I'm sitting quietly in my dining room reflecting on the events of the day. At 1.45pm, CST, I joined 75,495,716 people in the United States who've been vaccinated at least once for COVID-19. At the moment the significance didn't hit me.
Sitting in my automobile afterward, I can admit to the tears that started flowing. I thought of so much. I thought of my mother who passed away almost five years ago now. In that moment I missed her more than ever. I wanted to share my moment with her so badly and knew I couldn't. I wondered how she would've handled the pandemic and its effects on family and society. Being the fiery, strong Irish woman that she was, I know the answer. She would've reached deep down inside herself and found the strength and wisdom to do the the things she knew were the right things to do. She would've pulled family and friends as close as possible, and as always in her own loving, selfless way, looked out for them before she looked out for herself.
I thought of all the people who didn't make it to this moment. Those people who died hooked up to ventilators without family there to comfort them. Their families who suffered the heart-wrenching tragedy of loved ones dying and not being able to be there.
I thought of all those yet to be vaccinated. Patiently waiting their turn, wearing their masks, keeping their distance. Day in and day out counting the moments until they get their chance to get the protection we all deserve.
As I sat crying in joy and sadness for the things I've mentioned above, I thought back to my childhood. Steamy, humid summer midwest evenings filled with the sound of crickets and the amber glow of fireflies so thick in the air you could practically read by their light. Sitting in cool, metal Adirondack chairs in the dewy humid backyard grass of summer eating ice cold watermelon. Watermelon so cold it made your teeth hurt. But you could feel its chill spreading through your body as you swallowed each piece. Having contests to see who could spit the slimy seeds the furthest.
These were the things I suddenly missed. The innocence of youth where the horrors of viruses that irrevocably damage and change lives was a million miles away and not even on the radar of a ten-year old boy. I grew up in the "between disease" times of the late 60s and 70s. Polio was a horror I only heard the adults talk about, not fully understanding their recollectant terror and the nighmare of AIDS. Horrific diseases that changed the course of humanity whether we admit it, recognize it or not.
All of this flooded me within milliseconds, really. It all flashed in my head with a clarity and embrace that seemed almost impossible. How could I grasp such a large emotion and concept in such a small span of time? How could I project its sigfnificance into a future that hasn't happened yet? I don't know. I just know that I could and did.
It's for all those reasons and many more that I have the duty to double down on my mask wearing. Why I have the responsibility to keep on social distancing. Why I need to keep washing my hands and staying vigilent. We're almost there. There's a light at the end of the tunnel and for once it's not a train.
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