Sacramental

To keep it simple, I really don’t know what the coronavirus lockdown/regulation situation is in Germany right this moment. It is a very fluid affair that involves a lot of negotiations between the federal government and the state governments that seems to end every time with several of the states going ahead and doing whatever they feel is right. Except case counts are going up and the vaccine situation is on the slow side, so there’s a push that could mean, theoretically, that within about five days the rules will be tightened more and everyone will be told to stay home more than we are right now. We’ll see. Given how every new rule seems to be met with a combination of half the population saying “Yes, absolutely, we’ll do that” and the other half saying “Try and make us” we’ll see how it shakes out.

Which is my backdrop for next week’s big event: Noah’s first communion.

Given what a mess things are, it’s an understatement to say things are not going quite as planned. He was actually supposed to have his first communion last year, but that clearly wasn’t an option while we were in the grips of Lockdown Prime.

Now, I understand the coordinator wants this to happen. He has a group of kids who have been waiting a year for their sacrament. And now he’s got this year’s group and, if this gets delayed again, he’s going to have three years of kids at once. I could imagine that being a little hectic. At the same time, as they keep insisting that this will happen on April 25, it’s all I can do not to call him up and ask him if he’s read a newspaper yet this year. They are on track to vote on this bill in a few days. Angela Merkel has clearly had enough of people ignoring all the rules and, having once been at a press conference where she glared at the guy next to me until he put his cell phone away, I don’t want to be on her bad side. If I were the Catholic Church, I’d behave myself as well.

Which leaves us with the option of either no communion now or a very sad communion this year. I’ve got to say, I’m fully on team “no communion now.” And this is not just about the fact that I can almost guarantee everyone that I will have a very quiet and controlled panic attack, but a panic attack nonetheless, if I’m expected to go to church with dozens of other people in a week.

This is about the fact that it’s yet another thing that won’t go quite right. And I know, no one’s had things go right for the last 15 months or so. So, perhaps I shouldn’t be selfish. But I keep thinking, Emma’s first communion was a pretty nice affair except, that day, Colin’s balance seemed off and, by the end of the day, Christina and I were convinced that something bad was happening with his tumor. We had an MRI shortly thereafter and were so relieved when it came up negative. Which goes to show what we knew since, a year after that, we were full on in hell.

But, going through something like childhood cancer, when something leaves a taint on an occasion like that, you at least console yourself with the fact that there will be two more first communions that hopefully won’t be disrupted. And then Colin died and we realized we only have the one left. And now this one has been delayed and is starting to sound like it’s going to be a rushed, nervous, mask-covered affair to which Noah will be able to invite neither his grandparents nor his godmother nor any of his aunts and uncles or anyone else.

Sure, we can have a celebration with the family later down the road, but maybe this is the point where I want to put my foot down and say, no, I’m not really willing to have a sad facsimile of a major way station. We’ve already lost our third first day of school and our third set of baby teeth coming out and all the things Emma and Noah might have been able to do with a baby brother were he still around. I’m not really prepared to start sacrificing any of our seconds just because someone in the church hierarchy feels there’s a schedule to keep. I’m also not wild about taking my chances with the virus in a large room. I realize the odds are small if we follow procedures and I realize the chances are high that, if we got it, we’d survive. Then again, the odds were pretty small that Colin would ever get the virus, so I don’t really like playing with odds. I get other people are braver about things – about taking flights or going out when the rules allow it. I get it and I am a bit in awe of all of you, but I am not ready to mess around.

I imagine I don’t have much of a say in the matter, so this is me investing a lot of hope into Angela Merkel getting this measure passed and then giving everyone her sternest look when she tells everyone to just stay the hell at home for a few more weeks. I’d rather be behind schedule than run the risk of putting anyone else into a coffin prematurely.