Day #254 Writing Through COVID-19: Sympathy

I did not intend to shop on Black Friday, but I guess I did.

I'd gone to town for a pre-op checkup in preparation for minor eye surgery a week from now. Dan asked me to pick up sympathy cards, so I stopped by Walmart without thinking about what day it was. 

I walked in behind an un-masked shopper, right past the wear-a-mask sign. The store wasn't packed, but it was busier than usual. I rounded my way past Black Friday displays to get to the greeting-card section. 
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I don't like sympathy cards. I really don't like messaged cards in general.

But these cards were for Dan's family friends. There's no way he's going to sit down and craft thoughtful, tender messages on his own, and it is not my place to do it for him. 

So I tried to find cards that were less objectionable than others. 

Cards proclaiming the power of happy memories to overcome grief don't strike me as particularly helpful. Likewise, sending religious messages requires the card-sender to make assumptions about people's beliefs that I have no right to make.

So while my task of selecting sympathy cards was already weighted by my own personal over-thinking baggage, the difficulty bumped to a new level when I saw the thin sympathy-card rack. 

Sympathy-card section at Walmart,
Atlantic, Iowa, Nov. 27, 2020.

 

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I suppose there are non-COVID reasons sympathy cards are depleted in Cass County today. Maybe people are stocking up. Maybe local stocks are low because of high demand across the country (though this explanation provides cold comfort).

My personal observations dovetail:

~~ I have never before shopped for FOUR sympathy cards at once.

~~ Cass County, population 12,930, recorded 214 COVID cases and two deaths as of Oct. 9, seven months into the pandemic.

~~ Then in the past six weeks, we've added almost 600 cases and 19 deaths.

~~ At least three nearby care centers are in COVID outbreak status.

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I darted in and out of Walmart as quickly as I could, buying four bland (ugly) cards and circling wide past unmasked co-shoppers. 

Besides that unpleasant COVID-centric interlude, my day was happy:

I ran.
I read.
I napped.
I ate delicious leftovers.
I played accordion Christmas carols with my mother-in-law.
I played (and won!) Bridge with my dad. 

Tomorrow Dan and I will mail sympathy cards.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison