Days
Days
Isn’t It Time
Thursday, December 31, 2020
Long, Long Ago
Auld Lang Syne can be translated to “long, long, ago,” “days gone by,” or “old times.” 2020 is not yet any of those things and it never will be. As much as we want to push it away, we shall never break loose from the year of hate, disease, panic, cheating, treason, failure, sadness, disillusion, dishonor, and death, death, death.
2020 is tattooed on our faces like an imperishable mask that reveals only the wide sorrow of our eyes. We step from its embrace but its shadow shrouds us today, tomorrow, and for as long as anyone who remembers 2020 can remember 2020.
This is not as spoiled as it sounds. Nearly everything good, every advancement we have ever made, came from defeat and pain. And we know 2020 also lived in resilience, bravery, inclusion, hope, science, facts, patriotism, kindness, sacrifice and humor.
All these nights home alone gave us moments to adore. All the screaming in the streets made us think, the marching in unison made us proud, the voting made us American, the farmers, the grocers, the drivers, the janitors, the nurses, the doctors, the teachers, the police, the paramedics, the firefighters, and the parents kept us alive.
The children kept us human.
Allow us a moment’s pause to weep for 2020. There have been worse years but we doubt many have been so synonymous with ignominy and pain. It’s not 2020’s fault. It arrived on the calendar without plan or pretense, scheme or fate. It was just there when it all happened, a sinless bystander on the road from the dawn of time till the end of everything.
And now, we move forward. And with every step, every breath, we grin. We join a chorus of heedful laughter at the assemblage of demise as it hisses, “we are, we are, we are.” --TK
Friday, January 1, 2021