Cocoon

March 16, 2020

This weekend my granddaughter got married. It was joyous, beautiful and miraculous. Miraculous because we all wondered if she would ever be able to have a normal life.

Since elementary school Granddaughter has been plagued by debilitating migraines. Two surgeries, Botox, a cocktail of drugs and, most recently, newly developed injections fought to give her relief. She was forced to drop out of college and move back in with her parents.

Together, they retreated into a cocoon of pain, prayers, and struggle. Then came the miracle; the treatments began to work and the layers of the cocoon began to fall away, revealing the metamorphosis of the beautiful young woman she is today. The sun shines again in her smile as her wings unfurl.

To be able to attend her wedding, I also retreated into a cocoon for ten days. It is the crazy, insane, fearful, unknowing time of COVID-19. I desperately wanted to go, to be well, and to not carry the virus over the mountains to the wedding party. Terms like self-quarantine and social distancing have become part of our everyday vocabulary.

Quarantine.  Such a sterile word, implying cold, stainless steel, the antiseptic scent of alcohol, stark reality. I heard a term I like better, cocooning. Cocoon, warm, cozy, safe but in suspended animation.

In the beginning, I look at it as a challenge. I can do this!

Each day begins with hair and makeup, like I have somewhere to go. I cheerfully look around my house for those chores I’ve been putting off. Clean that closet, vacuum and dust that room. Oh good, there’s laundry to do. The house is spic-n-span, not a thing out of place. Okayyyy.

I like routine. I can do this!

With nothing left to straighten, sort, dust or fold I settle into my comfy chair with the soft rust-colored throw over my legs. The TV chatters away, oblivious to my commentary.

That politician is nuts! How many new cases of COVID today? I can’t stand it. What’s on the cooking channel? How many times have I seen that Hallmark movie?

I hear of school closings, of the nursing home ravaged by the illness, of frantic shoppers wrapping around the Costco building, preparing for the Apocalypse. 

The news makes me itch and twitch; the cooking channel makes me hungry.

I find myself planning the next meal as I do the dishes from the previous one. Surely, I am gaining weight as I place each dish in the dishwasher.

In my pre-COVID days I had a routine I long for now. 

On Monday and Wednesday mornings I swam at LA Fitness. Friday I met my friend for coffee. Friday and Saturday nights I danced at the Eagles Club. Sunday morning I went to church.

Those activities are forbidden now as all gatherings have been reduced to no more than ten and the church has begun streaming services online.

A few days into this solitary endurance test I realize I have GOT to get some exercise. I drive to the nearby open-air shopping center every morning. Parking in the most remote corner, I walk the perimeter. The occasional passerby gives me a wide berth. We cut our eyes tentatively at each other and I hold my breath.

Even in the rain, I pull up my hood and walk passed Bed, Bath and Beyond, the Post Office, vacant storefronts, the neighborhood teriyaki place, Starbucks. We, the lone and lonely, space our comings and goings so as not to get too close.

At home I put on my dance shoes, the black strappy ones sprinkled with iridescent sparkles, and ask Alexa to put on some music. I groove in the kitchen to Kenny Chesney cheering me on with “Get Along.”

…paint a wall, learn to dance
Call your mom, buy a boat
Drink a beer, sing a song
Make a friend, can’t we all get along…

My heart rate picks up, my legs begin to warm and my spirits lift for a bit. Eventually, I decide it’ll have to do and I return to my chair.

From my corner window in the living room I watch the weather change by the hour. The skies darken in the middle of the day, requiring lamplight. Soon it’s pouring and the tall fir trees are tossed about in the wind. Then the sun breaks through. Hummingbirds, my sole companions, make a mad dash for the feeders. The Anna hummers winter over in my yard to cheer and assure me that warmer days are coming.

I yearn for summer, to open the windows and doors to a warm breeze that blows away the ill wind, to water pots overflowing with flowers on the deck, to sit under the umbrella and feel the warmth of the sun. I want my yard to wake up and breathe fresh life into my days.

It is not good that man (or woman) should be alone… Gen 2:18

My birthday quietly comes and goes. Calls, texts and Facebook tether me to the outside world.

Opposing thoughts intrude upon my self-centeredness. I am blessed, nestled in my feathered nest, my perfect little house, provided for in every way.

Praise the Lord, I tell myself, and never forget the good things He does for me.

He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases.

He ransoms me from death and surrounds me with love and tender mercies.

Psalm 103: 2-4

Tender mercies. I am healthy, sheltered and fed, safe and saved. Dwell on those tender mercies.

Monday morning and four days to go, I slip out early for the grocery store, hoping the aisles are empty and the shelves are stocked with what I need.

In the store, those with the same idea are quietly scattered throughout. We all keep a respectful distance. There is nothing with disinfecting qualities but I manage to score toilet paper.

At the checkout line, the woman behind me is buying food for her pet crow…she keeps a CROW in her house. 

Past disasters anticipate that the side effects of our new normal could be one of two things: an increase in domestic violence or a baby boom in nine months. Happily, neither is a possibility for me.

Finally, with relief, I complete my self-imposed exile, throw off the wrappings of my cocoon, and rush to the happy occasion. The fresh air, warm family ties, and celebration of life are a tonic to my parched soul.

I know; I am one of the selfish Baby boomers unwilling to miss out on a wonderful family event. I loved it, every minute of it, so when the time ended and I returned home, I was able, refreshed, to embrace the wrappings of my cocoon, once more. 

I willingly retreat unto myself to wait for the ill winds to blow out to sea, to rejoin my community of friends, dancers and worshipers. Until then, we reach out as best we can through calls and texts. Lord willing, it will be sooner, rather than later.