Gone.
It was only a month ago when we (meaning my roommates and I) heard about Union cancelling in-person classroom meetings after the email from Dr. Dub reached our inboxes. I remember a big group of us, completely healthy, gathered outside that day, chattering about what all we would get to do with this extra time we had on our hands now that we didn’t have to go to class. Some were nervous at what they had heard about the virus. Others, like myself, were excited that we didn’t have to go to class anymore, celebrating the newfound time we would have on our hands to do whatever we wanted. Besides, the virus hadn’t yet reached our small town in midwest Tennessee, far from the horrors of Italy and the ghostly streets of Manhattan. I knew we weren’t invincible, but at least it couldn’t be that serious, I thought. Wrongly.
I had just started a new job at a church down the street, and the last thing I was worried about were the isolation and social-distancing practices becoming more and more mainstream among Americans. I went to work, went out to eat with my girlfriend, watched movies and played games with my friends like things were normal. Class was no trouble at all, and I didn’t even have to meet during all of my normal times. But slowly, all around me, the world was shutting down, closing doors and hiding itself from the “invisible enemy.” A couple weeks went by, and Jackson began to follow suit. Our favorite restaurants moved to takeout only, movie theaters stopped showing films and job opportunities began to vanish into thin air. And then the other big email came from Dr. Dub. The refund. My roommates and almost all of my other friends that lived on campus took advantage and moved back home, some close, others far away. Most of whom I missed saying goodbye to. It was like a magician’s vanishing act.
Gone.
Yet here I am.
I wake up fairly early every morning to an empty dorm room that I have all to myself. It was fun at first. I rearranged the furniture a week ago, putting the empty bookshelf on its side to fit our large flatscreen that had previously sat on the coffee table. We never could all eat our Cookout Trays and watch stupid YouTube videos on the TV at one in the morning without crowding the kitchen table we lugged in at the beginning of the school year. Having the coffee table is nice now, I suppose.
I walk past my roommate’s gourmet coffee maker that he accidentally left behind. I quit drinking coffee because I sleep well now. I no longer have a good reason to be up past midnight now. I fix a bowl of cereal and log onto Zoom, start my class and awkwardly stare at my screen, at my classmates who are probably doing the same thing from home. Every professor I have has been really kind to ask how we are doing, but I’ve never answered. Partly because I’m not sure.
I still get to go to work in the afternoon, and the actual interaction with people is healing in a way. Then I go find something to eat, whether it is takeout from the dining hall or one of the several restaurants that are open for carry out. Most nights I sit alone in my dorm, filling the silence with a show or movie that helps me escape to a fun place. I do enjoy the quiet sometimes. But as I’ve recently found, I only enjoyed them juxtaposed against a life of overstimulation.
Gone are nights of adventure in a small town. Nights of deep conversation and new revelations about your friends that lead to even deeper intentionality among the group. Gone are the days of always having a friend with you, whether it was getting a meal or just going to run an errand. It wasn’t hard to find someone to throw a baseball with or play duets on guitars.
I’m not one to look back on things, yet I’ve had a lot of time to think and reflect these past few weeks. I miss my friends, and I miss being able to see them all the time. I miss walking to class in April, when the weather is not too hot but not too cold. I miss sitting down in Cookout with my guys and cracking jokes. I miss conversations that can only happen in-person, and dapping up your brother before the Sunday night fraternity meeting starts. I took a lot of these moments for granted, but now that they’re gone, the pain of what isn’t there anymore stings. Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe there are things you miss.
Amidst the loneliness and loss, we have hope for the future. This season we are in is not simply different, but it is special. We have been given a time to slow down and grow closer to the Lord, to remind ourselves how good He has been to us throughout the years. Ways that we may have missed due to the busyness of our lives. Reflections like these lead me ultimately to anticipate when we will all get to see each other again, whether it is church congregations finally meeting under the same roof or a group of guys hanging out again in a dorm room after a three month hiatus.
The glum feeling I’ve had is now replaced with thankfulness. God has been faithful, and He still is. Don’t let this season lead to sadness, but seek the good that comes from it and that will come when this is all over. This time isn’t so bad compared to what it is worth.
