As we all know, since March 2020 we have been all about “stay home, stay safe” and socially distancing. We have stayed away from our friends, refused to approach acquaintances, and spurned strangers. When Paul and I went for a long drive and ended up in the town where my old college roommate lives, I begged to stop to see her. But all we could do was stand on the porch and smile over our masks. We have learned to “meet” online—church is broadcast, book club is on Zoom, and work and school are also on a screen. It’s been OK. Not that great of a hardship, nothing like the Great Depression or World War II. And certainly better than actually catching Covid-19.
But then, in February, Paul and I had our vaccinations. A few weeks later, and we are clear. We can’t catch Covid, we can’t give you Covid. And, though it feels so strange, we are beginning to reach out to friends beyond our family.
I went for a walk. A neighbor I’ve known for 40 years was standing on her front lawn, an older woman, one who has been carefully isolating all these many months. Instead of just smiling and waving from a safe distance as I’ve done for a year, I stepped across her lawn and we visited, face to face. As I left, without thinking, I gave her a hug. Then I said, “Oh no! We’re hugging! Is this OK?” “Oh, my yes,” she said, “I’m vaccinated. You’re vaccinated. Let’s hug!”
Then, last week, things really got crazy. Tuesday night was the last night of the religion class I teach college students in our area. All through the school year, we have met on Zoom, making do with the tiny little squares that confine what we can see of each other. With many of us vaccinated, we decided we could meet together for our last class. We wore masks and were careful, but oh, how lovely it was to see all of them in person, to be able to see their whole selves, to see how tall they are, to see how they interact, to really share with each other who we are and what we feel.
Next up was my book club. This club has been together—oh, close to 30 years. We have been through sickness, divorce, and death as well as marriages, graduate school, and retirement. Now we can add to our shared experiences a year of meeting solely on Zoom. It was OK, better than nothing, and did have the added benefit that club members who had moved could now join in. But last week, we met in person, all double vaccinated and clear. As we have for so many years, we could sit together in the same room. It was so much easier to discuss the book when we could read the full body language of those we were sharing with. It was wonderful to be able to reach out a hand to comfort a friend who is suffering. And, perhaps the best part, the part that just can’t happen online, was the way the meeting ended, breaking into conversations of twos and threes, then shifting to other groupings of twos and threes, in the foyer, on the steps, and in the street as we gathered by our cars. Some things just can’t be shared online.
Finally, we hosted a baby shower for my youngest daughter. Most of the guests were family, on both sides. But we did invite a few of Mary’s long-time friends. We dressed up and served fancy sandwiches on my best china. We played games and laughed and laughed. We opened presents and collectively marveled that in a few weeks a tiny little person would actually be filling out those tiny little clothes.
There is something about physically gathering. Online, on a screen, we can share ideas and words and smiles—and that is good. But when we can actually come together, physical bodies in the same room, we share experience, we share life, we become one. It is good to gather together. I’m so thankful we can do it again.
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