to keep rain off of us,
should that occur, but it would break the wind and maybe, maybe hold in some
heat.
That
night (this night) we ate more of the meat and drank pine needle tea. It was a
quiet meal, though. Our conversations were limited to just a few words here
and there. Afterwards, Gabriel took the first watch, I went to work on the
journal, and Anna prepared her sleeping area. It feels good to sit, and rest,
and write. It also feels good to have food in my stomach. I seem more in control
of my fate now. For a while there, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think too
much of our chances.
As
I recorded the events you are reading, pausing on occasion to phrase a
sentence, or call-up a fact or feeling, it occurred to me that I’ve spent about
a week with Anna, and I really know very little of her background. Part of the
reason we hadn’t talked about it was we were miserable from fatigue and had no
inclination to converse. The other part of it was, quite frankly, we weren’t
getting along. But we had time now, and I at least had the inclination. Our
relationship also seemed to have improved considerably, so I asked her.
She
told me that what she did before things turned bad was, in her words, quite “unremarkable.”
She grew up in the town she now calls Woburn, met her husband there, and gave
birth to her two girls there, Christine and Anna. Her husband was a local
contractor, and a member of the city council. She did the usual things as a
mom, what was expected — worked part time, took care of the kids, belonged to
the PTA and a local book club, and so forth. It was a good life, she said.
Their family wasn’t well off in terms of money, but they were getting along.
Just
to interject my own observation here, I noticed that as she told this part of
her story, several times her dark brown eyes drifted off in the distance and
her voice took on an almost sad, wistful tone. I imagine that she was thinking
of her family and missing them. I’ve had those moments as well. There is
really no escaping them …ever.
She
went on to tell me that all four of them got sick when the pandemic s to warn wotwept
across the country. She has very little recollection of those days because not
only was she quarantined, but she was also in and out of consciousness much of
the time. Eventually, she recovered but no one else in her family did. At
this point, she looked at me and said that she seriously thought about killing
herself. She couldn’t see living without her kids and husband. It seemed that
everything had changed. Her purpose to live no longer existed. She also spoke
of feeling this tremendous guilt over having survived, when they didn’t.
Though
I can’t say I’ve ever really felt guilty about my own survival, I can
appreciate how she feels. I’ve often wondered how I’ve survived until now. Maybe
the better question is why, not how. I didn’t deserve my fate any more than
those who died deserved theirs. It’s one of those riddles, I think, that leads
one to consider answers that can never be proven either true or false.
After
speaking of her guilt, she looked away and once more spoke to the stars. “I
had pretty much made up my mind to do it,” she said. “It was only a matter of determining
how, that remained to be decided.” As she was getting ready to leave the
hospital, or what they were using for a hospital, Gabriel was brought in and
put in the bed next to hers. Since she had already contracted the disease and
survived, the hospital staff asked her if she would stay on and help with him.
Many of the medical staff had also perished, and they were pressing survivors
who had the antibodies, into service. So she stayed and helped not only
Gabriel but many others as well. She remained in the bed next to his and, one
night after a long shift, while holding him, she did what up to that point she
had refused to do. She
should that occur, but it would break the wind and maybe, maybe hold in some
heat.
That
night (this night) we ate more of the meat and drank pine needle tea. It was a
quiet meal, though. Our conversations were limited to just a few words here
and there. Afterwards, Gabriel took the first watch, I went to work on the
journal, and Anna prepared her sleeping area. It feels good to sit, and rest,
and write. It also feels good to have food in my stomach. I seem more in control
of my fate now. For a while there, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think too
much of our chances.
As
I recorded the events you are reading, pausing on occasion to phrase a
sentence, or call-up a fact or feeling, it occurred to me that I’ve spent about
a week with Anna, and I really know very little of her background. Part of the
reason we hadn’t talked about it was we were miserable from fatigue and had no
inclination to converse. The other part of it was, quite frankly, we weren’t
getting along. But we had time now, and I at least had the inclination. Our
relationship also seemed to have improved considerably, so I asked her.
She
told me that what she did before things turned bad was, in her words, quite “unremarkable.”
She grew up in the town she now calls Woburn, met her husband there, and gave
birth to her two girls there, Christine and Anna. Her husband was a local
contractor, and a member of the city council. She did the usual things as a
mom, what was expected — worked part time, took care of the kids, belonged to
the PTA and a local book club, and so forth. It was a good life, she said.
Their family wasn’t well off in terms of money, but they were getting along.
Just
to interject my own observation here, I noticed that as she told this part of
her story, several times her dark brown eyes drifted off in the distance and
her voice took on an almost sad, wistful tone. I imagine that she was thinking
of her family and missing them. I’ve had those moments as well. There is
really no escaping them …ever.
She
went on to tell me that all four of them got sick when the pandemic s to warn wotwept
across the country. She has very little recollection of those days because not
only was she quarantined, but she was also in and out of consciousness much of
the time. Eventually, she recovered but no one else in her family did. At
this point, she looked at me and said that she seriously thought about killing
herself. She couldn’t see living without her kids and husband. It seemed that
everything had changed. Her purpose to live no longer existed. She also spoke
of feeling this tremendous guilt over having survived, when they didn’t.
Though
I can’t say I’ve ever really felt guilty about my own survival, I can
appreciate how she feels. I’ve often wondered how I’ve survived until now. Maybe
the better question is why, not how. I didn’t deserve my fate any more than
those who died deserved theirs. It’s one of those riddles, I think, that leads
one to consider answers that can never be proven either true or false.
After
speaking of her guilt, she looked away and once more spoke to the stars. “I
had pretty much made up my mind to do it,” she said. “It was only a matter of determining
how, that remained to be decided.” As she was getting ready to leave the
hospital, or what they were using for a hospital, Gabriel was brought in and
put in the bed next to hers. Since she had already contracted the disease and
survived, the hospital staff asked her if she would stay on and help with him.
Many of the medical staff had also perished, and they were pressing survivors
who had the antibodies, into service. So she stayed and helped not only
Gabriel but many others as well. She remained in the bed next to his and, one
night after a long shift, while holding him, she did what up to that point she
had refused to do. She
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