To the editor:
Of course it will not be the same. Nothing is the same — this time of crisis or anytime.
But things will go on. Kids costumed for Halloween will roam the neighborhood — albeit carefully.
They will hold open their loot bags and giggle. I love that.
They might paint the windows on Johnson Avenue. I hope they do.
Election Day will have come and gone by the time this letter makes it to the paper. If it does, I dare not talk about that. It is enough that it has invaded my dreams.
Thanksgiving is coming, no matter what. It will be different. It has been for me for a long time. Parents dead. Kids in faraway cities. Friends not venturing out. No menu on my door of who cooked what. No whining that they really do want the string beans with the onion rings, even though they said they hated them. No paper turkey on the table made by one of the little guys in school.
But these holidays will happen. I will be sure to make them, to celebrate. I plan to call family, friends, and wave to neighbors. I will show my pared-down meal and brag about a dessert I made.
Maybe Zoom. I have, after all, become an excellent “Zoombie.”
Today, as I write this — on Oct. 30 — we are more than 280 days into this pandemonium. We have sacrificed, screamed, cheered for workers, lost people we love and respect. I have done things I never expected to do, made new virtual friends. And most of all, I have moved on with a resolve to survive. To come out of this better.
Sure, I feel cheated. Time stolen from me — time I will not ever be able to make up. But I feel lucky, too. I see the gorgeous colors of the leaves across the Hudson. I see tankers delivering their goods. I see eyes smiling above the masks as I walk the now-crowded streets in Riverdale.
It will not be the same. Nothing ever is.
I hope it will be better.