It's hard to believe it's been a year since all of our lives were so drastically changed. COVID. A year ago it felt so foreign, but now it feels personal. It's stolen a year of our lives, robbed us of precious moments with family and friends, and taken away so many people we loved.
It feels very surreal to be writing this because so much has happened in a year, yet it's felt like I'm spectator watching from afar. I've been in isolation for almost a year. I live with Lupus, an autoimmune disease that attacks my organs, makes any illness- even a common cold- dangerous, and leaves me chronically exhausted and in constant pain. It also places me in the high risk category for COVID (I shared more about it here). I still suffer complications from pneumonia that I had almost two years ago, contracting COVID would kill me. Facing your own mortality puts things into perspective. Things that seemed so important quickly lose their luster.
It's been a lonely year. Unless you live as a high risk person or live with a high risk loved one you zero concept of what this last year has been like. I haven't been able to go to restaurants, grocery shopping, see friends or family, or live any sort of normalcy. I've missed weddings, my nephew's first birthday, and so many other precious moments I can never get back. I've watched friends and family carry on with their lives and it's hurt. I wish I could have carried on with my normal life pretending COVID was not a big deal and not thinking that I could be the next tally on the growing list of COVID deaths, but I can't.
Quarantine has been the most isolating experience of my life. I can count on one hand the number of people who have reached out to see if I'm ok or if we need anything. It's amazing how many people you thought were your friends will drop you like a sack of potatoes as soon as they realize you won't hang out because there's too much of a risk to contract COVID. I watched as a church I thought we belonged to turned their back on us because, "We were letting fear win," "We didn't have enough faith," and my personal favorite, "Clearly we have more faith in science than in God." It hurt. It hurt to be rejected by the place that's supposed to be a refuge and comfort. They didn't care to hear my explanations of how I don't have an immune system or that I had a chronic illness that made me high risk or any of my other so called "excuses." Ironically it's place that refused to comply to mask mandates and suffered several rounds of COVID outbreaks, even the pastor contracted COVID, which I hoped would open their eyes and they would change their tune, but they didn't. Guess what, you can believe in God and trust science too.
I don't care to hear your take on mask mandates, lockdowns, or vaccines because COVID should not have been a political game. But it is. For a year I've been a pawn in a game I don't want to play, but I have no choice because my life is at stake. You have no idea what it is like to have your doctor look you in the face and tell you that if it came down to saving you or a person without a chronic health condition they would save that person. You have no idea how that feels. The vaccine was the first glimmer of hope I had had in over a year, but that was ripped away from me as I was just weeks away from getting vaccinated because our Governor said younger people were not at risk (more here). Every single person under the age of 55 who has died in our state has had an underlying health condition. Every. single. one.
I've been blessed to be able to work from home, but when you don't see other people for weeks or months it's incredibly difficult. I'm thankful to have the dogs home with me all day, but that's not the same as having coworkers to talk to. One of the first times I got out of the house after everything had been shut down in March is one of my best friends took photos of my husband and I for our wedding anniversary. She wore a mask and I couldn't even hug her. That was in July...four months after COVID took over.
Living in isolation has not been all bad. We've saved a lot of money because we don't go anywhere, the post man and I are now on a first name basis (my apologies for having to delivery our 60 lb. bag of dog food), and I'm pretty sure every square inch of our house has been cleaned and organized at least half a dozen times.
But unless you've lived the past year in my shoes, or anyone else who is high risk, you don't have a damn clue what we've been through. I'm forever grateful to the people who have stood by and checked on us. I'm counting down the days until I can get vaccinated and hug the people I love again. Until then, I'll be at home and on the rare trip out of the house I'll be masked up. And next time you think of saying something snarky to someone who won't hang out with you because of COVID, try walking through a year of COVID as a high risk person who's been in isolation for a year.
Be kind, the world desperately needs it.
