In a nation that is losing faith in fact and science, I hope the scientists are right. Given the prediction of fatalities, I hope to God they’re wrong.
I hope that during these precious few weeks that we are shut in and stilled, our leaders in D.C. are working feverishly to equip our communities with x number of beds, y number of ventilators and everything else we will require when the viral apex hits our home. I hope they know we are watching.
I had hoped that after Ebola, SARS, MERS, avian flu and swine flu that we were prepared to implement a well thought out tactical defense plan. We were not. I hope we will be for the next pandemic and the one after that.
I had hoped that when we pulled the curtain behind the Great and Powerful Oz, there was a cabinet of brilliant caring people able to take on any disaster that came our way. There was not. I hope the inept step aside and give a wide berth beyond politics to those in the government who are truly taking charge and making a difference.
I had hoped politicians would not take advantage of our attention being diverted by dying grandparents, parents, spouses, siblings, neighbors and children to enrich themselves and an elite group of others. Sen. Burr? Dear elected leaders, I hope you are not the next Sen. Burr.
I hope those few bad apples do not cause you to put all of our leaders in the same basket. As a matter of fact, I hope you focus on the countless dedicated, passionate and selfless, who are giving everything they have to protect us from all the ill winds this crisis bears upon our communities. I hope the next time you see the nurse, the grocery stock clerk, the delivery driver and the neighbor you will thank them.
Speaking of social media, I hope your quarantine removes the mist that makes you believe connecting via text, posts and chats is enough to stay connected. It is not. I hope when the doors are unlocked you will have a chance to embrace your friends and family. I hope the unlucky few who lost that chance will find solace and a nearby shoulder. I hope there will only be a few.
I hope my mother, who went from an emergency room visit, to the hospital and then into a nursing home in the middle of the outbreak, will understand I am not allowed to visit her, nobody is, and we did not abandon her. I hope she will not die alone
Governors, I hope you know this sacrifice includes lost dreams of small-business owners, missed rent and mortgage payments of the already financially insecure, and the lost chance for us to be with someone we love during their last moment on Earth.
I had hoped that at least my state level of government would have had a plan. You did not. I hope next time you will. I hope you know there will be a next time. I hope in November we all remember those who did and those who did not step up to the plate. I hope you will step up to the voting booth this November.
In all of your doom surfing, I hope you come upon sites that show NASA shots of the rebirth of clear skies over China, and posts about actually being able to see fish in the canals in Venice and blogs about how nature is reclaiming the void left by stilled factories, docked cruise lines and grounded planes. I hope you realize that our environment is still salvageable if we take massive coordinated global action.
I hope that as we empty store shelves of toilet paper, flour, yeast and dried beans, we know the time to prepare for a disaster is not during one. I hope you know there will be a next time.
I hope when this is all over, and it will be at some point, that the singing does not stop, that we remember who are the real everyday influencers in our lives, that we realize how much we need friends and family in our presence, not just online, and that we will take action to preserve at least some of our environmental gains.
Fear has made us weak with despair, so I hope and I hope you do too.
(Mason Donovan lives in Boscawen.)