Self-Quarantine

I am not in the habit of writing much about myself personally. But, with the coronavirus epidemic, I am making an exception.

I am staying home. Over the last two weeks, the most I have gone out for was to pick up a takeout order from a restaurant once last week. (It was a family meal-style dinner—good for a week.) I have stepped outside to get the mail from the mailbox—and did so with no one around. (I live in a house that is on a street with a cul de sac.) Other than that…I am self-quarantining.

I am self-quarantining to a point in which—for the first time in my life—I have twice ordered delivery of groceries. (This is unusual for me because I live in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. My area stores are very close.) I have an order pending for which I could not get the delivery for three days. So, I am expecting my latest order, placed on Wednesday, on Saturday.

My decision to personally self-quarantine isn’t only about me. It is also about my father, who lives with me, and the fact that he is 87 going on 88 years old. (His birthday is in May.) I recognize, from last week, that I needed to be staying home.

This is a very scary period.

I was in a conversation with my aunt, to whom I am close, who lives in Colorado. We stay in touch over our iPhones’ app FaceTime. We have, since the 1990s, survived a number of family members we loved and miss. One of them is her sister and my mother. From time to time, we reflect on how life is—compared to how it was—and that leads to thinking about the deceased. I tell her: It’s good that this person or that person—with respect to his or her specific period of life—is not alive and having to endure this. (My mother, with whom I also had a good relationship, had emphysema. She died in 1998. And I leave her to rest in piece. But, it is a relief to me knowing she doesn’t have to face this—this coronavirus pandemic of an epidemic.)

Everybody—please take good care of watching out for yourself and those who are near and dear.