Apocalypse

This is not my first apocalypse,

In fact, it is my fifth one in the last two years,

The fifth time I’ve had to stop and accept

That things are never going to go back to the way they were,

That normal was only a temporary term

And stability was simply an illusion

While each apocalypse is completely unique and distinct in its own way,

There are commonalities that run through all of them,

Loss, of loved ones, of stability, of the way things were,

of the idea that I can predict with some measure of accuracy what tomorrow is going to look like,

Grief, for what we’ve lost, what can never be again,

Anger, especially when the choices of others lead to the loss, and when we cannot seem to stop it,

Acceptance, realizing with every fiber of your being that the world you knew is never, ever, ever

coming back, those who are dead really won’t be here next Christmas,

Those who have decided they will only be your friend if you do what they say really won’t

ever change their minds

And the routines and structure that undergirded your daily life are gone now, never to return

At some point, there is hope, the idea that we can rebuild a new world,

That even though there is an irrevocable loss, we have the chance to build something new,

And maybe it can be better,

But that is tempered with fear, fear that the only things that followed us from the old world

are the things we don’t want in the new,

Fear that this world, too, will collapse, especially when you’re on your fifth go-round,

And fear that the destruction will not stop long enough to build a new world

Because right now, the apocalypse hasn’t ended,

And I am a child on the beach near the ocean, trying to build a sandcastle,

But the waves keep coming and knocking it down,

And even when I try to move away from the endless tsunamis,

They follow me wherever I go

I can’t control the ocean,

I cannot control death or the choices of others,

I cannot control the panic of society or the things which cause them to panic,

I can only stand while the wave hits my sandcastle and knocks it over again,

Filling my bucket with brackish waters and bits of sand and seashells,

Slamming me in the face with all of the strength that the moon lends the tides,

To fill my nostrils with water so that I cannot breathe, and my eyes with salty brine so that I cannot see,

And I can only wait and hope

That one day the tide will recede,

The waves will abate,

And I will still have the strength and courage to build my sandcastle of a new world

When all of this is over

And maybe one day when I look back on this time

When my life changed forever over and over and over again,

All five of these apocalypses and the messes I have to clean up after will run together into one big change,

One big line to denote the difference between the future and the past,

It is my hope that there is something left for me to build with,

That even the bucket and shovels aren’t ripped from my hands,

That the very grains of sand are not stolen from me,

But in the end, all I know for certain is that I am here,

And I survived

And maybe I’ll survive again,

For there is no end to apocalyptic change,

And there is no end to me.