Two Different Deaths and Other Isolation Thoughts

1. Mournful

Tuesday April 7, 2020 was an unusually warm evening in this strange new coronavirus world. Just after 9pm, I pulled into my go-to truck stop in Mount Nebo, West Virginia. Usually I park among strangers: road-weary drivers that I don’t know and don’t care to meet. This time my friend Paul parked beside me at the back of the massive lot. He typically drives a different route and on a different schedule, and we talk only on the phone. But the COVID-19 crisis has quickly forced major changes in the trucking industry and on this rare occasion he was in the Carolinas too.

He departed North Carolina an hour later than I did but his loaded trailer was much lighter than mine. So he managed to pass me minutes before the U-Save Travel Plaza. We were glad to have the opportunity for in-person conversation. Of course, we were six feet apart as per now-standard COVID regulations, him sitting in his driver’s seat, me standing outside in the clean air of the Appalachian Mountains.

We talked for a short while before Paul went for a walk to stretch his legs and then ate his late evening dinner. I breezed through my regular 30-minute workout outside my truck then went inside the store for a shower. As I waited for the shower to heat up, I took a quick look at Facebook. I’ve become more curious about my friends’ posts since this virus struck and started upending all our lives.

The first post I saw announced the worst possible news. A woman I know from high school had just lost her husband to the virus. She posted several photos of him smiling and surrounded by family. She wrote a brief and sincere message stating that they always believed he would come back home. I teared up immediately. I looked back at her previous posts to remind myself of her husband’s circumstances. Then I posted a short message of condolence. This was the first person even remotely close to me to contract the virus. I never anticipated the first might be fatal.

After my shower, I returned to the truck and right off I mentioned this news to Paul. I thought about it repeatedly all night and since. It’s numbed me to the new reality, one of the hardest truths about COVID: as always with death, you don’t know who’s going to get sick and who’s going to die … and leave their heartbroken loved ones behind.

*****

Most of us will long remember the middle of March as the start of forced isolation. Schools were abruptly shut down, sports leagues suddenly suspended play, borders were about to be closed, and we were just beginning to experience the startling realities of COVID-19. My extended family will always remember this as the time my brother-in-law’s Mom died. Joan became ill with cancer early in the year and her health deteriorated quickly. She wouldn’t live to know anything about coronavirus.

Sadly, our family haven’t yet had the opportunity to properly honour Joan’s memory, or offer personal condolences to her grieving husband. Her celebration of life was scheduled for the end of March and like pretty much everything else, it was called off. We don’t know when we’ll get to pay tribute to her. Since she passed on, we haven’t even been able to see each other. When we finally get together again – hopefully with a big blowout barbecue in my in-laws’ backyard – we’ll remember Joan’s warm smile and gentle humour.

2. Melancholiness

It’s Saturday April 11. All through today, and especially on my run, I became aware of feeling melancholy or unmotivated. I’m not sure which word fits best. I’m uncomfortable with this feeling because it reminds me of all the time in my youth when I was unsure of myself and didn’t know how to be assertive. I wasn’t “moving forward.” I know that a lot of people are feeling this way now, and it’s only the beginning of the lockdown stage of the COVID battle here in Canada.

I prefer to live with a slight edge. I like to feel like I’m working to strive towards a goal. I need some positive stress pushing me forward, urging me on. There’s no room for despondency and disinterest. There’s simply too much that I want to accomplish: with my writing, in my workouts, in my personal relationships. Maybe this feeling of discomfort lies in the realization that I’m 52 and don’t wish to laze through precious days. Not every day needs to involve a flurry of activity, but something concrete needs to happen – i.e. a good workout, a couple hours of writing, a minimum amount of housework, conversation with a close friend or neighbour.

I’m aware that this time is incredibly difficult and while some say that it’s a great time to learn a new skill or take up a new hobby, I’m more with the camp that advocates ‘let’s just try to get through this with some degree of sanity.’ So I’m giving myself a little break, temporarily easing up on the demands I make of myself. But the leash is a short one and can tighten at any moment.

3. Forgetful

On Sunday April 12 I was on my weekly drive south to the Carolinas. As I typically do, I stopped about three-quarters of the way for my mandatory break. I was set to take my usual short nap when I noticed my duffel bag wasn’t on my bunk. I always have to move it before lying down. I looked on the floor and it wasn’t there either. It couldn’t be anywhere else because there’s no room for it. Then it hit me that I forgot it. Not at home but in the back seat of my car. I remembered that morning: another driver started talking to me and I was distracted. I’m sure I’ve been distracted before by many different things as I prepared my truck to leave the yard. But obviously the distraction was amplified this time. In my brain, that is.

I called Kim because I refused to deal with this calamity alone. She quickly reassured me that it wasn’t a big deal and I could buy a few items of clothing to get me through the week. I knew this made sense but I couldn’t calm down and didn’t nap. Instead, I wondered if there was a Wal-Mart nearby and if it might be open on Easter Sunday. It turns out there was one within half an hour’s drive. As I got near, I saw that it was open. I drove into the lot carefully and parked my truck in back, by the loading docks. After donning my new COVID mask, I went inside and found the items I needed: a couple of pairs of quick-dry shorts, three t-shirts (two of them quick-dry), a three-pack of quick-dry underwear and a three-pack of socks. Plus a belt to hold up the work pants that I had stashed weeks earlier in a cubby hole in the truck.

Fortunately, my work week was short – a quick 4-day run – because there wasn’t a lot of freight to pick up this post-Easter week. Continuing a COVID trend, the drive between customers was easier with half the cars off the road. Meanwhile, I felt like I was playing with half a brain, and I was careful all week not to overlook any details of my work. I was determined not to be preoccupied.

4. Grateful

It’s April 18. I have a foam roller that I use to unknot and massage all the sore muscles in my neck, back and legs. The best place to roll is on a hard surface. Today I chose my kitchen floor. As I grimaced from the initial discomfort of my back muscles loosening, I looked upwards through the skylight. It’s one of the best features in the kitchen, and in the entire house actually. It brightens the room with ample sunlight on most days. We’re lucky the house came with it because installing one costs close to ten thousand bucks. Since we’ve been in the house eight years now, and since I’m only home two-and-a-half days a week, I tend to overlook many of our home’s great features. This time I have a three-day weekend so I’m a bit more relaxed, having more time for everything that I usually try to jam into my home time. I catch myself staring up at the sky for an extended period. I remember that few homes have skylights so most people can’t experience this pleasure. Then I realize that I’ve been paying closer attention recently to a lot of life’s simpler pleasures: happy dogs, blooming flowers, friendly neighbours, uplifting social media posts, the beauty of music. For now though, the sky beautiful sky guides my imagination.

5. It’s ‘Alone,’ Not ‘Lonely’

There’s never a bad time to be an ambivert, and that’s what I am. I can handle people and crowds just as easily as I can bear being alone for extended periods of time. If someone told me that I have to choose between being an extrovert and an introvert for weeks on end, I’d probably choose introvert. But it’s not for reasons you might imagine; it’s not because it’s easier during this COVID time to be one. The thing I do best – writing – and the other thing that makes me money right now – trucking – both require me to be alone for many long hours.

Even before COVID craziness came along, I was relegated to writing very little but thinking about it a lot while driving the truck. I understand this unique combo of living inside your imagination while being alone would drive many people batty. Sometimes it even gets to me. Fortunately, I have a propensity for delving even further into my imagination: conjuring characters and unique situations for them. There’s a wacky world happening inside my head and I access it regularly. Lately, I’ve just had to ramp up that access.

6. Masked

My company has given out hand sanitizer and (non-medical) face masks as soon as they managed to get a hold of them. The hand sanitizer came first and has been easy enough to use. I simply apply a suitable gob of it every single time I get into the truck, before touching the steering wheel or anything else. This applies even after I washed my hands with soap and water in some customer’s restroom. After all, you never know what germs you might come into contact with between exiting their building and entering your vehicle. It’s a level of caution I’m sure many are now familiar with.

The face masks have been slightly inconvenient and uncomfortable to wear. By that, I’m talking in terms of first world problems – such as your smartphone battery running low before day’s end. When I arrive at a customer, I typically exit my truck and check in with the shipping/receiving department. On my head, I usually have my raised sunglasses plus my Bluetooth headset. Now I’ve added a cloth mask that I tie behind my head and around my neck. I tried the one that goes around the ears but found it didn’t stay put. However, this one gets mangled with the glasses and headset, to the point where someone calls and I can’t get the headset away from the strings of the mask.

On the upside, the one mask I got has a cool paisley design that might resemble the cover of an unreleased Prince album. So at least there’s that.

7. When A Sneeze Isn’t Just A Sneeze

The grocery store always was the worst possible place to touch your face, or worse yet your nose. I’m not talking about inserting your finger inside your nostril; that’s just plain revolting when you’re near food. I’m talking specifically about touching any part of your hand with any part of your face within reasonable proximity of fruits and vegetables that you don’t yet own. Now, in COVID times, it’s damn near a calamity for hand and face to meet once you’ve entered the doors. This begs the question: what to do when you have no choice but to cough or sneeze … for innocent reasons and not because you might have coronavirus.

For instance, I hardly ever need to cough but I’m a constant sneezer. When something unwelcome gets near my nose, the alarm goes off and I let out a big achoo. This happened recently inside my local grocery, by the prepared foods section. I felt it coming and I managed just in time to pull the top of my face mask down below my nose and swing my arm around so that my sleeved forearm caught the brunt of the discharge. Fortunately, no one was near to see or hear my sneeze, or, worse yet, to call me out for having sneezed and somehow having not done it hygienically. Still, after reapplying the mask, I pulled out my little bottle of sanitizer and worked a small blob into my hands. Disaster averted, this time.