Eat this bread

The first communion is happening tomorrow. I’m a bit apprehensive to see how I get through the event.

I mean, I tend to have at least one small panic attack every time I go into Aldi. I mask up and I go in and, because I don’t do a lot of the shopping, I’ll run across “goat cheese” on the list and this starts a spiral of events. I know Aldi has goat cheese and I know which one Christina wants. I even know where the cheese section is. But it will still take me about five minutes to find it, even though this is Aldi and there’s not much of a selection and the cheese section can’t be more than 2 meters of shelf space. And, the whole time I’m staring at the cheese section, there are inevitably two older shoppers who park their carts next to me and, as near as I can tell, aren’t actually shopping, but are only there to breathe on me while I panic about a) not finding cheese and b) whether these people have been to a coronavirus hotspot lately.

So, that’s me after 20 minutes in Aldi. I can’t even imagine what a church service is going to be like. And I know the church has taken all the precautions and we’ll all be wearing masks and sitting far apart from one another. And I know there have been thousands of church services in the last year that have not led to a coronavirus outbreak. But I also edit and translate news stories all day professionally and have come across enough to know that there have also been church services that have turned into Patient Zero’s big breakout moment, so, yes, I’m hesitant.

And it kills me a little bit because I know I’m not taking control of this situation. I could say “No,” we’re not doing this. I could say, I don’t care what the church is doing, we’re pulling Noah out of this group and waiting for the next one. But then I have to be the one to break it to Noah that not only is he not having his biggish day tomorrow, but that, when it comes, he’ll be doing it with a different group of kids than the group he practiced with. And, somehow, I don’t quite have it in me to pull that from him. Which makes me appreciate a lot more why so many world leaders are flubbing the response to this virus. I’m caving at the potential disappointment of a 10-year-old. I could see where a politician might be nervous about cancelling the vacation plans for a couple million people.

Still, I was so sure it wasn’t going to happen. In its slow, plodding manner, the German government has been preparing us for weeks that tougher measures are coming. I can’t leave my house after 10 pm any more. I fully expect school to be shut down again in the coming weeks. I just assumed church would also not make the cut. But here we are.

Perhaps it comes back to me not having grown up in the most religious of families. I don’t remember my first communion having been that big of a deal. I don’t think my brothers even came, because they would have been away at college. The only non-family member I remember being at my first communion was Mrs. Campbell, who gave me an illustrated Bible. And I’m not even sure how close a family friend she could have been, as I remember my Mom getting pretty mad at me years later when I let Mrs. Campbell know that my Dad was dead.

And here, not only are we having this service, but all of our friends from our church group now say they’re going to try to attend, to show support. Which is super nice, but has me now convinced that, if this turns out to be the big April Super Spreader Event, it won’t only wipe out my family, but all of my friends in the neighborhood.

And I guess this is the part where I would have normally next written “Look, I get it…” but I guess I don’t. I have this one acquaintance on Facebook who has turned into something of a rant machine about coronavirus controls, most of them involving her inability to get to church the way she wants to amid this crisis. I do follow the logic to a point: If the church has to limit seating and you show up with a family of eight and can’t get a seat, it’s going to get frustrating. I don’t quite follow how that then segues into a rant about the greater privileges enjoyed by people taking flights, but whatever. What’s clear is that church is a much more important part of her life than it is to me. Very likely the same applies to everyone else who feels this first communion has to be tomorrow.

The thing is, I know a thing or two about having an important part of your life disappear. I know that you can survive it and I know that I’m not wild about putting myself in a situation where, no matter how unlikely it is, I’m risking another death in my family. There’s a difference between being asked to do without something for a year or two and with the finality of death. I guess, a year into this nightmare, I still understand that way better than a lot of people.

Which brings me to the closer I had not planned for this blog, but I opened up this site to find this gem of spam waiting for me:

The next time I read a blog, I hope that it does not disappoint me just as much as this particular one. After all, I know it was my choice to read,
nonetheless I actually believed you would probably have something useful to talk about. All I hear is a bunch of complaining about something you could possibly fix if you weren’t too busy looking for attention.

Which, I guess, is the best description I can think of regarding the current situation. Thank you very much, unknown commentator, possibly from Turkey, for your insight and your potentially virus-laden link. Rest assured, I’m trying to fix the situation, but this one is tricky. As for the attention: Darn tootin’ I want it.