Week Six of Isolation…
The snap is starting to hit closer to home as many people I know have now lost a loved one to COVID-19.
That’s not a hoax.
That’s a fact.
I wrote in one of my posts a few weeks ago that it’s extremely hard to be an empath right now, and that remains true to my core. I thank my lucky stars that I haven’t lost anyone close to me (dare I say yet?), but I honestly cry every time I read that someone I am connected to has lost someone. It happened yesterday morning, when I learned that a fishing buddy of my husband’s lost his father; 80-year-old Jesus Sande owned two recognizable fishing vessels where I live. I never met Mr. Sande, but I cried my heart out yesterday for him and his family when I heard about his passing. Same goes for a local firefighter whom I also never met but shed many tears for as I learned that he succumbed to COVID very quickly. He was younger than me.
The good news is the growing recovery rate, as many people who have battled COVID have recovered. My heart dances with joy when I learn of survivors, especially those I know. I’m inspired by the dedication of those on the front lines and tremendously thankful for the helpers and essential workers. Even though we’re not all technically in the same boat, our boats are simultaneously trying to stay afloat in the same storm despite the different affects the storm has and will have on our individual vessels.
In my vessel of isolation over here, we’ve been watching old “Cheers” episodes on DVD. It’s a little known fact that “Cheers” has always been one of my favorite shows with its timeless one-liners and classic storylines created by writers who masterfully intertwined the literal AND the figurative in order to tell a simple yet complicated narrative episode by episode.
I vividly recall watching with friends the “Cheers” series finale titled “One for the Road” in 1993.
In the episode’s closing scene, Sam (played by Ted Danson) walks over and adjusts the Geronimo picture hanging on the back wall. That framed Geronimo photograph hung in the dressing room of Nicholas Colasanto, who played Coach. After he passed away (which ironically was on my fourteenth birthday), it was placed in the set background and remained there for the duration of the series. As both the episode and series conclude, Sam adjusted Geronimo’s photograph as a final tribute to Colasanto, then walks down the hallway to the dark pool room. It’s a fitting end to the series, since in the very first episode, Sam makes his first entrance by walking into the bar from the same hallway leading from the pool room in the back. What a visual paradox.
There are a few lines in “One for the Road” said by Dr. Frasier Crane (played by Kelsey Grammar) that slug me in my gut every single time I hear them. It’s a seemingly innocent statement, but it’s teeming with significance and is just as relevant to the lives we are currently living today as it was in 1993, if not more:
You know, no one wants to be the first to say it, but I’m not ashamed to admit what I think we’re all feeling. Time goes by so fast. People move in and out of your life. You must never miss an opportunity to tell these people how much they mean to you. Well, I…I…I…
Yeah, YOU, who is reading this right now…
This is my opportunity to tell you how much you mean to me.
Maybe you are a childhood friend or just a passerby reader. Maybe you’re family or a complete stranger. Maybe I’ve known you for 49 years or 49 seconds. Maybe we grew up together, worked together, traveled together, or spent time together in a classroom or a watering hole or at a concert or a festival or a game, maybe not.
None of that matters.
What does matter is this:
Whatever footprints you’ve left alongside mine in my life journey, I am grateful for YOU.
I respect you. I honor you. I thank you.
Most of all, I love you.
I really do.
Thanks for joining me on my journey. I’m glad you’re here.
“Coronacation Chronicles – April 19, 2020” was posted on jillocone.com and on soulseaker.com on April 19, 2020. Views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the writer, who was not compensated in any way by any entity. Copyright 2020, Jill Ocone. All rights reserved. Contact firstname.lastname@example.org with reposting, licensing, and publishing inquiries.