I was caught up short by the entries in my “week at a glance” calendars from 2019 and 2020. Yes, as usual I made a post-Christmas Staples run and got my new paper calendars, and no judgement — please — on the fact that I still use analog scheduling tools.

This morning I started making the switch, inserting the new calendar leaves into my ancient leather-bound (no vegan vinyl for me!). I peaked through the entries from 2019 and 2020.

My heart sank. There were entries for birthday parties, business meetings. Piano lessons at Juilliard. Wine and cheese karaoke gatherings. Religious services. A Florida winter vacation. Paris vacation planning (and cancellation). Opera performances. Restaurant reservations. In-person readings of my work.

There were reminders of the Kahlo exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. Dinner party plans. Visits to Yankee Stadium. Library book return reminders. Dinner at Yonkers Raceway (don’t ask!). Pick up dry cleaning!!! CAR INSPECTION DUE!!!

Nothing super big. Nothing super fancy. Just the social and cultural glue of a New Yorker, middle-class life. I kept turning pages, memories of a recent past. But then came December of 2019.

Life got worse. Travel plans to Pikesville (the funeral for my BIL’s mother, who was an integral part of the clan). Trips to the Atria for my MIL. Doctor appointments for MIL. She fell, again. A trip to the hospital, in the midst of a pandemic. A positive test.

Hospice reminders for my MIL. FaceTime goodbyes. Funeral arrangements for my MIL.

May to November: where was I? What did we do? I can’t remember, even reading reminders from a long-term sleepwalk. Cancellations for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah. When was the last time I saw my son? Really? I don’t remember.

Today, the suspended animation of a once-vibrant life. It’s Sunday? It’s December?

In ancient times, mankind hovered in the dark of their caves, built fires, and prayed that they’d survive to the light of day.

What, if anything, has changed?

All we can do is wait it out, and hold each other tight.

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