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Lisa Marchese had a hard time finding the joy in Christmas this year, but an expected fall during a morning run reignited her Christmas spirit
(Note: This article initially appeared in KGW, an affiliate TV station of NBC in Portland.)
Photo: Lisa Marchese, who grew up in Seattle but now lives and works in Italy, sits at her computer in her home looking at the current statistics of new cases and watching the Minister of Health’s press conference on TV.
Author: Lisa M. Marchese Published: 10:30 AM PST December 21, 2020 Updated: 10:38 AM PST December 21, 2020
MILAN, Italy — Editors Note: Lisa Marchese is a lawyer from Seattle who moved to Milan, Italy last year before COVID-19 struck. Reporter Pat Dooris knows Lisa from their high school days and began chatting with her on social media as the first wave of the pandemic surged through Italy. She wrote a reflection on that experience here. Now, she finds herself unable to return home for Christmas. This is her story:
For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been my favorite holiday. No matter how bad the year had been personally, professionally, or otherwise, I could set it all aside when the Christmas season began. Once all the lights and decorations went up, smiling became as effortless as breathing. If Christmas was my favorite holiday, the season of Christmas was my most reliable friend.
COVID-19 seems to have changed everything familiar in our lives. It has been the gift that keeps on taking, robbing us of our loved ones and livelihoods. It has isolated us from our family and friends. It has banished us from public and turned our homes into prison cells. So, when COVID-19 cheated me out of spending the holidays with my family I lost it. That is until I found my salvation in a fallen tree branch and a handsome stranger on a foggy winter morning in Milan.
Given my love of Christmas, I should have welcomed the arrival of the season with open arms. Yet when the beautiful lights and decorations went up in the center of Milan a few weeks ago, I hardly noticed. I was still stuck on the image of my computer screen flashing a cancelled flight to Seattle. With a few keystrokes, the Christmas I had known since childhood became a painful memory. As tears streamed down my face, the realization that I would spend Christmas alone hit me like a ton of bricks. That was when I lost my way and was blinded by anger and resentment.
In that moment, I had a new resolve. It wasn’t a healthy one. I wiped away my tears, declared war on Christmas, and became a modern-day Ebenezer Scrooge. No tree, no decorations, no presents, no Christmas. I would stay hunkered down in my apartment. Like Scrooge, I would distract myself with work while counting pennies and refusing to turn up the heat. Humbug to it all! Yet even in this blinding rage, I could still see the shadows of what I was becoming, and I didn’t like it at all. ut anger isn’t always a bad thing. It lets you know you are still alive. And sometimes, it leads to your redemption.
Like any big city, Milan has its share of street people and panhandlers. Since moving here over a year ago, I was struck by the generosity of Italians toward these people, so much so that my heart and wallet slowly opened-up to them too. After a while, it became a habit to drop whatever spare change I had into someone’s hand or cup. Neither the pandemic nor the lockdown had changed their reality. They were still on the streets and they still needed help. But in my new Scrooge persona, it was now easy for me to ignore them with disdain. Yet the gratification was temporary and fleeting. The shame I felt was far more powerful than the anger. I was stuck in this awful place with no apparent escape. Then the most amazing thing happened. I wasn’t visited by 3 ghosts or anything that cool. But I was, quite literally knocked to my senses.
I like to run in early the morning while Milan is still sleeping. It lets me enjoy a busy city in solitude before everyone else wakes up. Last Sunday, I was out the door while it was still dark. It was a perfect crisp winter morning that let me relish a rising sun against a vibrant blue sky. I was on my favorite route which takes me through 2 amazing city parks and the ever-scenic Piazza del Duomo. When I reached the first park at Porta Venezia, I remember thinking how relieved I was to be off the streets for a few miles because I was sick of seeing Christmas lights and decorations. I had vowed not to celebrate Christmas, so I didn’t want to be reminded of it. More Humbug. The scenery in the park was instantly better. No lights or ornaments on the trees. Infused with my false sense of empowerment, I decided to pick up the pace a bit. I was lost in thoughts that began with “Me”, “I” or “My”. Those thoughts, however, often lead us down a treacherous path. “Maybe I will run another marathon in the Spring.” That was my last thought before I realized I was face down on the ground, covered in mud, writhing in pain. I was so engrossed in my self-absorbed Scrooge monologue that I wasn’t paying any attention to the trail. I never saw the fallen tree branch that caught my toe and launched me head-first into a pile of rocks and mud. My seething anger at the world may have knocked me to my knees. But it was a loose branch, a few rocks and a little bit of mud that knocked me to my senses. My right knee got the worst of it. But as it turns out, my soul got the best of it.
Tripping on a run isn’t all that uncommon, particularly for a runner like me. I have had a few missteps in my day. Usually, I just get up, dust myself off, take a second to laugh at my own stupidity and then I keep running. Whether a race or a training run, I never quit. However, this time things were different. At first, I didn’t know if couldn’t get up or if I didn’t want to get up. Either way, I stayed on the ground, completely stunned. I couldn’t tell what was worse – the pain in my knee or the pain of embarrassment.
After what felt like an eternity, I saw a figure emerge from the fog on the trail. Before I realized it, a fellow runner appeared, offered me his hand, and helped me to my feet. With genuine concern, he asked me if I was hurt and I assured him that I was okay. Then he wished me a Merry Christmas with an effortless smile, and continued on, leaving me stunned once again. Not from the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous, and I looked like a hot mess caked in mud. Rather, I was the recipient of a simple yet significant act of kindness that I am quite certain I did not deserve. Why do we always wait for the Earth to move when so often our redemption can be found in the little things of our lives?
When the pain subsided to a dull roar, I finished the remaining 3 miles of my run. Like before, I was determined never to quit. But this time, I had a new resolve. The physical pain from the fall made me realize I was still alive and had feelings, no matter how hard I tried to suppress them. Declaring war on Christmas was not a solution. It was a selfish diversion. Christmas didn’t fail me. I failed the spirit of Christmas with my ridiculous Scrooge persona. It takes a lot more effort to be a self-absorbed jerk than to extend a hand of help to a stranger.
Dante got me through the first lockdown and the Inferno helped me climb out of my apartment to see the stars again. Now it was Charles Dickens’ turn to save me. Even though I read “A Christmas Carol” every year, usually on Christmas Eve, I had planned to boycott Dickens too. In the wake of my tripping catharsis, however, that storyline was my one consistent thought.
As I hobbled to finish the run that morning, the Dickens’ prose in my head finally gave way to something Viktor Frankl once wrote. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.” Indeed, COVID-19 has stolen so much from so many. It has inflicted gratuitous pain and misery indiscriminately. Yet in that moment, I realized it can never take away our freedom to decide how we will respond. In anger, I opted to be the worst of Scrooge, the worst of myself. But Like Ebenezer, I can also choose redemption.
It is interesting to reflect upon what the world was like in 1843 when Charles Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol”. Victorian England was a harsh reality for most. Slums and slave labor were the mainstays of the Industrial Revolution. The unsanitary living and working conditions in London and other big cities helped spread many deadly diseases. In the span of Dickens’ lifetime, the world endured at least 6 pandemics including smallpox, scarlet fever and typus, diseases that ravaged the European continent and England. By far, Dickens’ reality was far more brutal than ours. Yet from the cruelty of his world Dickens found inspiration to create a story that we still cling to after nearly 200 years. If Dickens could find hope in the daunting challenges of his day, who am not to look for the hope that exists in ours?
Ever since that Sunday morning, I have been thinking about Ebenezer, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, and that wonderful story. I have read and re-read it, letting the words both fill me and haunt me. What draws us to this story, year after year? For starters, Dickens captured the redemptive power of Christmas when he described it as, “the only time. . .in the long calendar year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave.” When my time here is done, what good will the loose change be that stayed in my pocket? Wouldn’t it have been put to better use in the hands of someone in need?
The global pandemic has pushed all of us beyond our limits. In my frustration, I gave in to anger over circumstances that were far beyond my control and it got me nowhere. As I continued to read, I stumbled again. This time on another passage I had read many times but never fully appreciated. “Reflect on your present blessings – of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.” I have so much to be grateful for. My family, my health, my friends, my work, the roof over my head. Every morning that I wake up is a new gift and opportunity for something amazing to happen. How I decide to spend that day is forever my choice. COVID-19 can never take that way from any of us.
Dickens understood the power of smiling in the face of adversity. He could have been describing COVID-19 when he wrote, “While there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing more contagious as laughter and good humor.” When I think back to my fateful Sunday morning, it is easy to laugh at how ridiculous I must have looked in my trendy muddy attire while running through the fashion capital of the world. COVID-19 may have taken away a shared dinner table, but not my ability to laugh with family and friends. We just do it on a video call now. We are as loud and irreverent as ever. Everyone still talks over everyone else and we still need to explain jokes to certain family members repeatedly. After all, “it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself.” The imagination of a child is a wonderful thing.
The truth is, we need the spirit of Christmas in our lives, now more than ever. Not just on December 25th, but every day. As we try to be better, we will see our reflections in the humility of Bob Cratchit, the enthusiasm of Fred or the generosity of Tiny Tim. We will also stumble and fall when our hearts turn cold and miserly. But like Scrooge, we can be redeemed. The choice is always ours to make. I like to think that a loose tree branch, a little bit of mud and a handsome stranger helped me make the better choice to honor the spirit of Christmas once again.
Lisa Marchese grew up in Seattle but now lives and works in Italy. She agreed to share some reflections about living through the COVID-19 outbreak in Italy. (Note: This article initially appeared in KGW, an affiliate TV station of NBC in Seattle.)
Photo: Lisa Marchese Published: 2:52 PM PDT March 24, 2020 Updated: 3:19 PM PDT March 24, 2020
CHAPTER 1 Leaving the U.S. for Italy CHAPTER 2 The beginning of the outbreak CHAPTER 3 Death and restrictions CHAPTER 4 A different Italy CHAPTER 5 Dante’s Inferno
MILANO,
Italy — Editor’s note: Lisa Marchese is single. “I married my job
several years ago,” she jokes. She is a recovering litigator who had a thriving
law practice in the Northwest until one day she discovered she was burned out
and wanted a change. She grew up in Seattle and attended Blanchet High School.
That’s where she and KGW reporter Pat Dooris met. Recently, during social media
discussions about their upcoming 40th high school reunion, Lisa mentioned she
now lives and works in Italy. Pat asked if she would share some reflections
about life there with the Coronavirus. This is the result.
Are you
sick? Can you go outside? Are people singing from the balconies on your street?
Do you have enough food? These are just some of the many questions I get now
almost daily from family and friends back home.
I don’t
mind the questions at all. In fact, they are comforting because I know they
come from people who love and care about me. During these extraordinary times
that is about the best gift anyone could receive.
I am an
expatriate from Seattle, working in Italy. With a population of over 60
million, Italy is now the world’s epicenter of the coronavirus outbreak.
Italy’s northern region of Lombardia, with over 10 million inhabitants, has
been hit the hardest, by far. I live in Milano, the capital of Lombardia. I go
to sleep every night at ground zero. Three weeks ago, I was upset that my gym
had closed. Now I get up every morning and celebrate another day without
flu-like symptoms.
These
days, I, too, ask myself a lot of questions. Usually, they are the same ones
and they pound at me all day long. What the f__ has happened? Why did this
happen? What if I get sick? What if someone in my family gets sick back home?
Will I ever go home again? What will it be like when this all ends? And the
most difficult one of all: What happens when the person you are today leaves
this world and meets the person you could have become? So far, I really do not
like my answer to that question. Just as the world was not ready for the
coronavirus pandemic, I am not ready for that imagined encounter.
Lisa Marchese grew up in Seattle but now lives and works in Italy. She agreed to share with KGW some of her experiences about living through the outbreak of COVID-19 in Italy.
As for
the efficacy of all these questions and answers (the tools of my trade as a
recovering trial lawyer), there is something else that bothers me too. It is
hard to give honest answers to the people you love about what things are really
like here at the epicenter. If I really told the truth about everything I have
seen, experienced and how I feel about all of this, they would worry —
especially my parents. I was raised in a traditional Italian Catholic family
with a strong work ethic and an even stronger belief that you stand tall in the
face of adversity. Above all, you protect your family and loved ones without
condition, so much so that love and loyalty often get lost in each other. If
you find yourself living in a hot war zone during the middle of a global
pandemic, you tell them everything is just fine, even when it is not. Why upset
people when you should protect them? Can I really protect them? Should I try?
These questions race through my mind daily and they are exhausting. Cross
examining adverse witnesses was a whole lot easier than this kind of self/cross
examination.
I
believe everything in our lives happens for a reason. Our challenge is to make
sense of these events when they occur. I embrace my Catholic faith, even though
I have many faults and failings. Like most everyone else these days, I pray. I
ask for strength. I ask for healing. I ask for help. But I also I have a lot of
anger and other destructive emotions that need an outlet, or they will continue
to eat away at me from the inside out like acid. Then, somewhat out of the
blue, an old high school friend contacted me and asked if I would write about
my experiences. At first, I wasn’t very enthusiastic. Then, I thought about it
a little more. Maybe the universe is inviting me to vent in a constructive way.
After all, my red wine stash will only last so long.
Better
still, maybe I have the chance to find the good in all of this and share a
message of hope. It will be a challenge because what is happening in Italy is
catastrophic, cataclysmic and unparalleled with anything I have ever
experienced in my lifetime. None of us will ever go back to the lives we had
before. We will all live in a new normal when it is over. But the tragedies we
endure in our lives will either define us or destroy us. The choice is ours to
make. I choose the former. I choose hope. Although this pandemic is
life-changing for us all, I firmly believe in the end, “andrà tutto bene
(everything will be alright).”
Having
committed to tell the story, the undertaking gets a little harder. How do you
describe the indescribable? History has recorded many devastating pandemics. It
would certainly be easy to wax poetic about the Spanish Flu of 1918 which
originated in Europe and wiped out about one-third of the world’s population.
But the world was a different place then. There was no internet or 24-hour news
cycle complete with social media generated hysteria. The world was far less
connected and people were far more self-sufficient. For one thing, they didn’t
feel the need to panic buy all the toilet paper in their local markets to
ensure their survival.
While
there are no shortages of historical parallels, our experiences with this
pandemic are very different. We are much more technologically advanced.
However, we are more interdependent and far more vulnerable. It is one thing to
study the affairs of history. It is quite another to live through the events
that become our history. The experience of living through this period is the
story that should be told. Natalia Ginzburg, one of the greatest Italian
authors of 20th Century once observed, “I think of a writer as a river.
You reflect what passes before you.” As one of my favorite writers, I feel
it is appropriate to draw upon Ginzburg’s wisdom now as I try to share my
reflections from ground zero in Milano.
Chapter 1
Leaving
the U.S. for Italy
‘Italy, home to La Dolce Vita‘
In 2018,
I left my law practice in Seattle to pursue a lifelong dream to live and work
in Italy. I married my career years ago which means I am single. I had a
fantastic career as a trial lawyer with a large client portfolio and a good
reputation in the Northwest. I was a partner at Davis Wright Tremaine. But by
the end of 2017, I was feeling burned out by too much work and not enough
adventure.
I
remember one morning in late 2017, after a week of travel that included DC,
Anchorage and back to Seattle, I woke up and for the first 3 minutes or so, I
honestly did not know where I was. That really concerned me. So, I thought long
and hard about what would make me happy and I have always been connected to
Italy through my family. I always wanted to live and work here so I took the
plunge and left my practice. Basically, I decided it was time for a divorce
from life as a practicing commercial litigator. We still remain friends though.
I had a great career — and now I am trying to build an even better one here
with my consulting work.
At the
time, many people thought I was crazy. After all, I am a creature of habit and
generally I don’t like change. I am a to-do list kind of gal and I find
disarray painful. I remember being traumatized as a child when I read “The Cat
in the Hat.” I found the antics of Thing One and Thing Two to be vile, not
funny. Moreover, I thought Dr. Seuss was gratuitously cruel for making us wait
until the end before we learned that the mess in Sally’s house was finally
cleaned up. I like to plan and I always look two weeks ahead on my work calendar.
I am at the airport early for my flight and if we have a 9 a.m. meeting, I will
arrive by 8:55.
2020 was
off to a great start. Despite the change of scenery and my neurotic tendencies,
I was really settling into life here with a joy I hadn’t felt for a long time.
There were challenges but I could handle them in stride. Italy, home to
“La Dolce Vita,” is known for many wonderful things. Order and
organization, however, are not on the list. I didn’t mind because I was
developing this amazing thing they call patience, which is a great coping
mechanism, particularly for “Italian time.” Translated loosely, that
means meetings don’t start here until at least 15 to 30 minutes after the time
they are scheduled. I have a great job and I have fallen in love with my work
and in Milano. It was nice to smile again.
Chapter 2
The
beginning of the outbreak
‘Sudden and unexpected silence‘
Up until
about a month ago, the coronavirus outbreak in China was a blip on my radar
screen. I saw the occasional news report of the horrific ground conditions in
Wuhan and the surrounding Hubei province. To be honest, however, I didn’t think
a whole lot more about it other than it was tragic. It was something happening
far away from my world. My daily routine went on. I got up early, went to the
gym, went to work and hung out with my friends. I was preoccupied with business
projects, the weather forecast, my weekend plans, and when I would be able to
leave for Puglia to spend Easter vacation with my family. If it was a sunny
day, I could go for a run or take a walk. If I didn’t feel like cooking (which
is most of the time), I could go out to eat. I had all the freedom I could ever
want, yet I had no real appreciation of it.
Milano
is a vibrant city and there is always something happening. You hear the most
wonderful music and laughter when you walk through the heart of town. It is a
collective and harmonious sound reminding you that people are alive and
connected to each other in the moments of their lives. I didn’t quite
appreciate how much of a comfort those sounds were until they were replaced
with sudden and unexpected silence a few weeks ago. Now we are surrounded with
a lot of silence here, so much so it is deafening.
There is
one loud and persistent noise we hear every day with increasing frequency:
ambulances. I never really paid much attention to ambulances before unless I
was crossing the street they were on. Before, the sound of the sirens was just
part of the city’s ambient static. Not anymore. I cant even begin to describe
how unnerving it is to hear them now day in and day out. You know someone with
coronavirus is in trouble. You know the health care system and its workers are
stretched beyond capacity. You know the number of new infections and deaths are
spiking daily. You try to determine if the ambulance is on a call near your
home. Every blaring siren makes you feel like you are waiting in the wings with
everyone else, wondering whether someday there will be a knock on your door
because you have a date with the executioner.
Coronavirus
struck Italy with a vengeance, seemingly out of nowhere. It first hit northern
Italy and before we knew it, the entire region of Lombardia and 15 surrounding
provinces — about one quarter of Italy’s population — were placed into
lockdown. With limited exceptions, no could travel into or out of those areas.
Within a matter of days, the entire country was shut down. The only stores that
remain open are supermarkets, pharmacies and a limited list of essential
businesses. Both actions were announced by Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte in
press conferences that occurred at 2 a.m. local time. On each occasion, family
or friends at home learned of the quarantines before I did since it was 5 p.m.
back in Seattle when the stories broke.
I
remember a painful conversation with my mother the morning Italy was shut down
completely. Like a good Italian mom, she has no respect for time zones or her
daughter’s love of sleeping in on the weekends, particularly when she needs to
ask me something. When I answered the phone that Sunday morning, the first
thing my mom wanted to know was whether I had enough food in my apartment (of
course that is the first thing). Then, she was insistent that I stay inside. At
first, I was a little irritated by these seemingly ridiculous questions. The
conversation got worse before it got better. After a few rounds of our usual
verbal jousting, I figured out what had occurred, apologized profusely for my
congenital “bad attitude” and we declared a truce. I still find it
odd, though, that my mother in Seattle, over 5,000 miles away, knew what was
happening in my own neighborhood before I did. There isn’t much that is
familiar anymore.
At the
start of the quarantine, things were manageable. With the internet, a cell
phone and videoconferencing, I could work from home. I could take a break
midday and go outside for a run or take a walk. We just had to make sure we
maintained a minimum distance of one meter from others in public. We could go
to the supermarket to get food and essentials. It was a little over a week ago
when I convinced myself that this new routine was only temporary and everything
would be okay. Unfortunately, that thought didn’t age well.
Chapter 3
Death
and restrictions
‘My apartment feels like a crypt‘
Despite
the government’s nationwide containment restrictions, the number of new
infections and deaths has continued to rise at an alarming rate, with the bulk
of them in Lombardia. With 5,000 deaths, Italy has the most coronavirus related
fatalities in the world (editor’s note: the number is now above 6,000).
Almost 65% of them have been in Lombardia. The town of Bergamo has the greatest
number of reported cases, as well as the highest death toll. They have been
using churches as temporary mortuaries. Burials occur every 30 minutes, with no
funerals, ceremonies or loved ones in attendance to say goodbye. Yesterday, the
military had to transport almost 100 bodies from Bergamo because they ran out
of space.
When I
think about the loved ones I have lost in my life, I remember how important
their funerals and memorial services were. These events let us honor their
lives and they gave us the opportunity to say goodbye. I was very close to my
aunt who died of cancer several years ago. Although it was one of the worst
things I have ever seen, I am so grateful that I was there to hold her hand
when she passed. Now, my heart breaks into a million pieces for the families
and the loved ones of those who have died. Their pain must be unbearable. Not
only has coronavirus murdered innocent victims with impunity; it has also
robbed their loved ones of the opportunity to say goodbye. All of this is
happening in a town about 36 miles away from where I live.
This
week the government issued yet another round of restrictions to keep people
from leaving their homes for almost any reason. Under the first set of
emergency rules, you could leave your home freely to take a walk, go for a run
or go to the store, provided you were maintaining one meter of distance from
others in public. If you needed to travel a greater distance, for example, to
see a doctor or go to work, you had to fill out a self-authorization form
indicating the purpose of your trip, where you lived and when you would return.
Now,
there is a new authorization form and you need to have it on your person
anytime you go outside, regardless of the reason. The form also requires you to
affirm you have not tested positive for COVID-19 and you are not currently in a
14-day quarantine. Anyone stopped without this form faces stiff fines and penalties.
We have a pretty significant police presence in the streets to enforce these
rules. Quite frankly, the thought of walking out my front door to get food has
me a little stressed out, even though the grocery store is only about 200
meters away. I spend entire days at home without leaving, so much so that my
apartment feels like a crypt.
The
isolation that comes with life in quarantine is a challenge. When this is all
over, I need to do two things without fail. First, I have got to paint the
walls a different color. Next, I need to figure out how to take a vacation from
myself. We have spent far too much time with each other. I really need a break.
Chapter 4
A
different Italy
‘Everyone has disengaged‘
Through
this isolation, I have realized that one of the things I love most about Italy
is how kind and welcoming the people are. They greet one another with a smile
that fills you up with a warmth that is indescribable. Whether out for a run, a
walk or in the store, I really enjoyed the greetings and the smiles. It made me
feel connected to a world that I love. Sadly, like so many other things, I
didn’t really appreciate how wonderful this was until it stopped.
Everything
is different. When we are out in public now, everyone avoids one another as
much as possible. People run to opposite ends of an empty street in desperation
as they pass each other. I understand the reason, but it is unsettling,
nonetheless. Instead of that wonderful sense of connection, everyone has
disengaged. People are even afraid to make eye contact, as though the virus
will be spread by a mere glance of fear or anxiety.
In the
grocery stores, there are markings on the floor to help you comply with the one
meter of distance rule. The concept is a good one; however, some people’s
reaction to it is not. About a week ago, before the latest restrictions were
imposed, I was standing in line to pay for my groceries. The woman in front of
me realized she needed an item on a shelf next to where I was standing. She
instinctively took a step toward me to reach for the item. Then, she stopped
suddenly and snapped into hysteria, apologizing profusely for encroaching into
my space. I handed her the item and assured her that everything was OK, and
“ce la faremo” (everything will be alright), a viral phrase we are
all clinging to like a life preserver. It seems like a trivial incident, but I
cannot get the look of terror that was in her eyes out of my mind.
Italians
are kind, generous and resilient. They sing from balconies and they look out
for their neighbors. I have seen countless acts of kindness and selflessness
from so many Italians during this crisis. It makes me so very proud, especially
as an Italian American. But the truth is, we are all scared and it is the kind
of fear that can be paralyzing.
My new
daily routine isn’t one I like very much. I try to work. I try to exercise. I
try to connect with my family and friends at home to let them know I am OK.
Then I battle the demons that come with fear and isolation. Truth be told, I
think about giving up every day and that thought alone scares me even more.
Don’t
worry, I don’t mean anything drastic like suicide. I mean giving up as in
letting go of hope and resigning myself to a fate that this will end badly and
it is just a matter of time. Giving up as in not trying, letting go of the
little things that keep me connected to everyday life like cleaning my apartment,
doing laundry, doing a 30-minute workout. Giving up the fight to make the best
of a bad situation. I know once I give up that fight, I give up hope.
At 6
p.m. every night there is a dreaded ritual. That is when the Minister of Health
holds his nightly press conference to announce the numbers. He announces the
number of new cases, the number of newly deceased, the number of patients who
are hospitalized and in intensive care and the number who have recovered. It is
chilling and disheartening but for some reason I can’t stop myself from
watching. I listen for good news, but I come away even more depressed.
The
numbers are staggering. I don’t know what I will do if I get sick. The
hospitals are beyond capacity and the health care system is on the brink of
collapse. I am on my own if the worst happens and I live with that reality
every day. The anxiety these thoughts generate is gut wrenching and it drives
me to my knees at least a dozen times a day. But I refuse to give up.
Chapter 5
Dante’s
Inferno
‘I, too, want to see the stars again’
It is
curious that the coronavirus outbreak in Italy has coincided with Lent.
Churches here have been closed since the week of Ash Wednesday. There are no
masses, something I find a bit disheartening. Mass in Italian is beautiful, and
I enjoy going each week, especially during Lent, the one season in the
Liturgical calendar that you really shouldn’t screw up being Catholic. The
significance of Lent during this extraordinary time is not lost on me. It is a
time of preparation, penance and self-sacrifice. Above all, it is a time of
hope.
Lent is
a time I like to re-read one of the greatest epic poems ever written, Dante’s
Inferno. It has special meaning during this time period because Dante’s
allegorical journey into Hell began on Holy Thursday and ended when he emerged
the morning of Easter Sunday. Many critics reduce the Inferno to a brutal story
of harsh biblical justice. I suppose that is one way to look at it; however, I
see things differently.
As Dante
descends through the nine circles of Hell, he describes his encounters with
those he meets by their sins in life and their corresponding punishments in
Hell. This concept, known as “contrapasso” means that the nature of a
person’s sin in life dictates his punishment in Hell. As I watch news of all
the panic buying and fighting back home, I am reminded of Dante’s encounter
with the sinners in the 4th Circle, home to the spenders and hoarders.
The
spenders are forced to carry enormous weight and hoarders have nothing. Each
wants what the other has but will never get it. In life, spenders never valued
what they had so they just kept buying more and more. Now they are stuck with
the eternal burden of carrying that weight. Hoarders always wanted more in life
but in Hell, they will never have anything again. Maybe those among us today
who feel compelled to fight for every last roll of toilet paper or case of
bottled water should think long and hard about what they have and what they
truly need. We are all in this together and we need to take care of each other.
The
point of the Inferno is one of hope, not despair. Contrapasso gives us an
opportunity to understand the consequences of our conduct while we are still
living. It gives us the opportunity to choose a better path. It encourages us
to change for the better. That is how I read the Inferno. It is how I choose to
view this pandemic and all its horrors as it envelops our world here at ground
zero.
I have
gone on my own allegorical journey of sorts within the confines of my small
one-bedroom apartment in quarantine. What have I really done with my life that
matters? I am not talking about money or career success. Have I told the people
in my life I care about that I love them? Have I given more to the world than I
ever took? How many times did I look the other way when someone needed help?
Have I apologized for all the hurtful things I have said to people in anger?
Have I forgiven those who have wronged me? These have been very difficult
questions for me. But every morning that I wake up is one more day, one more
opportunity to find better answers. In the end, I hope this experience will
make me a better daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, colleague, friend and
neighbor. I hope it inspires an end to the hateful, destructive rhetoric that
divides us all.
Someday,
hopefully soon, this pandemic will subside. We will return to our offices, our
gyms, our favorite stores and restaurants. We will go out with our friends and
attend parties. We will hear laughter and music again. As for me, I will still
live by my calendar, arrive to meetings early and hold steadfast to the belief
that “The Cat in the Hat” is a book unsuitable for children. But I
hope I will have a deeper love for the world I live in, a better understanding
of the needs of my neighbors, family and friends. I hope I will have a more
profound appreciation of both the goodness and fragility of life.
At the
end of the Inferno, Dante and his guide Virgilio climb out of the darkness of
Hell and return to a world illuminated by God’s light and love: “And so we
emerged — once more — to see the stars.” [Inf., 34.139]. I, too,
want to see the stars again.
