Warnings about the deep end should never be ignored.
Tell me somethin’, girl.
Are you happy in this modern world?
Or do you need more?
Is there something else you’re searching for?
***
Tell me somethin’, boy.
Aren’t you trying to fill that void?
Or do you want more?
Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?
***
I’m falling.
In all the good times I find myself
longing for a change.
And in the bad times
I fear myself.
(Words borrowed from “Shallows”. Song Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga from movie “A Star is Born”. Written by Andrew Wyatt, Anthony Rossomando, Mark Ronson, and Stefani Germanotta)
The Deep End. This applies to so many things in my tenth month of widowhood. Some days there are no shallows. No place to stand on the soft sand while the waves of Waikiki rock a person back and forth. No lengthy strands of shallow water in which to walk a very long way into the Pacific. No. Just unthinkably deep water in which some days this widow must tread like hell to stay afloat.
Spending most of my time at home now, I’ve been sheltered from the reality of damage wielded by Covid-19. Last weekend, a friend wanted to take me for a walk next to the Truckee River in the Biggest Little City in the World. A gorgeous river walk has been completed for some time, rivaling the most beautiful spots anywhere in the world. With the snow-capped Eastern Sierra peaks towering above, this park is tranquil.
Walking along, I was lulled into thoughts of how ridiculous it was to stay inside, cowering from life. I actually felt wonderful walking along this beautiful river, while watching a mallard couple flip their little bodies downward in the shallows to eat from the bottom of the river. Pointed duckie butts upward, their little orange feet whipped back and forth through the air. Just the two together, vulnerable to danger, as they ate whatever duckies eat.
The man-made portion of the Truckee River was pristine and inviting, with steps leading to the water’s edge. The most beautiful rocks had been placed invitingly for sitting with one’s feet in the river. With the bright blue sky overhead, the perfect number of white puffy clouds were overhead as if dashed up there by an artists brush. The sun warmed us, and if there was perfection in a moment, we were experiencing it.
Only a handful of brave souls were out for a walk in the sunshine. Sunshine is the best disinfectant ever. Having been a faux-hippie mom of the 70’s, I learned that hanging cloth diapers in the sun to dry after laundering disinfected them and bleached them pure white again. Sun and fresh air are great medicine and a healing element for cabin fever. The key is social distancing. It always has been.
As a child, my mother told about the days of polio or meningitis, when families would go to picnic near the local canal. Every family stayed a distance away from the next. Children didn’t go on play dates. You stayed with your own. Farmers knew these things already and didn’t need Public Service Announcements to explain it. You kept to yourselves. Any farmer worth his salt would immediately isolate a sick cow or pig from the others. It was common sense, uncommon today.
Walking along this perfect path on this perfect day, we enjoyed the moment. A man with a Harlem Globetrotter’s coat came up to us and wished us a wonderful year. An older gentleman, his eyes were kind as he smiled. He, too, knew the magic of a sunshine-y day next to the river. Goodness floated in the air as we exchanged niceties and both continued on our way.
It was then, we moved from the duckie shallows into the deep end. With a left turn, we entered the dark, real world of homelessness, poverty, despair, and abandoned hopes and dreams. In the bowels of the Biggest Little City in the World, it was immediately apparent to me that we were in the deep end of “No More”. The last time I had been in this part of town, VST and I were floundering in the deep end of Cancer. As I became our driver, we made several trips downtown for visits to CT and MRI machines. GI docs, and Oncologists. Just a year ago, the town was bustling. Store fronts advertised their goods. Visitors were crossing the street from one cavernous casino to the next. Now, the quiet ricocheted off the skyscrapers. Empty. Desolate. Urine stained streets. Beggars in alcoves. Immediately. The DEEP END. I feared for myself, while fearing others, as well.
Sunshine was gone, blocked by behemoth structures of stained concrete. There was no light or lightness in this place. As cars raced through the center of this place, they didn’t stop. No longer a hub of fun and activities, this was a wasteland of “What Was”. Broken humans, zombie like, dotted the sidewalk. Sadness coated me like an unwanted shower from a puddle splashed up from a rain soaked street.
My friend didn’t quite understand, being naturally skilled at swimming through these situations as a SEAL. In Sherpa-like fashion, he realized my fear and we returned to the JEEP, racing back to the safety of home.
Reflecting on that experience brings me back to my own widowhood. So many days and weeks string together like pearls of beauty. Happy days of buying bulbs for spring, or soaking in the new hot tub. Then, one picture or a song on the radio can cause momentary devastation, as if you hit a pot hole and need to tread water while getting back to the safety of the shallows. Never knowing when this might occur, the exhaustion from constant bombardment is deep.
Like the ducks, I find the shallows to be full of the best food and safety for now. There’ll be a time for venturing into the deep. For now, I’ll stick to wading.