I can't tell you how much I want to write the post titled, Survived! Or Survivor! Instead I'm writing today about what it's like to continue survivING. I am. Surviving. And so very grateful.
Sunday I was able to go to church for our livestream for the first time since Easter. What a joy it was to be able to return for Pentecost and to be in that sacred space. What a privilege it was to read the Pentecost reading from Acts and to pray the Prayers of the People. What a gift it was to worship with a few other people and listen to our bishop's sermon live in person and not on a screen. It renewed my compassion for all the people who are not yet able to return to church and renewed my grief that even when we return, it will not be the same as before, not for a long time.
Last week I had a number of good days. Memorial Day especially was great. I was even able to record a video to tell my congregation about my slow return to work: watch here. Sometimes on a good day, I go ahead and get some things done because I don't know how long the energy will last. Jan thinks that my achey back may be eased by drinking more water, and so I have upped my (already large) amount of water intake, and that does seem to be diminishing the back pain most of the time. Boy do I notice now if I'm not staying hydrated!
After a week of mostly good days, on Friday of last week, I had to rest a lot more. The post-viral symptoms ebb and flow, and most days I'm able to practice acceptance. Perhaps this is something I'm going to have to live with for a long, long time. Earlier this week, some shortness of breath returned off and on for a couple of days. It's one of the strangest symptoms - it's like I have to think about breathing. It's not scary, mostly just annoying. Forces me to really slow down and concentrate on taking deep breaths. This week energy has come and gone each day, no purely good or purely fatigued days. I'm able to work easily by computer lying on my couch. But staying upright all day is still a challenge on many days. I continue my walks when I'm up to it and have been able to get up to about 18 minutes comfortably.
Last week I read some sobering articles about post-viral fatigue and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. A friend shared a post that a friend of his with CFS had written advising COVID-19 survivors to REST. In her post she referenced this article about C19 and Post-Viral Syndrome. Reading all of this has helped me take the need for rest even more seriously. Although I have returned to my Bruton Parish work in limited capacity, when my body tells me to rest, I rest. Tonight a friend posted an article from the Atlantic that calls those of us with this extended play version, Long Haulers. That's me, a long hauler.
Even as I lament my ongoing struggles with this beast of a virus, I recognize that it is only because of my privilege that I'm able to do as well as I am. What privilege means for me is that I have had the support of my bishop and workplaces to take the time I need to rest. I have had the privilege of holding on to my jobs and income. I have had the privilege of resting in a comfortable home with no worry about food or shelter or support. I have had the privilege of being able to afford health insurance that has covered my medical expenses related to the virus. I have had the privilege of an enormous amount of support from people who care for me. This virus disproportionately affects and kills People of Color, and has been especially devastating to the people of the Navajo Nation among others.
Breathing has been a bit harder for me in this time because of a virus I could not control. Black people cannot breathe because the knee of racism is on their necks. This is something that white people can control, if only we have the will to do the work. Four hundred years of oppression and trauma. Four hundred years of injustice. "No one is free until we all are free," said the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I am not free until all Black People, Indigenous People, and People of Color are free.
Over the years, I have participated in Anti-racism training, read books, hosted and watched movie screenings, studied liberation theology, and worked to treat all people I encounter equally. But it's not enough. Clearly it's not enough, while the injustice rages on. So I've joined a book group and am reading Ibram X. Kendi's How to be an Antiracist. His assertion is you can't be non-racist. You're either racist or antiracist. I would like to be antiracist, but I have more work to do. Jan and I are discerning putting together a dialogue circle as part of the Episcopal Church's Sacred Ground curriculum as well as planning a Juneteenth Commemoration.
My energy may be limited right now, but that doesn't mean I don't have a role to play.
This morning I read a prayer from "A Service of Prayer for Justice and Peace" from the Iona Abbey Worship Book:
God, lead us, that we may stand firm in faith for justice.
Teach us love. Teach us compassion.
Above all, out of love and compassion,
teach us to act.
White friends, many of our sisters and brothers of color are not surviving racism, and even those who are surviving still can't say "survived" because of the ongoing injustice and inequities.
Black Friends, Indigenous Friends, Friends of Color, I am sorry for my part and will work to do better.
I hope you will forgive me.
Thank you for your concluding prayer.
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