graphic by Nakya Castille
Ava.
The first eight months of the coronavirus pandemic deceived me into believing that life in quarantine meant life in stagnation. It is the people we meet and the places we go that add diversity to our day, so when social distancing removed those from my life, it started to feel like I was stuck in a scratched DVD where the same low quality 24 hours repeated over and over again.
Yet, as much as I wish it could, the world cannot be put on pause. When my grandfather told my family about his nausea and back pain, I believed that his symptoms were temporary. Coronavirus deaths were one the rise, but my extended and immediate family had taken vigilant social distancing precautions, and after seeing all of us make it through over half a year of this madness, I had started to hope that I could make it through the end of this pandemic without losing anyone that I loved.
Within a few weeks, my grandfather was admitted to the ICU, and after a few days, a person who I had last said goodbye to in full confidence that I would see him again was gone forever. My grandfather took meticulous care of his health. He swam, walked, and stretched religiously, and he incorporated superfoods into his diet with the enthusiasm of a coin collector trying to get quarters from every state, so I never doubted that I was guaranteed many more years of birthdays, holidays, and hugs. Instead, my last memory of him is on a grainy Zoom call where I waved goodbye with no idea that I was seeing his face for the last time.
My grandfather died of cardiogenic shock, not coronavirus, but that did not stop this pandemic from amplifying the pain of losing him. He died alone, prohibited from having visitors due to hospital social distancing guidelines. Even the way we mourn has been tarnished, for we cannot even have a proper funeral. When my family received the news, my mom immediately booked a flight to Maryland, where my grandparents live. Meanwhile, the rest of my family stayed behind. With coronavirus cases at their peak in Colorado, it would be too risky for my father, sister, and myself to fly on a plane before living in the same house as my grandmother. The time when I lived the same day on repeat is over. Now, I am trying to get used to living life with my mom two thousand miles away and my heart twisted by shock, sorrow, and pain.
This pandemic has given me plenty of time to think, and in that time I have come to the conclusion that, when it comes to people we love, there will never be enough: there will never be enough goodbyes, enough hugs, enough laughs. There will never be enough time with the people we love, because to love someone is to want an eternity with them. As it has for all of us, the pandemic has stolen so much time from me—time with my grandparents, my friends, and now even my mom. The pandemic has certainly reminded me to place more value on my time, but no matter how much I treasure it, I have now learned the painful lesson that I will never have enough.
