By Caitlin Kelly
One of my favorite films is Dr. Zhivago, with an unforgettable scene of a long line of exhausted, worn-out soldiers trudging forward.
To “soldier on” means to keep going, doing something that’s difficult, not giving up when you’re tired and discouraged and just fed up.
(It’s also a non-profit group dedicated to ending homelessness for veterans.)
It’s now been five months since COVID began to dominate our lives — with more than 137,000 Americans dead, thousands more soon to join them.
It’s been a long time to readjust, albeit immediately, to a world we never wanted: terrified of catching a disease that, if it doesn’t kill you, can radically damage your health for years to come. A world where parents, somehow, have had to school their own children or supervise their online learning in addition to earning an income in a full-time job.
And there’s no end in sight.
I live in New York, now one of the few states that flattened the curve because we listened early to the directions of Gov. Andrew Cuomo.
Is it fun to isolate?
To stay home most of the time?
To avoid all social gatherings?
To postpone medical, dental and grooming appointments?
Let alone to miss culture-in-person — dance, music, museums theater, movies.
And the single greatest problem with being a soldier right now is the stunning lack of leadership, of a general with a clue, with a strategy and tactics. We’re fighting the virus with very few weapons — masks, social distancing, ventilators, proning, remdesivir — and losing what feels like an endless battle.
I often deeply wish that the veterans of WWII were not so old, the few left alive, to share more widely and consistently the shared sense of sacrifice and solidarity that somehow got them through it all.
The enemy, Nazism and genocide, was clear(er) then and the fight, however long and expensive and bloody, was one most people agreed was essential to win, no matter the personal sacrifices. It was a matter of pride, then, to share the sacrifice, to know what you were doing to help really mattered and your colleagues, friends, family and neighbors largely agreed.
Not to whine that a mask contravenes your liberty — just like blackout curtains or rationing once did as well.
Today, somehow, a lethal virus is still not as clear an enemy — and thousands refuse to believe it even exists, like the 30-year-old whose last regretful words were: “I thought it was a hoax.”