Writing Through COVID-19: An Attempt at Some Closure

Last Friday I wrote about my second day in quarantine, but I haven't posted since.

In my past year of blogging through COVID, I've written on 252 of 365 days, which is 70% productivity, or roughly five days a week. 
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But I've spent the past week avoiding this space. My excuses don't hold up because for the past 51 weeks I pushed past those same excuses and simply put my fingers on the keyboard, narrowed my focus to the smallest moments of the day, and wrote. 

Tonight, as I compose what will be the final entry of this year-long writing project, I realize my avoidance of blogging this past week has been the avoidance of closure itself. 
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I'm not good at goodbyes. 

I shy against the emotion and instead make jokes or redirect. When I think back to dropping my children off at college--quintessential goodbye moments--I see scraps of chaos (scolding 9-year-old twins climbing on their oldest sister's dorm bunk) and forced levity, laughing too loud, executing a quick, perfunctory hug rather than holding the child and risk feeling the full weight of the moment.

I'm not good at last days of school. I prefer to keep everyone busy right up to the bell, then rush them out the door with overly cheerful "Have a good summer!" and without meeting anyone's eyes. 

I know a teacher who retired at the end of last year and said she missed the goodbyes and proper closure of her career when schools slammed shut on March 15. When I think of my own retirement, I envy that leapfrogging over all the faretheewells. I'd like to slip out quietly, unseen. Ghosting.
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This blogging project gave me a reason to practice what I preach: That writing enriches life. First, while planning to write, you will pay attention to life's small moments: a hand on a puzzle piece, a stumble on a step, the dog's baby tooth on the sidewalk. 

Second, as you sort thoughts on the page, you begin make sense and order of what the day has offered. 

Third, if you share your words with readers, you re-experience your life as people share their encouragement, connections, and response. 
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This past week:

Sunday Adrienne and I taped the second episode of our oral history project with our parents. This week we recorded our mother's childhood memories, capturing her early stories as well as her current state of mental deterioration. 

In the evening, Harrison and Maria facetimed us to announce their engagement--a joyful, welcome call.

The photo on the left was taken moments after Maria
said "Yes!" Shot with Waylon taken the next day.

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I spent Monday and Tuesday at home as required by quarantine, reading a good book, playing ping-pong, and writing poetry, as I do five days each month with teacher-poets on Ethical ELA. 

Wednesday, having received my second NEG Covid test, I returned to school and was surprised in the warmest way when colleagues greeted me with concern about Dan (he's fine) and relief that I hadn't contracted the virus. I was given pause. Too often take for granted the good people I work with. I must do better. 

After school I received my second dose of the Moderna vaccine.

Thursday was rough in the Journalism lab as the broadcasters struggled through completion of a show that was already late. Thursday was also great in the Journalism lab as the broadcasters struggled through completion of a show that was already late. Sometimes good learning is not pleasant. 

By the end of the day I was chilled and achy, reacting to the previous day's vaccine. I went home and slept hard.

Friday, I awoke a new woman, rested and symptom-free. I verily skipped through the day. In the evening I began this blog post but couldn't seem to end it.

Today is Saturday, March 20, 2021. Stuart said Nali is nearing her end. He plans to put her down on Monday, when both he and Harrison have the day off and can take her to the vet together. 

I will play some Bridge online with my dad tonight. In two weeks I'll be able to visit them face-to-face. I'll take some bubbles along, some Klondike bars, a poem.

Maybe if I just keep clicking at this keyboard I won't have to say

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

William Wolf Hoegh, 8 mos.