not all in the same boat. We’re all out in the same storm, but some of us have a yacht, and some have a piece of driftwood.”
I was fortunate to cling to something in between, grateful for my safety but weighted down by the ongoing sadness and stress depleting so many.
In August Iowa reached a grim milestone: 1,000 lives lost. A joyless day. Iowa’s death toll from COVID today: 3,745. A grieving family behind each number.
Some days I was between wanting to save the world and binge-watching Ozark. Some days I was productive. Some days not.
I discovered a Clean Washer setting on our washing machine. I rediscovered the fuel notice on my gas cap. Closets tidied, emails deleted, socks matched, photos sorted, mismatched stationery mailed, seasonal totes organized, the toaster tray wiped clean of crumbs. I had a cleaner house but couldn’t safely entertain.
Early on I lost my lonely PR battle on “physical” distancing versus “social” distancing. But words matter, and this was no time to social distance.
I zoomed Pilates, coffee chats, Bingo, family holiday parties.
On the “Our Family in 2020” time capsule prompt sheet I wrote my name under “Likes to be outdoors the most.”
Walk after walk, friends and I surveyed uprooted trees, whether from the August derecho or some unknown ailment.
Uprooted trees reminded me of lives upended by this year’s death and destruction.
After a few years of attending the Day of the Dead at the Art Center, I became intrigued with the tradition. When they had to move this year's event online, they encouraged patrons to make their own ofrendas, or offerings.
I enjoyed creating this offering for Fatima Medina’s 100th birthday.
Other new traditions emerged. For Halloween we set treats on the porch. I pulled up a stool and watched trick-or-treaters (and the treats) from behind glass. It offered a different vantage point, one I loved and plan to repeat.
Trick-or-treat in 2020 brought me a needed sense of normalcy and joy.
Two dinner places set for Easter. Three for Thanksgiving. Four for Christmas. My holiday dinner table temporarily altered while others dealt with permanent loss much greater. A friend's tip led us to Howell Tree Farm in Cumming when our traditional Christmas tree stand closed. Both sides of the family had Christmas Zooms, one with lottery ticket scratch-off, one with with Bingo and old home movies.
Option B: Kicking back in our living room for the Garcia/Medina Christmas Zoom.
I kayaked and snowshoed for the first time. I created a blog. I played in sunflowers and visited 20-plus parks. I joined the local NAACP. I welcomed wee ones to the family and mourned angel babies. I delivered peace offerings. I washed my hands incessantly. I saw my nephew marry and went to the summit of Pikes Peak. I read in my hammock. I bird-watched. I consumed fewer material things and ate more plant-based food. I binged on Doritos and Netflix. I longed for Noce, the Fleur Cinema, my Pilates studio, Okoboji, large noisy family gatherings, live music, and travel.
The moon seen from the Brenton Arboretum 12-21, the night Jupiter and Saturn converged.
Why revisit a hella crazy year? I doubt that I’ll remember that I voted early in an October snow squall, or that my band from the 1970s, Fleetwood Mac, was trending because of a guy on a skateboard drinking Ocean Spray juice. Or that I made a mask from a T-shirt sleeve. I may soon forget about quarantunes, maskne, Blursday, doom-scrolling, pods, and bubbles.
My eye smile needs work, but this was a fun Saturday with a friend at McHenry Park.
But I do hope I remember that I/we kicked the sh*it out of Option B a few times.
© 2020 by Catherine Broderick Medina
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