“Remember, despite all the current events, there is no crying in baseball.” Tom Hanks, currently recovering from coronavirus in Australia
It’s here.
And all we can do at this point is wait it out, use common sense, and follow official health recommendations and protocols to combat the coronavirus.
What amazes me is the apparent surprise its arrival has engendered.
And the ignorance and arrogance it has revealed: bars and beaches crowded, right now, in Florida. Airports have 6-hour waiting lines for customs—they’re packed in spaces like sardines in a can in the U.S.A.
I consider myself an optimist—but not this time.
Two months ago I was already aware of the growing contagion issue and I considered not flying to Mexico, concerned that international travel might be impacted.
Two. Months. Ago.
But the trip was bought and paid for, so I went, but stayed aware and alert. I flew back to Toronto February 19 and watched the accelerating numbers; I stocked up on food and disinfectant well before the masses.
Three weeks later, I thought long and hard about driving to the States this weekend, having planned this visit with my grandchildren long ago.
On Wednesday evening, I called my son to check on the situation in his neck of the woods in northern Maryland. He had heard of no cases in his county. Day-care was still functioning. Schools were still open.
So, thinking this might indeed be my last visit for a while, I drove to Baltimore on Thursday.
And the world changed overnight.
This thing is no hoax, yet there are those (I know one or two of them) who will believe anything Trump or Fox News tells them. And they think it’ll all “blow over” and that “the media has created this.”
I feel sad for them. And the people they hang out with. I hope they don’t lose someone they love.
I write this on Sunday. I’m driving home in eight hours, back to the land of the sane.
I will be self-isolating upon my return, hunkering down with some projects I’ve put off, and reading some books I’ve been waiting for the right time to tackle—this seems to be it.
To all my U.S. friends, I say this: Please stay safe. I am so, so sorry for your lack of leadership and the countless lives that will be lost due to it. As Trump now knows, you can’t con, bribe, threaten or deny away a virus.
And my prayers and thanks to all the nurses and doctors and hospital staff who walk toward this enemy. You are true heroes.
Humanity will survive, and we will rebuild. But it is up to each of us, individually, to determine what kind of world we will have as a collective in the aftermath.
I hope we choose to create a kinder, more honest environment, one with less hubris and a lot more hope.
Our children and grandchildren deserve it.
