“We live inside historic moments, unaware of their significance.” One of my high school history teachers told us that. He said historians will one day study our time and lives and suggested we record our observations and thoughts to assist them. “Or do it for your future children and grandchildren.” The hint of sex in our future made the boys leer at the girls, which made the girls giggle and the teacher sigh.
Fifty-one years later I am living in the time of Covid-19. I am in this historic moment with 7,655,957,369 others-give or take. Maybe take more away since that is happening in greater numbers than anyone will admit. But those lives may be replaced by a predicted population explosion in coming months.
There are days I wake up and forget this is happening, and nights I cannot sleep because I know it is.
Our youngest granddaughter, after two months of connecting with us only through zoom, dissolved into uncontrollable crying. “I miss Gani and Papa.” This happened several times a day for a solid week. To console her, my daughter promised a road trip from their house in Las Vegas to our house in Rockford.
I ordered zinc, and doubled up on vitamin C.
They have been here a month. We painted, danced, sang, cleaned gravestones, blew bubbles, watched our old oak get cut down and created a fairy town on the stump.
My daughter and grandkids leave in three days. The youngest has been crying off and on for the last week. I can’t console her because I can’t promise when we will see each other again. I won’t lie to children about real things. Only magical things. I suggested she take a couple of fairy houses home with her. “The fairies will fly back and forth and carry messages for us.”
“I wish we were fairies, Gani.”
“Me too. If I were, I’d take away the virus. It would disappear like magic.”
She looks up and stares at my face for a moment, then shakes her head. “That won’t happen.”
“No, my smart girl. It won’t.”
I'm Sharon Nesbit-Davis and that's my perspective.