Bailing with Thimbles

What would we say to you, if we could find the words?

It's not easy to say its name. No, not COVID. That's become much to easy to speak. I'm talking about Fear. It never really goes away. It doesn't paralyze me, but it catches me up a few times every day. A passing smile. A masked laugh. The brush of elbows or the bump of fists. Most of all, when I am doing my most important job: when I am moving through the Y, spray bottle and towel in hand, cleaning and wiping down the equipment. What if I come in contact? What if I carry it to someone I love? What if another person dies because I was just not careful enough? Its name is Fear. And I am afraid for you.

Yesterday, I realized that I've been becoming more distant at work. I am usually a hugger. The warm smile, the booming welcome, the comfortable embrace: those are what I do best. And the virus has taken all that away. I don't want to get too close, especially to strangers. I might have it, or they might. The thing might use me to transport and spread it every time I breathe or touch another person or another piece of equipment. 

There are people I love so much whom I've kept away from. Family. Friends. I encounter hundreds of people every day. I am a risky person to be around. I have the bravado of a cancer warrior. I am genuinely not afraid of any sickness or infection. I've already whipped the biggest of them. I don't fear for myself, but I'm not willing to gamble with the health and lives of the ones who mean so much to my heart.

I wonder about the other warriors. The cops who responded the night my security alarm went off while I was out walking because I didn't set it properly. The ladies at the gas station and the grocery store who keep me in caffeine and fresh produce. The people stocking shelves at Wal-mart and Target. And those angels in blue plastic smocks and clear face shields who do their best to bring comfort through rubber gloves to the sick and the dying. I'm sure they know the fear, too. The fear of getting sick, yes, but also the fear of hurting their kids or parents or lovers or anyone else who might catch the damned thing because a stranger chose to ignore the consequences of indifference. I know it doesn't paralyze them either. But I wonder how it has changed them. I wonder if they have the words.

"I want you to know how much I love you. How much I miss you. How much I want to fold you to my breast and weep into one another's hearts. I don't feel like a hero. I feel like a round peg in a dangerously square hole, totally unprepared for all this, and I'm doing my best to help without hurting anybody else. I stay away because I love you, and that's the opposite of everything my soul cries out for me to do. But today, I can't trust my feelings. My mind has to win this argument. Every damn time.

"Please know that I'm doing the best I know how. For you. For myself. For all of us. The hurt of separation and the fear of losing you makes me want to run and hide sometimes, and sometimes I do. I sit alone in my chair or my room or my office and I pray that I haven't killed anyone today. I pray every time the phone rings: 'Dear God, don't let it be news of another death.'

"The little I can do seems so meaningless in the face of so much loss and sadness. But it's all I can do. And I want you to know I'm doing all I can to bail the flood waters back into the river, one thimble full at a time. And I'm determined to keep bailing till my arms stop working. I hope you know that. I wonder how often you feel afraid, just like I do. And I hope you're bailing too."

That's what we would say to you, If we could just see your face and touch your hand again. 

But I am too risky to be around. So all I have are the words. 

Tiny thimbles full of my love for you. They won't satisfy either of our thirsty spirits. But please, take and taste them. For now, they are all I have to offer you.