The last time I was in a room jammed with people was on the morning of March 11, 2020.
We were all cheek to jowl to hear B.C. Hemp's announcement of its plans to build a $350 million industrial hemp facility near the Prince George Airport.
On one hand, everyone was excited and upbeat about this huge opportunity for the city but there was an uneasy feeling in the room.
The World Health Organization had just declared a global pandemic due to the novel coronavirus and that was the main topic of conversation. During the milling about in the lobby before the announcement, I will never forget talking to Shirley Bond.
The Prince George-Valemount MLA and former provincial health minister was sombre. To anyone who would listen, she rightfully predicted this would be the last mass gathering all of us would be attending for a while. Old friends greeted her with hugs. She returned the hugs but not with her usual enthusiasm.
It wasn't just COVID-19 on her mind. Bill, her devoted husband and right-hand man, wasn't at the B.C. Hemp announcement and people were gently asking how he was doing and sending their best wishes.
Three months later, Bill was gone and the entire city mourned but no one could rally around Bond and her family the way they wanted. The first pandemic lockdown was still in effect and there was no way to grieve together and to celebrate a good man and his good life.
My two Grade 12 children graduated in a virtual ceremony while nervous parents gathering in small, socially distant groups in the parking lot. Afterwards, many parents and graduates headed to Lheidli T'enneh Park so pictures could be taken in larger groups, blatantly defying the public health orders. I nervously hung back from the bigger groups and carefully avoided the dads brazenly shaking hands with everyone.
I was so excited for the kids - my own and their friends - whom I had watched grow up, driven to volleyball tournaments, taken camping, picked up in the middle of the night after a party, eaten and laughed with. For just a moment, I wanted to push aside the uncertainty and fear to bask in my pride in these beautiful young people and the potential and optimism they represented.
I couldn't.
Instead, that blissful afternoon was tarnished by anxiety, exactly like the past 12 months have been. Almost every happy moment in the past year has been restrained, muted by who wasn't there or cheering through FaceTime or Zoom instead of up close and in-person. Meanwhile, it seemed every sad and tragic moment was made worse by our inability to fully comfort one another, whether it was grieving the loss of a loved one, sitting by their side in the hospital or being there for them while they recovered at home from cancer treatment.
And that's from the privileged place of having a couple of close calls to direct COVID exposure but thankfully no personal or family experience with the virus other than two negative tests. For those who actually got sick, whether it was just feeling rotten for a couple of days or are still hurting months later, what a frightening time for themselves and their friends and families, especially if they learned they gave it to others before they were diagnosed.
Yet it wasn’t always bleak.
I did some things I never would have done otherwise if it hadn’t been for the pandemic, like Sunday morning socially-distanced coffees in lawn chairs in the CN Centre parking lot.
Along with Marillion fans around the world, I took part in the Couch Convention last summer and streamed three of their concerts from years past while sitting on a deck chair at Bednesti Lake. I also took part in two Steven Wilson album listening parties over Twitter. Simultaneously around the world, thousands of us were listening to the same album at the same time, tweeting excitedly while Wilson introduced each song.
When I did the Coldest Night of the Year fundraising walk last month (alone around the Hart on the morning of my birthday), I was bolstered by the fact that two old, dear friends who don’t know each other but both live in Montreal – my best high school chum Steve Robert and Carleton journalism classmate Janice Felsky – each generously donated $100 to sponsor my walk after seeing my request for support on social media.
I don’t know when I’ll next be in a packed room, whether it’s for a business announcement, a theatre performance, a concert or a hockey game, but in this pandemic year, the loneliness and isolation was broken by sweet, unexpected moments of personal connection.
In other words, I have never felt more human, in every sense of the word, as I have in the past year.
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