The pain or ache of being unable to return to the past is a familiar feeling these days. A yearning for those pre-pandemic afternoons of carelessly touching your face in public, bumping shoulders with friends at events and viewing someone wearing a medical mask as an anomaly, an overreaction to the common cold. This pain or ache for the past has a word: nostalgia.
Lately, my pandemic nostalgia has centred on past summers. For as long as I can remember, I've spent these hot days in the company of family. Some of my fondest memories are backyard barbecues and days at the cabin. This year, the pandemic has dramatically altered those traditions or brought them to a sudden stop altogether.
The strongest ache for the past came when my partner and I recently took a trip to my family’s cabin.
In the past, family schedules had to be co-ordinated so we could share the small abode. This summer, they have been deliberately scheduled to avoid that. Text messages, emails and phone calls to confirm no one else planned to be there are now necessary because, although the cabin is large enough to host several people at once, it's not so large that you can socially distance.
My parents share the cabin with my extended family. As a result, it has always been a place full of energy, laughter and the ubiquitous smell of campfires.
But this visit felt distinctly different. A blanket of silence seemed to extend over the nearby lake, and the usually packed campground was empty. Yellow tape blocked off the public beach. It felt deserted.
Initially, I looked forward to the guaranteed peacefulness and space promised by being the only ones there. I've always enjoyed my alone time and the spacious cabin was an upgrade from our 700 square foot apartment. But the peacefulness soon felt like isolation and the space became a reminder of everyone who was not there.
I've always thought it was the place itself that brought me happiness, but it's not; it's the people I've shared it with.
My partner and I spent four days there, and it seemed each day brought a wave of memories – swimming to the big diving board with my sister and cousin and working up the courage to jump, scavenging the bush for the perfect stick to roast marshmallows, walking to the small candy shop to fill up on treats.
Despite the ache, these memories made me incredibly happy. Reminiscing may be painful, but it also reminds us that we're loved and that life is full of beautiful moments.
Pandemic nostalgia should not be dreaded but embraced. It reminds us of the things we miss, so we can savour them when they return.
Kate F. Mackenzie, AirdrieToday.com
Follow me on Twitter @katefmack
