April 2020 - Art & Words

The Toughest Part

Almost every day I receive a comprehensive email update from the director of the nursing home where my dad lives. He’s been there a couple years now, since his last stroke, and it is his home – the nurses and personal aides, custodial and maintenance staff, and his friends and neighbors there, are all another family to him. At this time, of course, nursing homes seem to be almost in a different world as we go through this COVID-19 crisis. As the numbers in Connecticut just start to improve overall – and here in Vermont they’re already getting ready to reopen the state – nursing homes continue to be in a very desperate situation. As I watch the news and see improvements around the country, my worry only grows, as the cases in my dad’s nursing home, and in his own unit, grow.

He is in good spirits. He has always ultimately answered difficulty and tragedy with some kind of open acceptance, that allows not just for the given pain and sadness, but also for the welcoming of joy and renewal; underlying his suffering is an insistence on positivity, that he must eventually come to. He doesn’t always understand what is going on in this situation. Some days he recalls there’s a virus, some days he recalls how serious it is because he’s had the news on all day. Some days he has forgotten why everyone there is on lockdown and unable to go outside or have loved ones visit. Most days he sounds good, we laugh frequently during our talks, and he may get tired of us asking him day after day, how he is feeling.

This is the toughest part of the pandemic for me, so far. I’m fortunate to have not lost income through this (at least not yet), and although the availability of food and other supplies has been a bit strained at times, I have enough on hand to not go hungry. But, this toughest part is tough enough. I have come close to losing my dad before, quite a number of times since I was very young. Just last fall the doctors at YNHH were telling me he may not survive the pneumonia he had. A week later he was home and recovering, and had forgotten his stay at the hospital. This is different, because this is so horrible and unpredictable an illness for so many, and given stay at home orders and obvious limitations in health care settings, I could not even be by his side, or even one room away.

I hesitate to even talk too much about this. I felt it was inevitable that his home would be struck with this. I don’t feel an inevitability with anything else, but I’m aware it’s all possible, of course. Unlike much else, it is truly entirely out of my control – there is literally nothing I can do about this situation to change it, and that makes me realize that giving in to worry is pointless. The worry is there, always, but it is not governing my actions.

I do sometimes wish I had the ability to meet every hardship with easy laughter, with a sort of innocent, trusting bravery. My bravery is different. Cautious optimism and confidence underlie much of how I approach difficult times, humor to some degree. I also tend toward the proactive, determined, and passionate approach. Those things will make little difference in this case. So, I am left with a sense of surrender. It seems to be all that is really available to me, as each day comes.

Thanks for reading,

~ Nellie

photo: Sandy Point State Reservation, Plum Island, Ipswich, MA; one of my favorite places anywhere.

Daydreamin’

Personal

I was thinking about this place today, the Ocean House Hotel at Bass Rocks in Gloucester, MA, wondering if it will weather this crisis and still be in business when the pandemic is behind us. It’s where my husband and I spent our anniversary last year, and had hoped to get back this year for our thirtieth. Since our anniversary is in May (and my state of Vermont is under stay at home order until at least May 15^th), that is not going to happen. Which is fine – last year was the first year we’d ever actually done anything that big for our anniversary, we just couldn’t wait to get back, as it’s a fabulous place (and off season, such as it was in the still-chilly part of May, the rates were awesome).

I’m finding myself in this kind of pandemic funk once or twice a day… as soon as I recognize it I feel a bit of shame, and as soon as I feel like talking about it, I feel ridiculously self-indulgent. But, well, this is a small personal blog, so I’m giving myself a pass. I can talk about whatever I want. Maybe in talking about it I can turn this around.

Whenever I realize I’m feeling this way, I think of my grandmother who was this feisty Italian woman who divorced her husband when my dad was only three years old, and then proceeded to raise my dad alone as a single mother. She worked extremely hard until she was in her mid-seventies, never remarrying, and not that she never complained about anything (man, did she), she never complained about hard work, hardship itself, or surviving. In fact, in the earlier days of this pandemic, I often thought of the stories she told as I was growing up, about life during the Depression. It was obvious that living through the Depression had a huge, lasting impact on her. It seemed to inform basically everything about how she continued to live for the rest of her life – and through her stories it informed some of how I have lived my life. So when I was faced with stay at home orders that included not traveling ten miles from home (when my main grocery store is more than ten miles from my home), was faced with running out of things I hadn’t thought of hoarding, and was faced with even not being able to buy seeds to start my own garden, it really did not seem difficult compared to any of the stories I’d heard from my grandmother. I’ve been extremely grateful to have access to fresh vegetables, meats, and other groceries – not always what I’d normally buy or in the same amounts (and I am being careful to eat smaller portions and use certain supplies sparingly – recalling also my gram’s stories about rationing), but I’m not expecting to go hungry anytime soon. I’ve also actually discovered a few great companies that I’m happy to support.

My grandfather, C Lee Brill, sitting on a depth charge, USS Bivin, 1940s

My grandmother’s ex-husband, my Grampa Lee, has also been on my mind through this. While my grandmother was raising my dad he was actually serving in the Navy. After they divorced he entered the service, and continued through til the late 1940s. Unlike my grandmother he was taciturn to say the least, so I didn’t get to directly hear his stories, could only piece things together through photos he decided to share, things he liked and did, and choices he made. After the service he became a truck driver for many years, driving an eighteen-wheeler up and down the East coast from Virginia through New England. I didn’t see how big a deal that was until now, when the country is absolutely reliant on the toughness and dedication of these drivers. According to my dad, my grandfather did open up finally, the last time the two of them saw each other, what turned out to be very shortly before his death. He acknowledged that he had “fucked up” in his life, but didn’t say much else.

Reminders of each of them are around my house. Right above my desk, right here in fact, are separate pictures of both of them, as well as their parents, and my mom’s family as well. In my dining room are small gifts my grandfather had brought home from Japan, and all over are things that had belonged to my grandmother – her rosary, ceramics she made by hand, a teapot, things I might not have chosen myself but obviously have meaning.

Reminders of them are also with me through this. Fighters, survivors, both of them. And I hate to say it, hate to put it this way – I’m being kind of facetious here… but neither of them a whiner or moper. When I realize I’m in this funk (and thus feel like a whiner and moper, despite the fact the TV psychologists say this is totally normal – sigh), they come quickly to mind. They made it through much, much harder than this – and from what I can tell, without any handwringing. As for the Ocean House and my anniversary… for their sake I do very much hope they survive, just like I hope for the survival of all such businesses. My husband and I have had bare-bones anniversaries before. I think this one will actually be quite memorable after all.

Thanks for reading,

~ Nellie

photo: Ocean House Hotel at Bass Rocks, Gloucester, MA; a cloudy cold day in May

Pandemic living

Personal

Looking out my door you would not know anything unusual was going on. I live on an old dirt road with few neighbors, surrounded by fields and with a view to the mountains. So far I’ve been fortunate… I haven’t lost income so I can still afford food and groceries, and so far no one close to me has shown any symptoms.

Inside, I’m pretty darn worried. Not about myself. I mean, I don’t want to get this, it sounds absolutely horrendous and there’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t have a serious outcome, but I’m actively worried about a few people very close to me, who are in high risk groups or live in high-risk places or hotspots.

Yesterday my husband and I got our first delivery from Misfits Market. This is a fantastic place that provides fresh organic veggies and fruits, that are often considered “ugly” – when I worked at a gourmet market in CT, veggies that were misshapen or somehow not deemed perfect were called “shrink,” and in the case of the store I worked at, were donated to a food shelf; many places simply throw them away. I’m perfectly happy – actually I’m thrilled – to have these veggies and fruits! We’re having most of our food delivered now, following the stay at home orders in the state and avoiding spreading whatever germs we might be walking around with (and avoiding picking up whatever germs might be walking around out there), and so far it has not been a problem at all. My biggest food-related concern was running out of almond (or some other plant-based) milk for coffee and tea, and it did start to get tough when the only fresh veggies we had left in the house were potatoes, carrots, garlic, and ginger. Misfits arrived just in time, and we were astonished by the quantity, and the quality. Everything beautiful (forget “imperfect!” they’re all wonderful), and everything we’ve tried so far has tasted great – it’s all organic.

This makes me feel wildly fortunate of course, and it’s a hard message to believe, that my staying home is somehow a great contribution to the wellness of our country. My inclination is to be out there, also on the frontlines, doing something other than residing in the safety of my home, with my favorite person.

But, it is what it is. For personal reasons I’m not putting myself at risk because it would potentially put my husband at risk, and having come incredibly close to losing him to a horrific illness once already, I am taking no chances now.

So, my biggest struggle through this is avoiding the constant stream of news on the TV and on my phone or inbox, and falling into some kind of melodramatic sense of despair. I regularly check the news for Vermont (where I am), and the tristate area (NY & CT mainly) where my dad and much of my family live. I practically count the days, knowing that as we get farther along it gets more and more likely I’ll see people I know and love among the numbers, and though that doesn’t wake or keep me up at night, it freaks me out at various random moments each day.

So anyway, above is a pic of my new veggies, which I was so excited about I felt like I was bringing home a puppy 😊 What are sort of hidden under the Rainbow Chard are lots of apples, tiny Shishito chile peppers, and a bunch of what turned out to be really delicious green radishes. I hope that whoever might be reading this, whatever you’re going through, it’s no harder a time than what I’m going through.

xoxo

~ Nellie