Three Years With Covid

It is still fairly early on this cold-not-yet-Spring morning in the Northeast.

The world is quiet outside, nice and clear, filled with the possibilities of the day.

I turned on the morning news as I was piddling around thinking about the world as it is, and the newscaster said, "It was on this day in 2020 when the first case of Coronavirus came to Connecticut."

Millions of lives, thousands of people.

We will never be the same.

Nor should we.

I thought about how my now college junior was set to interview presidential and congressional candidates at the Edward Jones Dome in downtown St. Louis. We had only heard inklings about Covid. Someone at her school had gone to Italy and was supposed to be coming back. She and her sister had an orchestra competition in Florida and were leaving a few days from then.

It was my sorority's Centennial Year and so many of us had plans for that summer, we had already had a major celebration in our city and our fraternity brothers were having a regional conference.

My daughters were planning for their debutante and all the things that go with senior year.

In the midst of all that, my husband was at his university as Interim President and I was working on primary get-out-the-vote, we had had a rally not many days prior to March 8.

How the world changed.

From whispers, I remember the first news shows about people getting sick on cruise ships and something about China, even them showing a foot-tap instead of a handshake.

America thought it wouldn't come to us.

All that changed in a blink of an eye.

I remember someone whispering to us that it was already here, we just didn't know it yet, by here, they meant where I live now, in the Northeast. New York was among the hardest hit states as was Connecticut. There was a superspreader event at a Mansion down near Greenwich/Darien area. Living here now, I am more familiar with the region, I can understand how this relatively small state situated between two big cities of Boston and New York, could become an epicenter.

Spring break changed immediately for us.

Our girls still went to their orchestra competition and everyone was scrambling for alcohol and aloe vera to make handmade sanitizer because overnight, that was a hot-ticket item.

In rapid fire, things like toilet paper and paper towels became scarce, people started shuttering their doors, parts of the northeast had started issuing stay-at-home orders. So many were dying.

I think about that time, we were all worried and had an inept president who didn't seem to care.

The next two-to-three weeks in 2020 turned our whole world upside down.

My daughters spent spring break hunkered down in their bedrooms learning how to order food to be delivered to our table outside with no human contact with the delivery person who came with gloves on and we sprayed everything before it came in to our house.

Their school became at home and would remain so for the next year. My oldest daughter didn't have her graduation activities and it would be well into July before they had an outdoor ceremony with everyone masked, we were among those who were having masks made, KN95 were no where, so instagram folks were showing how to make one with an old t-shirt, people were using bandanas.

Looking back on it, so many things happened that we will continue to unpack.

In the coming days, I'm sure there will be many more remembrances because we are still marking the time of how this virus upended lives and is still doing so.

We are vaccinated and some still got it but at least they did not die.

I still mask when I travel and go in public places, taking it off to eat. My large gatherings are still limited. Not everyone is doing that. There were so many protests about taking away one's rights when asked to simply think about their fellow human being and put a mask on in closed spaces.

The selfishness of Americans came out in full display, followed by the depravity of some, the indifference of others.

12,000 people died in my new state of Connecticut.

It is crazy to think how much this upended our world and that we are not fully out of it.

Over the next few moments and days, I am processing how much changed.

How are you processing what has changed?

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

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I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma. He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes. It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...

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