“I want my life back! I want my dog back! Who’s in charge around here, anyway?”
A pointless, screeching whine. I admit it. But who the hell is in charge around here anyway, who would trap us all in this prison of COVID, and then add in extra-credit cruelty such as having this be the last moment for my beloved dog? I’d like to speak to the manager, please!
I also admit that there are worse things – I’m familiar. I have a family member who has COVID just now, but a mild case, luckily. He could be stacked up in a hospital hallway somewhere waiting for a ventilator. I could have lost human family members to the virus, as so many have. I could have lost my job…wait a minute, I did lose my job. I could be living in a state that has been Stupid (with a capital S) about re-opening, thus causing a major surge of new cases…but hold another minute, I am.
But I digress. The real question remains: Who’s in charge of all this pain, suffering, death, displacement and unrest? Who has reduced our lives to the lowest common Netflix denominator? Who penciled this onto their calendar? I demand an audience!
I only know for sure who it is not. Our president, which I hesitate to call him, is not in charge. He’s hardly in charge of his hair and has deferred to the governors to make the rules in his usual weaselly way. So, are the governors in charge, or the mayors they have deferred to in a morbid game of hot potato? I don’t think so.
This only seems to leave God, or Spirit, or Buddha or Jesus or the eponymous Higher Power or whatever you would like to call him or her or it. There can be no buck that doesn’t stop there. And that makes me angrier than ever, questioning why the God I usually think of as loving would slap us all into this horribly painful penalty box. What up, God? If you won’t give me my normal, pretty good life back, give me back my dog!
Am I inviting lightning or some further pestilence by bitching at God, by demanding answers, by grabbing him or her or it by the virtual lapels for a harsh shaking, maybe a slap to the chops? For me, it’s too late for that kind of caution. I just want to be heard and I’ll be damned if you are not the manager, so don’t go skulking off to hide in the stock room!
A grand design, you say? I’m not meant to know the reasons, the answers, the future, you say? It would overwhelm me to have the whole bird’s eye view of life and see how something as heinous as COVID will play out in the long run, you say? You can’t handle the truth, you say?
Well, maybe I can’t. Figuring out how 2020 will turn into a better 2021 and perhaps a “normal” 2022 is above my pay grade. In fairness, I got nothin. But pulling you up short felt kind of good, kind of like I’m still in the game even though I’m actually still trapped in my house, sinking further into my couch, and if you actually listened I appreciate it. All I’m saying is let’s be reasonable and enough is enough, so maybe we can just leave it there and agree to discuss it again later if need be. And in the meantime, I know my big, old beautiful dog was literally past her last legs and I know she couldn’t go on another day without further pain and loss of dignity. I know her time could have been no other, COVID or not. So, thanks for taking her on to her next life which I trust will include full-on freedom and lots of red meat and plenty of opportunities for shoe chewing. Just take good care of her, please.
And if you have a great puppy in mind for me, I’m open to your ideas.
