I’m eating some chicken noodle soup a friend brought me today. That’s not an unusual statement unless you know what life looked like this time last year.
I had just returned to Albany, where I moved to nine years prior. My host was gone, yet his family invited me to stay and look after things. Christmas week was spent in a hospital bed in Ohio. The medical team agreed I had a stern health warning from my body, but appeared ok if I followed through with my diabetic diagnosis. Half of my Christmas gifts were quickly marked off-limits. I was told that if my sugar numbers got too high, I’d be back in the hospital, and if too low, in the morgue.
At the time, all friends with the right combination of care & trust were at least an hour away. Thoughts that emergency response personnel would help were quickly dashed by an attempt to reach them without an emergency. I asked a shopkeeper I knew if they’d step in – understandably, the responsibility & risk were too great to say yes. Clearly I survived, but in the words of Robin Williams’ Bicentennial Man, “this won’t do.”
I decided to invest in this community. I had avoided it because I’m already involved in several groups and didn’t want to risk disappointing more. I found out when a local church (with an acoustic piano & real pianist) held their meetings and jumped in with both feet. I found the water warm indeed.
One year later, I’m recovering from my first adventure with Covid. I’m now part of two churches and a quilting group, and know that a request for help will be eagerly met by several people. It’s been a crazy year, and new friends have come through with security watch, trash carryout, car unloading, and even a few cans of soup.
You guys are a blessing. I raise my spoon, Cheers!