Adult friendships are hard. Yet in this time of the pandemic, they are more important than ever. Everyone I know is experiencing some form of loneliness, anxiety, unease.
You’d have to be living in a cave not to feel the uncertainty and sadness accompanying this period when there are more than 160,000 dead from the disease. We are in and out of quarantine, our daily routines are upended, there is economic hardship all around and we’re watching our children suffer from disturbed schooling and socialization. Even Michelle Obama, who I admire greatly for her humor, strength and determination, admitted this week that she’s suffering from low-level depression.
Two months ago I had a total replacement of my left knee. It now contains a fair amount of plastic and metal and is the result of a ski accident which occurred in my twenties. My knees have long been problematic. When I watch people comfortably squat on their heels, I shake my head with envy.
This is all to say that I am no stranger to pain.
When I talk about retirement, I talk about how blessed I feel. I say this for two reasons.
First, although we are not wealthy, my husband and I had the means to retire from our longtime careers. I worked for over 30 years at San Jose State University. I had four kids. My husband worked in high tech in Silicon Valley. I know that many people around the world, and even in the United States, are not so fortunate to have the luxury to stop working and still live a comfortable existence.
But, the second reason I feel so blessed is that I have a passion which consumes me and makes me feel lucky that I have the time to pursue it: this is writing.
When I first started writing Klass Notes last summer, I asked my editor if she had any suggestions for columns. This was the time of several tragic celebrity suicides, Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade among them, and the topic was on a lot of people’s minds. She suggested I write about suicide, but even with a PhD., I felt woefully inadequate to explore this difficult subject, feeling there were people far more qualified than me to do so.
Our beloved older dog Bella died two months ago. She was a good friend and lived a happy 15 years on earth. Fortunately, our daughter Hannah is a veterinarian. She texted while we were out of the country saying, “It’s time, Mom.” Bella’s tumor had regrown, and she was obviously in pain. Devastatingly, Bella was having trouble breathing as the tumor was blocking her nose. Poor girl.
It was painful to come home from our monthlong trip to face Bella’s absence. However, besides my husband and I missing Bella’s calm, sweet presence, there was another being to think about. Our other dog, Ramona, an adorable 5-year-old dachshund, was now an only child.
