Will April Be the Cruelest Month?

Right now, as I await the imminent arrival and possible spread of COVID-19 in my community and beyond, I am safe and healthy. My husband is well, as are my children and grandchildren, all tucked away in their homes in Southern California with food and necessary items stocked. My sister’s okay. My close friends are all fine. Even my friends and acquaintances on Facebook are only dealing with an odd combination of restless boredom and high anxiety. It is March 22nd. But what will happen come April 1st, then my wedding anniversary on April 7th, and our first-date anniversary, April 30th? These special days we’ve always celebrated with a yearly visit to Huntington Gardens, a tradition we will have to forego this year. But by April’s end, I can’t help but wonder how different our lives might be.

So far, no one I know personally has contracted the virus. Who will be first? Second? How many times will I get that message via cell phone, email, text, or social media that brings this more directly into my life? Right now, I feel like I’m reading a very disturbing story, so well-written that my heart races as I imagine the reality, but that’s all it is right now—in my imagination. I hear the newscasters, politicians, and experts as they give me the latest information. I see the videos of China, Italy, and now the U.S. preparing for what’s certain to come. But it’s not here in my house—in my heart—yet.

This morning as I walked my little dog, Bentley, I saw a small blackbird in a tree, his beak full of leaves, and then a crow carrying one long, thin branch as she flew across our path. Birdsong filled the air as they went about their morning task of finding food and preparing nests for the coming spring. Just like us. Well, not exactly like us. Our “nesting” is for an entirely different reason—although I suppose it will ultimately lead to new life once we can leave the nest.

Will our spring be a wasteland as my reference to T. S. Eliot’s poem brings to mind? Or have we curtailed the worst with our desperate measures? Entire states closed down; its citizens safe at home. Empty streets. Shuttered businesses. Shelter-in-place. Social distancing. We go for walks and see new faces across the street. Wave. Smile. Small talk from afar. Today. But next week? Next month: April?

This was supposed to be, and it still is as much as possible, one of the most exciting springs of my life. My debut novel, Luz, that I first began in 2004, is going to be published June 9, 2020. This spring was—and is—to be devoted to getting word out to as many people as possible. I planned on visiting bookstores and libraries to inquire about live events. My official book launch was scheduled for June 13th at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena, the best independent bookstore in Southern California. I planned to fly to my hometown of Binghamton, New York at the end of June for a reading and signing at a Barnes and Noble in nearby Vestal. I expect these will all be cancelled, though hopefully rescheduled at a later date.

My novel will still be published, and due to social media and my hardworking publicist, I will still have a very good chance of establishing an author platform, getting word of Luz out, and, hopefully, gaining a modest fan base for future novels. So much to look forward to, to be grateful for, and I am.

If April is not the cruelest month.

Right now, my family and friends, my neighbors and acquaintances, are all healthy and safe. . .