Irretrievable Losses

I am a Boomer, a child of the ‘50s and ‘60s and a proud pragmatist. My mother was an RN, University of California trained and educated. My father was a US Navy fighter jet pilot. Both were professionals, solidly grounded in practical reality. Both were also from widely different Christian backgrounds. She was Russian Orthodox, he was German Lutheran. From them I learned to rely on modern medicine and to trust scientific inquiry, to chafe under and question rules, and to expect that there are many paths to salvation. I received my undergrad degree from UC San Diego in biology and anthropology. Then I frustrated my family’s expectation of a medical career by becoming a lawyer, a skeptical and feisty advocate. Looking back, I see that all of these facts shaped my experience with the Covid event.

I have several vivid recollections from the Covid Era, but these are the two most poignant for me.

The first is the death of my best friend, Lizzy. I met her in 2000, when I joined the firm she was working for and we hit it off like long lost sisters. Lizzy had overcome two bouts of lymphatic cancer over the past three decades. But the cancer resurfaced in early Spring 2024, following her husband’s relentless demands that she take every “vaccination” possible...she must have had at least six jabs. The cancer roared through her. In June she succumbed, painfully, within six weeks of her most recent cancer diagnosis. During her final hospitalization the staff reluctantly permitted me to visit with her without having to wear a mask, so she was able to recognize me. A small blessing.

The second immutable recollection was the loss of my church. My husband and I had become members of a small Presbyterian congregation in 2005. In early 2020 the new pastor acceded to the Governor’s demands and shut down the church. I had been a worship music leader, and was instrumental in developing and deploying an on-line virtual service for the next two years, recording music and messages of encouragement.

In 2023, corporate worship1 was again permitted in California albeit with “precautions” – distancing, masks, etc. As music worship leader, I sat separately facing the congregation near the lectern, fully twenty feet away from the closest individual. Nevertheless, after four Sundays with this arrangement I was advised by the pastor that if I would not wear a mask during worship (I could remove it while singing, and make that make sense, please) I was not welcome to participate. It was heartbreaking enough to look out at the congregation of masked faces, but to be muffled in front of them myself was more than I could bear. I left that congregation and have not yet found another.

These may not be the most tragic or vicious of the Covid debacle events, but I remain touched, even scarred, by them. There is plenty of blame to go around. I will not forget.

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