Originally published in Huddle Today on Jul 24, 2021
One evening in November last year, I got a call from my cousin, Matt, in Massachusetts.
Though Matt is my cousin, I consider him more like a big brother. Video chatting with him and his fiancé, Evan, several times a week had become routine. Since the pandemic halted our annual visits to see each other, it would have to do.
So when Matt called me that evening, I expected it would be like every other call we’ve had. We’d talk about our days, what he and Evan were making for dinner, the usual.
“Hey!” I answered.
“Evan’s gone,” Matt replied, in a tone of voice I had never heard from him before. I can only describe it as shock and sheer panic.
“…What?” my brain couldn’t comprehend what he meant.
Evan had passed away unexpectedly that day due to an illness (not Covid-19).
He was not only the love of my cousin’s life, but to our family that knew him over the last seven years, he was family too.
My first instinct was to log on to the Air Canada website and book the next flight down. I also thought about hopping in my little Fiat 500 and just driving straight down to Boston the next morning.
But then I remembered— I couldn’t.
The borders were still closed and would stay that way for a while.
My cousin, one of the people I love most, was experiencing the most devastating loss of his life and I couldn’t physically be there for him. I was also grieving someone who was family to me, and I couldn’t be with the other people who loved him and were grieving too.
As we’ve heard throughout the course of this pandemic, experiences like this are far from uncommon for people around the world. Public health measures and border closures have prevented so many from celebrating, and grieving, together.
Still, I would have given anything to give my cousin Matt a hug at that moment.
Two weeks ago, I was finally able to.
The loss of Evan led Matt to reevaluate what he wanted from life. With family ties to the region, moving up here was always the plan, but years down the road, perhaps in retirement. But losing his partner gave Matt the push he needed to do what he always wanted to do: move to Canada— Atlantic Canada, to be exact.
On July 6, he arrived in Saint John with his U-Haul. As a fully vaccinated dual citizen of America and Canada, he was no longer required to quarantine.
I was right there to meet him and finally gave him that hug.
But that wasn’t the only reunion I’ve experienced over this last month. Last week, I went to lunch with my old journalism school friend Nick and his wife, Elizabeth. For the past several years they’ve been living and working in Iqaluit. They would usually come down to New Brunswick in the summer to see family, but of course, the pandemic halted that over the last year.
As we were filling each other in on our lives and all the things that have happened, I got this overwhelming sense of joy. The joy of physically seeing friends ‘from away’ that I had taken for granted before all of this.
I experienced this same feeling the other weekend when I got a visit from my friend Eric, one of my best friends from high school. He moved to Alberta seven years ago and now has a successful career as an electrician. He’s one of those friends who no matter how much time passes, or how long we go without talking, we pick up where we left off. Nothing has changed except, you know, our lives.
We walked around uptown Saint John while he told me of his plans to eventually buy a house with his girlfriend and move back to New Brunswick. He was both happy and impressed to see cranes in the air and the new developments happening in the city centre. It was something we never could have imagined happening when we were walking these same streets as Saint John High School students more than 10 years ago.
We also took a stroll through Brunswick Square, where we’d spend many lunch hours back in the day. Back then, it was bustling and full of shops and patrons. Today… not so much. It was a stark contrast to all the new development and business that had been happening just outside.
“This place is so empty!” Eric said loudly, as we entered the mall on its hollowed third floor.
“We know!” said an older couple, in the not-so-far distance, walking towards us. “It used to be so busy!”
In true New Brunswick fashion, this led to a 20-minute conversation, where Eric left with a contact for an electrical company to call when he moves back home.
“See, this is what I miss about New Brunswick,” he said after.
Getting to see and hug my family and friends “from away” again has been the highlight of my year. I’m sure as things continue to open up there will be more joyful reunions to come.
The pandemic has forced many of us to reevaluate our lives, whether it’s what we want to do for work, where we want to live, or how we spend our time and who we spend it with. Personally, I think I’m coming out of this with a clearer sense of what I want from life and what, and who, I want to dedicate my time to. These past 16 or so months have made me realize what’s truly important to me.
On the flip side, many people are feeling anxious about the world returning to “normal”. I definitely feel this too. What pressures will return? What will be expected of us? Will I be able to keep up these new boundaries? Will I be able to remain thoughtful with my time and stay true to what’s important to me?
The truth is, I don’t know yet. I don’t think any of us do.
But one thing I do know: If returning to “normal” means having moments like the ones I’ve experienced this past month again, I’m ready for it.
Bring it on.