As you read this, you may be in social distance from others as we end our first month of lifestyle interruptions of the Coronavirus. We experience the surreal reality of a place we’ve never been before. We try to squint our thoughts to recognize what is rolling before us, the empty streets, the darkened restaurants and silent bars, the news on our screens. We’ve never been here, and we don’t have a map of where we’re headed.
So, I’m strong, energetic, without symptoms. A fine time to plan for my passage over Styx River, my transition from the activity I’ve performed daily for almost 72 years.
On this day that I’m clear-headed and healthy enough to swing a 35 # kettle bell, I am writing personal, individual letters to my wife, my daughter, my two sons and my 20-month-old grandson. Letters to remain sealed in envelopes until my passing.
I don’t envision a cloud of doom approaching to rain illness, but we’re now seeing daily news of fatalities of apparently healthy victims of the virus. I don’t want to quickly die before I get to see all my family members, to tell them of my love for them, of my gratitude for the privilege and honor to be their partner and father.
What time is it for you?