Hello. My name is Colleen. And the person I lost, is myself. Clearly I have not passed on to the next life, so I understand this is probably not what you’re looking for. However, I still felt compelled to tell my story.

I’ve had four confirmed cases of Covid and been hospitalized once, thankfully for just a couple days. I was diagnosed with Long Hauler Covid shortly after my first bout. And I’ve never been the same since.

And oh how I miss me, the me that used to be. Daily I struggle to accept this “new normal” but I have yet to accept it, which makes “living“ incredibly challenging. I’m caught somewhere in the “in between“ … knowing somewhere deep inside that I’m not the same person I used to be, and yet not stepping into the “new life“ ahead of me.

I was a successful manager at a fortune five company. Due to my symptoms, I have had to step down to an entry-level position. Why? Good question! Because of my cognitive disorder, my brain fog, my inability to concentrate, remember, focus, multitask, I’m unable to perform my duties. To be fully transparent, I’m struggling in this new entry level position as well …

A very dear friend of mine this past weekend, looked at me and lovingly said to me these words: “you have become mean.” I have never been known as being mean. After being a little bit taken aback, shocked, and perhaps a flash of anger, I realized he was right. He said, “Your carefree-ness, your happy go lucky style, it’s gone, or nearly gone. And it’s been replaced by a streak of meanness.”

He then went on to explain that it happened after I returned to work. You see, I was out of work for, I don’t know maybe 10 months due to Long Hauler Covid. And all of my symptoms and issues.

Being back at work and not being able to function the way that I know I once did has been earth shattering. Sometimes I stutter when I talk. Because I can’t remember the words. I can’t grasp what I’m trying to say.

So I’m on this crazy journey of trying to decide what to do about my future. Do I continue to wake up every day dreading the day ahead of me because I have to work and I can’t work efficiently? And then I feel paralyzed, but I dig deep inside … And somehow I get myself to walk from the bed, 30 feet to my desk, and I logon. Somehow with tons of anxiety and stress, I make it through the day. And then when I’m done I just collapse. Generally I have no energy for anything else.

Of course there’s so much more to the story, so many additional details, like having minimal support, the people in my life not understanding, etc.

So the person that I lost amongst Covid, in the midst of this pandemic, it’s me. Me.

Again, I know this is not what you were looking for, so I say this: thank you for reading my story, I appreciate you so much.

Sister, what will we do with the day?
I’ll hold your hand now, but might pull away,
dare the dusk like my heroes, then run home to stay there.
I’m not afraid there.

But now we’re just out, and the side door swings.
All around us are such fragile things.
I’ll save them all, make them strong, hold them under my wings tight.
I’ll never take flight.

Please.
Breathe.

Another sundown, inside on my own.
Could strive for much more, but I know I won’t.
Some are glad just with sharing what summer has grown ripe,
and TV shows’ light.

So many autumns, so many moons.
Last year’s garden is gone to make room.
Though they wither, never say “no flowers bloomed there.”
You’ll see others soon there.

Please.
Breathe.

We gamble on life (comfort and pain)
for ruin or prize (those are the stakes)
some thieve for and fight (but who’ve I betrayed?)
yet I’ve chosen mine (and what would I change?).

Sister, what will the day do with us?
I don’t know, and won’t worry much.
Though the river’s between us, I feel your touch.

When my brother, a year younger than I, was a young child he used to collect an assortment of bugs in various containers and in his pockets. I tried to empty his pockets before our mom would do the laundry. His collections evolved through the years to glass, rocks and shells we would find along all the Long Island beaches we would frequent together. Later he would collect coins, stamps, and flower and plant seeds for growing. As an adult, collecting baseball cards, books of literature and comic books became his passion.

My brother, Johnny, a gentle and kind soul, died of Covid early in the Pandemic. He was my only sibling. It took me almost 2 1/2 years to be brave enough to go through all his collections. What do I sell and what do I keep? Why am I doing this? Where did Johnny go? Why is he not here? Johnny would want me to find the purpose and the meaning in these questions.

Let me tell you about the day that changed my world.
I went to play volleyball at the Community Center.
While I was on the court practicing, coming through a window enters this young man.
Handsome devil — flat top haircut, “blonde”, t-shirt, jeans, and desert boots.
My first thought was — boy you think you’re something!
He was.
We were married soon after.
For 57 years, 2 months, 24 days.

Mike was always in charge of planting flowers in our garden.

When I think back, I used to yell at him for spending so much money on flowers. Friends and neighbors used to say “I saw Mike today at the nursery” when he’d promised he wasn’t buying any more. Today I took my granddaughter to Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania to look at all the flowers and I explained that Grandpa Mike always took care of the garden.

I wish Mike could have been with us today.