When I first moved to San Antonio, I lived in an apartment complex near Six Flags.
Every night they would have a fireworks show.
I used to go up to the rooftop deck, have a seat, and watch.
The glittering lights seemed so close, and still so far... 1/
Every night they would have a fireworks show.
I used to go up to the rooftop deck, have a seat, and watch.
The glittering lights seemed so close, and still so far... 1/
“... and then there’s the orphans.”
I blink, crashing back to reality. I’m not watching the fireworks. I’m having a conversation. The ER doc is looking at me expectantly.
“Uhm, orphans?” I quirk a brow.
He nods, “I mean, whole families infected. Both parents, gone.” 2/
I blink, crashing back to reality. I’m not watching the fireworks. I’m having a conversation. The ER doc is looking at me expectantly.
“Uhm, orphans?” I quirk a brow.
He nods, “I mean, whole families infected. Both parents, gone.” 2/
I remember what we were talking about now.
The price of this. The cost of COVID.
How the disease has torn families in our community apart. How there are children who have lost both their parents in the span of days.
I nod.
What can you say? 3/
The price of this. The cost of COVID.
How the disease has torn families in our community apart. How there are children who have lost both their parents in the span of days.
I nod.
What can you say? 3/
The two of us are sitting in the break room. He’s eating a sandwich. I’m chewing on my anxieties.
“You seeing less COVID now?” I ask hopefully.
He shrugs, “Eh, not really.”
“But the COVID census is going down, right?”
“I dunno man. Getting better, or dying, I guess.” 4/
“You seeing less COVID now?” I ask hopefully.
He shrugs, “Eh, not really.”
“But the COVID census is going down, right?”
“I dunno man. Getting better, or dying, I guess.” 4/
The ER doc finishes his sandwich and nods goodbye as he gets up.
I nod in return.
As he leaves, an OB/GYN PA enters. She nods to me, and I give a small wave.
We all have the grim body language of those who walk the paths of needless inevitability.
Each step feels heavy. 5/
I nod in return.
As he leaves, an OB/GYN PA enters. She nods to me, and I give a small wave.
We all have the grim body language of those who walk the paths of needless inevitability.
Each step feels heavy. 5/
As she grabs a boxed salad and a bottle of water, I ask her how it’s going.
She smiles wryly, “Babies don’t care what world they’re being born into. COVID, no COVID, ready or not, they’re comin’.”
Something about this is reassuring.
Those who jump.
Those who catch them. 6/
She smiles wryly, “Babies don’t care what world they’re being born into. COVID, no COVID, ready or not, they’re comin’.”
Something about this is reassuring.
Those who jump.
Those who catch them. 6/
I ask her the same question I asked the ER doc.
“You seeing less COVID now?”
She chews on her lower lip, “Maybe? Less than earlier in the week for sure. I know the hospital census overall is down a bit. People must be getting better. And some are celestial discharges.” 7/
“You seeing less COVID now?”
She chews on her lower lip, “Maybe? Less than earlier in the week for sure. I know the hospital census overall is down a bit. People must be getting better. And some are celestial discharges.” 7/
Celestial discharges.
The words make me picture points of light, streaming upwards into the night sky to join the constellations.
Souls? Spirits? The essence of what makes us?
It doesn’t matter.
For a moment, we are all lights in a sea of shimmering stars.
Fireworks.
The words make me picture points of light, streaming upwards into the night sky to join the constellations.
Souls? Spirits? The essence of what makes us?
It doesn’t matter.
For a moment, we are all lights in a sea of shimmering stars.
Fireworks.
