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The shithole that is Anno Domini 2020 began last year on Christmas night. We had a new moon that evening, providing velvet darkness that brought out every star for our holidays. This moon was particularly special – it was a powerful new moon eclipse, a final gift for the yuletide.
Moons, no matter what phase, affect our moods. If the moon can shift an entire ocean, imagine what it does to us. But an eclipse is more. Eclipses rip the rug out from under you. They are portents of change, of beginnings and endings, of shedding the old skin for something new to emerge. If this is true, then the last new moon of 2019 is the gift that keeps on giving.
My life, since the new moon eclipse last December:
- Dad fell on Christmas night, breaking his back.
- Three days later, my sister and I moved our parents’ house into a new condo, so they would have a safe place to return when Dad got better.
- Two weeks later Dad’s sister (my aunt) fell, breaking her hip.
- Exactly one month after Dad’s fall, he fell again, breaking his hip, leading to surgery.
- Two weeks later, Dad’s sister had a massive stroke.
- After five weeks in rehab, Dad moved to a memory care facility to manage his Parkinson’s Disease and dementia.
- COVID-19 became a thing – assisted living facilities and rehab centers closed to visitors.
- Ten days later, Dad’s facility told us they didn’t have the capacity or the will to care for my father’s special needs. They asked him to relocate – in the middle of a pandemic.
- My office closed and I began work from home.
- A week later, we relocated Dad to a new memory care facility. We left him there, unable to visit. My mother is locked-down in the facility with him.
- Two weeks later, Dad’s sister died. We cannot visit or plan a funeral with my family in San Francisco.
- Thousands of people die daily – including friends and aquaintances. Everything closes. We can’t even get a hug.
I wait for another shoe to drop. And it will. The sky is filled with them. Clouds of pumps and sling-backs raining on my head for no good reason other than we had an eclipse. And that’s not a reason – or sound reasoning.
Shit happens, folks. Most of the time we bring it on ourselves – or in our selfishness and myopia, we cause the shitstorm for someone else. Once in a blue moon (or an eclipse) there is an “act of God,” but I don’t recommend ascribing divine retribution for consequences of our own making. Otherwise, we learn nothing.
Part of the joy and responsibility of being human is that we have the capacity for retrospective. We can look back on our failures and fix them for future generations. We can build systems to catch shoes before they bean us in the head. Hindsight is, ironically, 20-20 – and 2020 will provide enough fixable failure for decades to come.
But for now, what am I to do? None of the above is in my control. I can’t fix anything. And there are days I’m completely lost.
In situations such as these – and let me be clear, there has never been a situation such as this in my lifetime…. Regardless, in situations where everything is chaos and I feel helpless, I rely on story. Stories continue to be my haven, my light, my many-faceted guide through whatever life throws my way. And currently life is pitching a no-hitter.
This crisis, I’m relying on Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson.
Harold, owner of a very special purple crayon, sets out on an adventure, drawn from his imagination. He travels to fields, meets a moose and porcupine, eats a pie picnic, sails the ocean, and climbs a craggy mountain – all created by him using his purple crayon.
And the moon goes with him.
Harold creates beauty and fun, but he also creates danger. He breathes life into a fierce dragon, falls into an ocean, and pitches head-first off a cliff.
I understand, Harold. Scary dragons. Water up to your neck. Nothing to grab hold to. And that damn moon following you everywhere you go. I’m living it, Harold, I really am.
Luckily, Harold kept his wits, and his purple crayon. He draws his way out of every dilemma and finds his way home.
People, hear me: We all have purple crayons. We, like Harold, all have the ability to choose our response in every situation, every crisis. We can create fear and anger, or we can keep our wits about us and create something useful, something beautiful, something only we can offer.
In the midst of all that is powerfully effed-up right now, I’ve seen us rise to the occasion – from our medical teams working to save lives, to our restaurants feeding the hungry, to our children drawing rainbows on our sidewalks. I have days – don’t get me wrong – but the magic of everyone’s purple crayons keeps me sane. It keeps me going.
And those brave artists, redrawing this shithole of a landscape into a spring garden filled with hope, challenge me to grab my own purple crayon and recreate my own way through.
Despite the past four months, I count myself lucky. Those things I circle in purple are my beautiful and healthy family – my job – my health – my friends.
But even if I didn’t have any of those things, I count myself most fortunate to have my purple crayon. Without it, I might not be able to visualize the glorious wonder of life and draw myself as a phoenix rising from the ashes. I’m hanging on to that crayon for dear life.
And what of the moon? It’s still there, following me, watching over me. She’s my companion, affecting me and pointing to the constancy of change. So when I get tired of all I can’t control, I circle her in the sky, draw my sheets up, and find I am home.
Thank you Terry!
I paint furniture and try to find adventures in baking and playing that I might learn piano. I can’t be still. I never could, really but I masked it well. Now, I find that I must be doing. Sometimes I look out at the world and I know this will pass and we will all sit together in a room sharing stories and wine and hugging those who need hugs. Sometimes I look out and I can feel the fear. I could always feel the fear but now, perhaps because we cannot gather together, so many people are feeling that the fear is winning. That it’s getting stronger. But it’s not. We are. Because in spite of the fear, we are coming together to save and to support each other. We know we will walk through this together and emerge together.
Bless you Terri over, and over, and over, for painting us a picture of misery and a place of respite – small as it may be.
💖🍷🌈
Such powerful imagery. What a moving comparison to Harold and the Purple Crayon, and such a grateful and inspiring conclusion. This is really well written. Sending blessings for continued health and for the strength of family and friends. Hang in there. You have your purple crayon.