Just About Done

I don’t know about you, but I’m just about done and unfortunately I’m not talking about Christmas shopping.

Covid has finally got me. Not in the viral bedridden sense, that’s yet to come, but the fatigue of the what comes next hit me hard(er) today.

G (husband) was meant to be flying into Australia this Monday. We’ve been counting the days since he left us in August. You know how that works right? You’re miserable for the first week, then you make it through to the end of August and you’re greatful because you can now say to the kids “it’s just a few months” and Dad will be home. You then you push through until it’s “only two months to go”, and then in the middle of that month you can start breaking it down to weeks. And then when you hit the fifty day mark you can start marking off the days. All the while you’re taking the bins out on a Sunday night, walking home from dropping the car to get serviced, and sitting at the school assembly on your own. Okay that sounds like a pity party, because today it is a pity party, like I said, I’m just about done.

It hasn’t been that miserable. We’ve had some major celebrations, there’s been some really good times. We’ve also had some covid celebrations that have lulled me towards the thought that we were getting somewhere, that we just had to hang on for a bit longer. All the children were vaccinated. Our state, South Australia made its way towards targets for borders to open. G had his booster shot, his leave was approved. We cautiously watched numbers growing in Europe but foolishly felt confident in our Australian summer and Qatar’s fantastic vaccination record. And then it came, Omifreakingcron.

I sat up late last night reading every trustworthy article I could find.

“It’s manageable” okay that sounds good.

“It’s concerning” that doesn’t.

“It’s a variant of concern” I can deal with that.

“There’s been tens of thousands of SARS-CoV-2 variants over the last two years” Okay so let’s all calm down people

And then..

“The Prime Minister will make a temporary decision to pause plans to reopen Australia’s international borders“

Hang on, I’ve seen this movie before.

I couldn’t sleep. Should he just get on a plane now? Would there even be a seat? What would he do for Christmas Day on his own in Doha? This morning I spoke to friends, I asked my friend Krissy who just happens to be the best travel agent on the planet. People rang to see how Omicron, or omifreakingcron, would affected us. Do we move the flight, do we not. Do we move the flight, do we not. Do we move….All day, all night. Voices of concern. Will you move his flight? I’d move it if it were me. I don’t trust it, we’ve seen this before.

Seven days home quarantine became fourteen days hotel quarantine. Aussie expats in forums and facebook pages wrote of being taken to Medi-Hotels when they thought they were headed home.

I did the math. The cost to move a flight at Christmas combined with the cost of more hotel quarantine. Do we just wait?

I can usually do all of these hypotheticals in my head easily, effortlessly, it’s almost fun – but I’m done.

Today is the one year anniversary of my Dad’s death. I didn’t want to write death but passing sounds so blah, he wasn’t a passing kind of a guy. I haven’t marked the day by doing anything special, I don’t want this to be a day that I mark in the calendar. I want all the other days, the good days. I want to celebrate his birthday. I want to think of him and his speech on my wedding day. I want to smell him as my son sprays his aftershave on his chest before his girlfriend comes to visit. I want to see him in the rugby top by daughter now wears around the house in winter. I want to smile at the footy when I hear some bloke yell out something witty. “Charlie, stop it with the one handed marks, if you go up for god’s sake go up with two hands! You’re not the Statue of Liberty FFS!” Dad would have loved that.

So on this unremarkable day, this day I refuse to mark, covid managed to suck the last bit of energy I had.

G sent a text. “Okay, I’m going for a PCR test”.

We moved the flight. If all goes well he’s on a plane tomorrow. We won’t get to see him straight away but at least we’ll know that he’s going to be here at the table for Christmas lunch.

Tomorrow will be better, this unremarkable day will be done and while it’s yet another day without Dad it’s one step closer to better times, happier memories.

If Covid has hit you today, all my love, it’s omifreakingcron exhausting.