A year

A year ago, almost to the day, I got sick.

I got really sick.

People who know me know it takes a lot to knock me completely out. I got into bed on a Thursday, and I didn’t get out of it until Monday morning — only because I had a doctor’s appointment. This was before I fully understood anything to do with the coronavirus, but I of course suspected.

This was before anyone could really get tested freely for some reason. My daughter and I had returned a few weeks before from a road trip to Quebec. Something I wouldn’t even fathom weeks after.

I went to the doctor the following Monday. It was the first time I was offered a mask. I looked at it, confused how to wear it. I walked into the doctor’s office and immediately staff knocked on the window.

The gesture was “Over your nose.” Again, no clue. I moved it over my nose. When I went into the examination room, I told the doctor, one I didn’t know, I felt like I got hit by a truck. Hit by a truck would be a phrase I would remember, and hear again. The doctor kept a distance. This wasn’t like the doctor appointments I’d had in the past. It was cold. Far away. I asked if I could be tested for coronavirus. I was told no.

I asked if I could be tested for the flu to rule it out. I was told they weren’t allowed to test for anything.

Later when I went back for a follow up from my longtime doctor, he told me our country had made the process unfathomable. I will never truly know the answer.

But that was a year ago, and here we are now, hopefully approaching the light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m no longer able to write editorials, something I treasured for many years. I wrote editorials well before I was officially named editor at The Darien Times.

But I can’t let a year like this one go by without saying something — at least from my personal perspective.

As a community journalist, this year has been without question the most impactful year of work I’ve ever known. I could tell stories of interactions I had and things I have done. Things that are not on print or web pages but were unquestionably what I felt were part of not only my job, but my duty. But the story isn’t about me.

The story is about the people, the stories, I’ve had the privilege to write about.

The story of Kristina Gregory, my age, but in much better shape and health, who not only was devastated by this virus – who was one of the first to share she had it, when in some cases people were still stigmatized. She did it because she wanted people to take it seriously. She then made sure to donate plasma to help develop a vaccine. She’ll tell you, and me, she’s no hero. “Let’s not go that far,” she’ll say. But she is.

The story is about Daniel Coonan, who talked to me when he had trouble breathing, in quarantine from his young children. He kept a journal to help people understand what he went through. He allowed us into his journey and recovery. He did it because we still don’t understand what this virus does and means.

The story is about Emily Fawcett, former Post 53 EMT, who has worked night and day at Lenox Hill Hospital. Emily tested positive the very day she was to receive the vaccine after protecting, comforting and crying with patients’ families for nearly a year. And her mother, Sharon, who does the same at Norwalk Hospital.

The story is of the incredible effort of Corbin Cares, the senior center, the Darien Foundation, Palmer’s Market, the first responders, the teachers who persevered and the parents who endured, and the churches who went forth, and numerous others who fed, cared for seniors, those in need, and kept Darien businesses alive. And the kids, including my own, who have survived utter insanity.

The story is about the Darien Health Department and the Darien School District nursing staff who helped with this vaccine roll out. This story is about Darien police and the fire departments.

I wish I could still write editorials because if I could, I would tell you of the tremendous honor it has been to do this job for the past year. I would tell you of the stories, from large to small, that have created the patchwork that ties this community together in a quilt of strength.

I would tell you that I am grateful to be the editor of a community newspaper that hopefully reflects such a profound, meaningful journey, and a town that has exhibited proactive testing, support, philanthropy, and vaccination.

And lastly, that I am grateful to still be here, for a variety of reasons — to face, together, what I hope to soon be the other side of this storm.

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