“Connecting the Points”

In this surreal time of quarantine and social distancing, as we all attempt to thwart and eventually stop the spread of this insidious virus, we have been given time to become quite thoughtful – to think our thoughts – to remember our stories – come to grips, maybe, with all that is us – our regrets, delights, successes, failures, yes, all of it.

I’ve recently considered the metaphor of a “dot-to-dot” worksheet in visualizing our lives. You have to connect the points in order, whether they be letters, numbers, or coordinate graphing points. All create a distinct picture, which becomes askew if you do not connect them properly as you go along. Such is the case with our own lives.

At each turning point we leave behind the life we lived and the person we were, not permanently, but our energies are needed for each new phase, each new set of numbers, letters, and coordinates.

During times of trauma, or sadness, or “things not having gone well or as we planned,” we would rather just as soon not think about them, and put them out of our minds. The lines connecting these dots might very well be very light – hard to see, in need of being outlined or darkened. The person that we are require us to acknowledge and accept all “points” and “connections,” no matter how painful or sad, because mixed up together, you see, are the good ones as well.

Not long ago I returned alone to where I grew up, driving and walking down the streets of my youth, remembering it all, in order to “darken” the faded points and lines. After many years of being away, a result of the untimely deaths of my parents, and the subsequent, unfortunate estrangement from my siblings, it was a remarkable experience to return.  I became a spectator, observing my former self, and it proved not to be as frightening as I thought, sad at times to be sure, but incredibly empowering!

As I moved along, I brought to mind my first “dots,” which began in Italy with those first memories of the bald head of my grandfather, on whose lap I spent a lot of time, being held, loved, hugged, and kissed – leaving it all behind in 1958 at 4 ½ years old – with scant memories of the actual voyage across the Atlantic, but with the night of the departure firmly emblazoned in my mind, as all traumas are – my sweet nonno crying, grabbing my hands, pulling me toward him, and me being so very frightened!

The journey on the ship, the short stay in New York with relatives, and the train trip across the US are 3 faded points and lines that I do not recall well, but I most certainly have a very clear recollection of peaking out from behind my mother at the Oakland Train Station, and meeting my father for the first time – he having migrated to the US the month I was born. He was so handsome in his suit and tie, and with those dark brown compassionate, kind eyes.

The “points,” and my walk continued to include the temporary house with the red porch we lived in on Loreto Street, which my father said he chose because it reminded him of my name. From here I think of our  permanent residence – my father’s hospitalization and all four of us huddled at night in the same bed for support, warmth, and protection – onward to a frightening first day of kindergarten in a foreign land. The flurry of points continue to include endless “ feste” and time spent with an extended Italian family, my endearing and wonderful apprenticeship working alongside my father in his janitorial business, going to school, church, paper routes, numerous trips to the library, not to mention to emergency rooms, the neighborhood friends, the few unexpected encounters with “unsavory” individuals, and so much more – so many more dots and lines to acknowledge and maybe darken.

And so I navigated the first 17 years of my life: standing in front of my high school, which was torn down years ago, and replaced with stores, condos, and a park – sitting in the library of my youth where I spent many an hour – acknowledging the exact place where I learned to parallel park in the Wells Fargo parking lot, the bank that I cleaned with my dad, standing where we would park and wait for the employees to leave so we could enter, remembering the “politically incorrect” stories my father would spin about the passers-by , until I couldn’t stop laughing – walking into the exact buildings that were once stores we frequented often but which now house different businesses – remembering and feeling the insecurities and fears, along with the wonder and excitement of that life, all the while, darkening and connecting all the dots and lines.

It is so important in life to accept that which we cannot change or control. Mixed up with the more unpleasant events of our lives are also the beautiful parts. Never has this become more evident than now, as we struggle to find our way through the muddy and uncertain waters of this horrific pandemic. Let us first take stock of our own individual lives, connecting and darkening all the “dots” and “lines,” and then move on to the lessons we can learn from the present situation, accepting the existence and seriousness of Covid19.  We can do our part by following the guidelines to stop its spread, but let us not be undone by panic and fear.   Rather, relish the beauty we now have the  time to appreciate: the love of friends and family – a sunrise – a sunset – a simple flower – a graceful egret – a purring cat – fresh air- a good book –and the list is endless. Stay safe and be well.