Gratitude

Yesterday in the news, President Trump warns us that we could be in for a painful two weeks with death tolls between 100,000 to 240,000 people in the United States. Today, a record 10,000,000 people are unemployed. We are the sick, the dead, the dying and the unemployed and we are the supporting, the caring, the grieving, the delivering, the worrying, the cleaning and the waiting. I heard yesterday that some medical professionals are sleeping in their garages to avoid transmitting the virus to their families. There is a fear of another wave of outbreaks in China, meaning we might have to do this again and again.

Panic and overwhelm in the lead, I stare wild-eyed at my husband in the garage. He is looking through storage boxes for much needed items that have been displaced in our move. “What is it going to look like for people if that many die?” Realizing my intensity and knowing that it is unfair to ask him to calm this emotional volcano, I gather myself up and head out for a run.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, I am Forest Gump. Running along to get along; I’m letting go for now. My fear starts to calm and I can think again. I saw a meme of a woman in blue scrubs sitting in the hall of a hospital, head in her hands. The caption read, “Please stop complaining about being home with your kids, when I’m just praying I don’t bring this virus home to mine.” I can’t imagine what that feels like; managing my fear sitting at home is already a challenge.

My mind wanders from Forrest Gump to Forrest Morton Bird, 1921-2015. This innovative Forrest created the ventilator. Without him, I can’t imagine the number of deaths we would be anticipating now.

I think about so many people working at grocery stores, stocking shelves, standing less than six feet away from so many people all day long to be sure our country is fed. Two weeks ago yesterday, checking out at the grocery store, I noticed the woman behind the register was shaking as she ran my groceries across the conveyor. “Are you OK?” I ask. She explained to me that she was terrified. A high-risk child at home, her panic about getting him sick, seeing so many people every day. I thanked her for her sacrifice.

How advanced have we become that we can literally dodge a pandemic bullet? Even ten years ago, we would have certainly taken a metaphoric headshot from COVID-19. Our soldiers in this fight are not battle-scarred John Rambos, but grocery store clerks, stockers, truck drivers, delivery people, certified nursing assistants, home health aids, nurses, doctors and garbage collectors.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, on and on I run. The depth of my gratitude for these modern day soldiers hangs at the end of every exhale.