The memory of a cold from yesterday

In the last few weeks, we have seen major war-like changes around the world. China, the world’s largest manufacturing economy and exporter of goods, has been nearly shut down. Iran, South Korea and Italy are in trouble and we are all likely to catch the Covid-19, although the virus itself might not appear to be so scary if one is young and healthy, the world is changing because of it. I thus thought it is appropriate to share with you some personal thoughts on the matter -- I broke my text in two parts: this first post tells a story from my past and in the second one I will discuss a bit of world politics as I understand it today.

It was 26 years ago on a sunny day of February that my Grandfather died of pneumonia. 

Grandma, Mother, Dad, and Grandpa in one of the forests he had planted

He was 89 years old and had suffered a stroke 6 months earlier. I remember it started as a cold with a sniffle. A little sneaky sneeze here and there — as opposed to the rather powerful sneezes I had witnessed from him in other years.

Grandma, Grandpa and Mother

He had a running nose, and it looked like he had gotten a little extra energy. He walked to the window for the first time in half a year to wave goodbye to us and life.

A week later, as I came home from school on Friday, he was in a coma. A few hours more and he was gone.

The cold that lead to his pneumonia was probably brought home with love and, maybe with a kiss, by one of the people he loved most. Maybe the ones who went to school. He loved us more than life itself.

No one tested positive or had notable symptoms, but we knew all about asymptomatic colds at the time. Yet, it was never mentioned that we might have brought home the virus. It was just God that sent for Grandpa. An Angel, a virus and a kiss let him spread his wings and fly away from the jail his body has become.

My Mother later went to sort the papers. The doctor signed without an autopsy because everyone agreed that his time had come. It is not that we did not cry. We all did cry until we had no tears left. Even at 89 he had such a strong personality, we could not imagine life without him, but we also understood he had to go.

me and Grandpa

A younger Grandpa 

The funeral was Sunday, and then Grandma cried for her son. He lost him to a fierce virus — Polio — some 50 years prior. After all those years, her pain was raw still, and her heart still broken. Teodorita, their son, was five when he died. He had been the soul and brain of any gathering of kids and had he lived he could have done so much. For Grandpa, she’d just smile and say he lived his life in full, and gone in time. Not a sad thing — just the right time. 

Today, we see a virus just like the one that Grandpa used to spread his wings cause panic on unprecedented scale. Many of the victims, outside China, are people much like Grandpa. Perhaps less healthy still  (when we were growing up we knew Grandpa was allergic to Aspirin, and so never took pills; he also did not drink alcohol, did not smoke, ate in moderation and had no detrimental habits beyond getting us to do extra math problems when we were busy playing).

The world is trying to achieve what never seemed remotely possible: to stop a cold virus from spreading. It’s never actually been done.