Am I Safe?

My daughters worry that some stranger on the street will harm me. I am old (78) and unstable, physically. I have fallen and broken bones, but I won’t do that again, because I do daily exercises and take medication to for strong bones and steady balance. But someone could hurt me.

I think I am quite stable, intellectually, and emotionally as well, expressing anger appropriately.

My four adult daughters fear for my survival. To reassure them, I wear a mask and gloves, remover my shoes off at the door, wash my hands far more often, far longer, with more soap, than I would do on my own.

But their latest worry may be too much. They worry that someone will punch me, push me down, send me to the COVID 19 hospital. I live in Manhattan, where no one is likely to pull out a gun to shoot me. Those armed protesters are far away.

Still some angry people are on my sidewalk.

One of them is me.

I am livid when people suggest that we elders should die quietly. When I walk my dog around the block and see strangers without a mask. My anger erupts.

One man was talking too close to two masked friends. His face was uncovered.

“Where is your mask?”, I asked..

“I don’t need one. I already had the virus,” he answered, smiling.

I walked on, thinking. He doesn’t know that a mask protects other people. It’s not just personal protection, it’s a symbol of patriotism, like a flag pin (which I sometimes wear).

Those thoughts helped me the next time I saw a man without a mask.

I pointed to my mask and said “Don’t you care about me?”

“Are you dying?” he retorted.

“Not yet” I answered.

Again, later thoughts. I should have said “No, but no thanks to you.”

I was ready, I thought, for my next confrontation. This time it was a young woman. She had a mask dangling in her hand.

“Don’t you care about any one else?” I asked.

“ Yes, I do care about people. Do you?”

Again, I had no ready retort. She did not hear my comment as a caring one. So I told my daughters, on ZOOM, expecting appreciation and suggestions for an incisive response.

That is not what they did. They expressed fear for my life.

“People do not take kindly to criticism.” they said.

My most anxious daughter told me not to talk to strangers, ever. One might be crazy, and attack me. My most tactful daughter suggested I carry an mask in my pocket, in a plastic bag, and say “I have an extra mask, can I give you one?”

All this makes me understand those rifle-carrying men at the Michigan state house. I mirror their anger. I am furious when I hear people imply that we old people should isolate or die, letting the young people go to bars and beaches. Isn’t my anger toward unmasked strangers justified?

Sequel:

This morning I put on my jacket, gloves, and shoes. I clipped on the blue leash (blue in the morning, red at night, another precaution), rode down the elevator, and left my building. Sunshine, a breath of fresh air! Suddenly, a thought. Forgot the mask! First time in two months. Back up, held my breath on the elevator, tied on my mask, and left again. The dog was bewildered, but I was not. I got the message, to be more forgiving. I plan to smile, and say

“Did you forget your mask?”