Mourning Normal

Times Square, New York City

CNN.com © 2020

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

"What I've started, I must finish.

I've gone too far to turn back.

Regardless of what may happen,

I have to go forward."

--Michael Ende

It's late in the evening.  I'm at work and I've just finished reviewing the latest set of status reports on the Pandemic.  Globally, the case count is over 20 million, a quarter of those in this country.  739,000 people have died around the world, 163,000 in the United States.  The numbers are, by any measure or context, staggering. In the U.S. Civil War, the last round of historical reviews put the death toll, military and civilian, at over 700,000, and that out of a total population of 31 million.  I won't extrapolate that out to modern population numbers because 739,000 dead is a catastrophic number, regardless of why or when.

What makes such a number even more stunning is that this war, unlike the other one, isn't over.  In fact, it may never end.

We thought, back in May, that we had this thing nearly licked. But something -- and nobody knows exactly what at this point -- re-ignited the flame which has now turned into a global firestorm.  Some, perhaps most people are trying to do the right things, like social distancing, masks, staying home, becoming clean freaks. But there are others who aren't, who think that they can bring back "normal" by doing everything they used to do, regardless of the harm they are inflicting on others.  That selfishness, as much as any other cause, not only created the now, but has laid a grim path for the future.

We look around at a world completely changed.  We try to carry on, but the Pandemic has spun completely out of control, and we walk our streets fearing that moment, that random passing encounter when this virus' icy claws swoop in and clamp down.  It is a fearful time, one that has led to some highly contradictory decisions, like shuttering houses of worship while at the same time allowing protesters to swarm the streets, as if the First Amendment could be politically parsed.

Today, I went to my favorite Big Box Store, and was able to enter immediately.  No line, no wait.  Once upon a time, that wasn't at all unusual.  but today, it felt like I had won the lottery.  Not the Big One, mind you, but maybe that $50 scratcher.  I carry several masks in my car, knowing that going into any store, or even the fast food drive through will require that latest fashion accessory.  We'd like to travel.  We already lost our trip to Austria with its Alps and incomparable classical music.  But it is the other lost travel that really shrouds us.  This past week, our oldest grandchild, Diana in far-off Virginia, turned 14.  I became frantic.  All of them were growing up way too fast.  We want to see all of them, not just on video chat, but in person, getting those hugs, playing games and sharing stories.  But the Pandemic has put up a wall.  Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency will not allow its staff to travel to the mainland.  Even if it were possible, there would be 28 days of quarantine, half at each end of the journey.  Hovering above us like a funeral shroud is the fear that we could contract the virus, and spread it to our loved ones.

Here locally, the government has clamped down again.  Bars have been closed, restaurants have much smaller capacity for guests.  All parks and beaches have been closed again.  Both the governor and mayor are urging  people to stay home unless the need to go out is critical.  Looking at the traffic, which is close to being back to pre-Pandemic congestion, very few are heeding the guidance.  Our population has also contracted quarantine burnout.  

But its those who simply won't comply with even the simple rules who are becoming the targets of the public ire.  The maskless are being publicly challenged by the masked.  Despite the mandatory quarantine and the wide-spread closures, about 700 people every day are flying here for vacation, nearly all of them with clever schemes to evade the quarantine, which they regard as a joke.  Young people are gathering for parties at remote beaches and in homes, taking no precautions whatsoever.  

"Normal" is that serendipitous, almost fictional state to which we would like to return.  Back to the days of seven months ago when there were no masks, no closures.  Sports were being played and you could go to the games.  If we wanted to travel, all we had to do is get on an airplane, or in a car, bus or train...or ocean liner...and chase a little 2-week slice of heavenly nirvana.  You could go to any store, and it would be open, with fully stocked shelves.  Trips to Sam's or Costco were painless and fast.  No lines wrapped around the building.  And if we wanted a date night, well, the bar, nightclub, restaurant, theater were eagerly awaiting to welcome us.  And we could go to church.

But I think we have to acknowledge the evolution -- or devolution -- of events.  Even if somehow scientists get this thing under some kind of control, the Novel Coronavirus, and its associated illness COVID-19 will always be with us.  Oh, the numbers will fluctuate up and down, but like the myriad strains of flu, we'll never be rid of it.

Normal is gone.  Normal is dead.  It's time we realize that this is something we're going to have to learn to live with.  The New Normal.

It won't be fun at first.  In fact, it may be even painful emotionally.  But we have acquired a limp, and we have to know now how to walk with it.

Humans in general, and Americans in particular have always carried a nascent attitude of invincibility.  No matter how bad the situation, we always feel we will prevail, and not be changed by the adversity.  It was like that in the aftermath of 9/11.  We learned to live with that limp, and now our stride seems normal.  It has been our pattern across thousands of years of human history.  Yes, we suffer.  But there is always another side to that crisis, the side labeled "End."  

We fall.  We break. We are wounded.  We fail.

But then, we rise.  We heal.  We overcome.  Our indomitable spirit carries us forward, lit by the hope so well articulated by Victor Hugo:

"Even the darkest night will end; and the sun will rise."