The Year Without

 

An empty Waikiki at the height of the shutdown.

Image © 2020 by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

In the year 1816 there occurred what has been known as "The Year Without a Summer," a climatological and agricultural disaster on a global scale.  The precipitous drop in temperatures was the result of three influences.  First, there was the eruption of the Tambora supervolcano in Indonesia that dumped about 60 cubic miles of debris and gasses into the atmosphere.  On top of that was the ongoing climate event known as the Little Ice Age, a period of global cooling that lasted from the 16th to the 19th centuries.  Those two events coincided with an historic low solar minimum, during which the sun's irradiance lowered significantly.  Some paintings survive of this time, showing people skating on the frozen river Thames in London during June, and other art depicting the garish sunsets caused by the ash, dust, and gas in the atmosphere.  What doesn't make it into the art of the period is the story of the collapse of agricultural growing season and the resulting famines around the world.  It was one of those moments in time when the human race survived on its sheer stubborn toughness.

The Pandemic of (plug in whatever reference you want here) has been a part of our lives now for nearly a year.  During that time, we have seen the numbers the ill and the dead climb steadily.  Now that the weather is colder and more people are staying inside, the numbers are skyrocketing, even as the welcome news of vaccines begins to trickle in.

That life we once called "normal" is gone, possibly for good.  We lost most of our summer activities, although some stubbornly continued to travel.  Baseball was a foreshortened season, and other sports, notably basketball and hockey, suffered impacts.  The NFL soldiers on, although playing in front of mostly empty stadiums with piped-in crowd noise.  We waded through those changes and now face a new round of shutdowns as governors and mayors try to stem the advance of the disease.

But now we are facing the most heart-rending loss:  The Holiday Season.  

Thanksgiving and Christmas were always eagerly anticipated as times when families, however far-flung, would traverse the miles and gather.  There, in that bubble of love, affection, and way too much food, we would be able to emotionally recharge each other.  For nearly all of us, the most precious and heart-warming memories revolve around these two months of joy.  These events, these gatherings have been celebrated in poetry and song, cementing those golden memories within us.

But this year will be different.  

For possibly the first time, we are being urged not to travel, not to gather in groups larger than five.  One governor has told his citizens to wear a mask during the traditional dinner, dropping it only to insert the food.  

Some will still gather, defiantly.  But for most of us, the holidays will pass without fanfare, huddled inside our homes.

Even a year that wasn't the unmitigated disaster that has been 2020, we need the holidays.  Already there are numerous reports of rampant sadness and depression stemming from the enforced isolation.  Now it looks like what has always been an emotional shot in the arm will be denied to us.

Before you peg me as a radical, I get that this is, while not the best solution, it is certainly the most expedient.  While death rates are down notably, people are still getting COVID-19, and the fear that has been a constant companion continues to grow, fed in no small part by the daily drumbeat of numbers by the media.  It looks like the vaccines will be distributed, all free to us, by January and along with the new studies about the effectiveness of the hydroxychloroquine and zinc cocktail we could see the daily numbers begin to recede.  An acquaintance remarked to me that given the ferociously divisive campaign and election, it's probably just as well that we won't be facing off across the turkey and stuffing.  

I think we will survive the Pandemic.  Whether we will survive the emotional loss of family gatherings is another question entirely.  

The human psyche is a fragile thing, vulnerable to sudden shocks as well as long-term mounting sadness.  Of all the wounds a human can suffer, this can be the least-visible, but most seriously impactful.  It's a wound from within, one that resists Band-Aids and antiseptic.   It hovers just beneath the surface that everyone else sees, a growing ache that never really goes away.  Tragically for a growing number, there is only one way out; the irrevocable choice.

We are used to taking care of family during this time.  We need to expand that definition and keep an eye on each other, looking and feeling for the cloud of despondency and being prepared to step in if needed.  We need each other, this year more than ever.  Open your eyes; look with your heart.  Reach out for the bruised and broken-hearted among us.

Maybe we can find something real to be thankful for.