Lessons Learned
I have learned an enormous amount of stuff in the last few weeks, including, but not limited to, the following:
- I don’t need to make nearly as many trips to Wal-Mart as I’m accustomed to making.
- The Wal-Mart grocery app is great . . . but not for me. Lunch for a week requires more than two cartons of Siggi’s yogurt and two P3 Protein Packs.
- I don’t stand in line well. It’s not that I mind the lines or the waiting, but I’m still an aspiring hermit. And people try to talk to me.
- It’s becoming more and more difficult to remember what day it is.
- Somewhere, someone has enough toilet paper to last them for the next 30 years.
- Dogs can be more easily trained than people, especially where the commands “sit” and “stay” are concerned. Maybe it’s because dogs get a treat when they obey and we’re just trying to appeal to people’s sense of what is best for the greater good.
- People have some of the strangest ideas as to what will protect them from COVID-19, none of which involve staying at home.
- The number 10 means different things to different people.
- The rules obviously don’t apply to everyone (I need a sarcasm font here).
- It’s hard not to hug someone when you know they’re hurting.
Most of those points are written tongue-in-cheek (with the exception of number 10), although I really don’t stand in line very well (because . . . people) and dogs are truly, on occasion, more well-behaved than some of the rest of us. But my greatest lesson, and probably the hardest to accept, is that the daily activities of life are no longer that. Things we took for granted like going to church or eating in a restaurant . . . coffee with a friend and a parting hug . . . visiting family members in nursing homes or the hospital, are all currently things of the past. And as annoying as that is to someone who delights in the ruts of this world, there is a bright side. At least I’m still alive. And presently unscathed.
Would you like some good news? When we last spoke, the great state of Tennessee was number fifteen on the COVID-19 chart of confirmed U.S. cases. Today, at this very moment, we’ve dropped to 18 th . Either we’re doing something right or three other states aren’t. But that doesn’t mean we get to slack up. There’ll be no celebratory parties or gatherings of greater than 10. Not yet. But someday. Hopefully, someday soon.
In the meantime, please try to remember that a cough doesn’t necessarily mean COVID-19. Some of us are allergic to the world and this spring has produced an exceptional amount of pollen. Just because you see a group of people doesn’t mean they’re in violation of anything. They may have practiced social distancing. They may be a family that all resides in the same home. They may be like the poor souls that gathered in the hospital parking lot, unable to be with the one who came by ambulance because of the hospital’s safe guards. As they stood, waiting for any word, any news at all, someone drove by, filming with their phone, then flipped them off and drove away. Their loved one died with them anxiously waiting outside, and someone with no clue and obviously no heart chose to make matters worse.
I need you to remember one other thing—when you find yourself struggling against all the rules and all the regulations—there are so many others whose struggles are so much greater. Our area has been relatively untouched by the chaos that has engulfed most of the world. If we can continue making the small sacrifices for a short time we will be able to claim victory in the long run.
There are many areas that have not been so blessed and I hear from those who are on the front lines almost daily. I say the front lines, but the truth is they are bringing up the rear. They are the funeral directors that are working day and night in those places, only to find it isn’t enough—and if that kind of effort is required of them I cannot imagine what the first responders and medical professionals are enduring. In one particular email thread a director mentioned he lost both his parents to COVID-19 within less than a week’s time. They are to be buried together, but he doesn’t have time to grieve. There are too many others who need help. Another wrote in desperation. I could see it in his words as he tried to express his helplessness in the face of the mounting deaths. In four days they had received almost as many calls as they do in a month and his exhausted staff simply could not keep up. He ended with a plea for help from anyone who could and would come . . . anyone at all. I sat in silence for a very long time after reading his post; there are no words to describe the anguish I felt for him—or the gratitude I had because his words are not also mine.
We have no clue what’s going on in our world, no clue how devastating this disease truly is. And I hope we never do. I hope we have enough sense and enough sacrificial spirit that we can win this war with a limited number of casualties. But it will take all of us playing by the rules—the real rules—to make a difference. When it comes to Death and his minions . . . like viruses and such . . . there are no exceptions. And we must never make the mistake of believing there are.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
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