Forever: A Journey of Friendship

 The Beginning of Forever

I've been trying to identify exactly when and how Chandra and I came to be friends. I've been poring over old Journal entries, paging through my high school yearbooks trying to pin it down and so far I've been unsuccessful. I'll probably have to read every entry between the fall of 1988 and the spring of 1990 to figure it out, and even then I'm not sure I'll have an answer.  All I know is that Chandra Maloney and I met our freshman year of high school, and somewhere between then and the end of our sophomore year we became the best of friends. It's been 32 years.

A Stick in Time

In my memory, it was camp meeting 1990, the end of tenth grade. We were sitting in the grass by the ball field watching a softball game. But then it could just as easily have been an intramural game at "rec" during the school year, because Chandra referenced this moment in the page-long entry she left in my school annual that year. So either she signed my yearbook late, after school was out, or this happened different than I remember. But what I remember was that it was camp-meeting. Veggie dogs and snow cones were being sold from the pathfinder trailer, all of Adventist Florida was gathered in one place, and it was a sticky summer night.  From somewhere we scrabbled together two sticks, carved in each stick our initials, CM and SM,  and the words "Friends Forever" and exchanged the sticks. We promised to keep those sticks always as a reminder of our solemn vow.  I don't know where that stick is now, and that bothers me. I know I would never have knowingly thrown it away, so I can only assume it is stored away somewhere, awaiting resurrection, just as my dear friend now is. As for the promise, that has never been lost, through all the ups and downs that would follow. 

Two Fish Out of Water

Chandra was kind. She was genuine. She was unpretentious. She felt things very deeply and had a compassionate heart. She was fiercely loyal. She was a good listener and could provide insightful advice. In short she was everything you could ask for in a friend.  I felt through much of high school like a fish out of water. I never felt sure that I belonged. The one black kid, surrounded by white people, I often felt like an imposter. Surely, people looked at me and thought "What is he doing here?" I don't know if that feeling has ever fully gone away. But Chandra never made me feel like that. As I've gotten older I've realized that sense of "not belonging", of being somehow not a part of things is more widespread than I realized. That even the most glamorous lives harbor the same doubts, the same fears of being exposed as an interloper, the same anxieties about rejection and loss. I think Chandra felt those same things too, and I think in each other we found someone who provided a safe harbor, a place where we could be ourselves and be accepted and loved for who we truly were. As recently as this summer when I embarked on a journey to speak in honest anger about what it meant to be black like me, Chandra reached out to let me know that she stood with me, that she loved me, and most importantly that she saw me and heard me. That meant so much.

School Days & Friend Zones

There are so many memories of Chandra that I treasure. We took Chemistry together at Lake Brantley High School the summer after our sophomore year. We took Biology I together, went on that epic disaster of a Biology II marine biology field trip the Florida Keys, and sat next to each other in Dr. Viar's Anatomy & Physiology class our senior year.  Chandra sat in front of me during Captain Coolidge's 11th grade American History class and we'd whisper quietly, or trade notes everyday all through class, while Captain read from the history textbook from his desk at the front. We commiserated together over our various unrequited loves. Each of us carried torches for someone who kept us resolutely in the "friend zone" (I will not mention their names here though anyone who knew us during those mid-high school years will know exactly who they were!)  We supported each other in heartache for our unreturned love, counseled and encouraged each other. And when the miracle of miracles happened, and Chandra's longtime love suddenly found he too had feelings for her, swept into town (he no longer attended our school) and swept her off her feet, just like in a movie, I rejoiced with her.  The fantasy romance come to life was short-lived, and I was also there for her when the long-hoped for relationship petered out.

"I'll Be There for You"

Chandra and I shared a lot of mutual friends. Some of my closest friends were also some of hers. Especially through much of our junior year we ran with the same crowd--a clique so tight, it even had a name: The Group. The Group parked our cars next to each other in the school parking lot. The Group studied at each others houses virtually every night, with Geri Haupt's house the most popular rendezvous. I can still remember "(Can't Live Without Your) Love and Affection" playing on the radio as I pulled my blue 86 Corolla into the line of cars on Geri's front lawn: Jeff's white Nissan, Chandra's gray Honda Accord, Greg's Civic hatchback, Chris's bright red Mustang, Pamela's Plymouth, and Anita's sporty black Honda. I'd rush to towards the welcoming warmth of the Haupt house, books in hand, ready for an evening of studying and friendship. It was like being in a TV show about friends.  And like a TV show, there was drama with the Group. Lots of drama. There were crushes and frenemies (sometimes they were the same people), there were misunderstandings and arguments--a few days where people stopped talking. And then started talking again. And like a TV show, eventually The Group got cancelled. And for a few months it seemed that maybe our friendship had been cancelled too.  But Forever was the deal, and our friendship renewed and continued even as our circle of friends broadened and matured.

The Maloney Home

Some of my favorite memories of Chandra in our growing-up years were the times I spent at her house. Chandra lived less than a mile from me: Turn left coming out of Sue Drive, where I lived, go up Bear Lake Road to the traffic light on Lake Brantley Road, and then continue straight until the pavement gives way to the gravel drive that winds through the Maloney's wooded property and ends at their wonderful lakeside home. We'd sprawl out doing homework on the floor of their big living room or watch a movie there.  We'd swim in their pool, and on holiday weekends and birthday parties, Dr. Maloney would bring out the boat, and we'd water ski or ride the inner tube around the lake. Mrs. Maloney, was the picture of hospitality and motherly warmth, providing us hungry teenagers with a seemingly endless spread of food and drink. Chandra's parents always made us feel so welcome. They made their home feel like ours. Chandra's brothers were always around, Jim always chilled out and cool, Mark, fun and mischievous. I remember stopping by the Maloney house some years ago perhaps when we were back from Saipan, in the States for the summer. I stopped by-because that's what you could do with the Maloneys--on the fourth of July, I believe it was. And when I walked into that familiar living room, I was stunned to find little Mark sitting on the couch, looking the same as he had  in 1992. It took me a moment realize I was looking at his son. But for a few fleeting seconds I expected to find a teenaged Chandra and Geri hanging out by the pool. It seemed that in the home of my friend forever, time itself could stand still. Oh, how I wish that were true. Oh, how I long for the day when it will be. 

The Dark Ages

Senior year was one of the best times in Chandra and I's friendship. We were very close that year. Both of us were battling our own demons then and we often leaned on each other for support. I began a slide into a dark depression that would last throughout the second half of my senior year and into the summer after graduation. Through much of that time, Chandra was my rock, a source of encouragement and hope when I needed it most. Particularly meaningful was our date to the annual Junior-Senior Banquet. We went "as friends", rather than romantic partners, and I remember clearly how momentarily free she made me feel that night, laughing and joking with me on the bus to Medieval Times. To be with someone without complications, to be with a true friend, was just the medicine I needed to keep going.

College Days 

Our freshman year of college, Chandra and I finally parted ways. I set off to reinvent myself at Andrews University, a personal odyssey that was absolutely necessary for me. Chandra, like most of our friends went to Southern Adventist University (then Southern College). But even though we were no longer a minutes drive away, separated by hundreds of miles, Chandra and I grew closer than ever. She'd write me every week, sometimes more than once a week, and I did the same. We supported each other through the stormy adjustment of college life. Chandra became increasingly disenchanted with Southern, and after her freshman year switched to Southwestern Adventist University. We continued to be close throughout our sophomore year of college, so much so that I decided to visit her at Southwestern on my spring break from Andrews that year. After the end of that school year, in the summer of 1994, I headed off to the islands of Chuuk for a life-changing year as a student missionary. I carried with me from Chandra, a favorite picture to pin on my bulletin board in my room, a card with words full of friendship and affection, and a gift of $200 cash to help me cover any initial expenses I'd encounter in my missionary journey. 

Oceans Apart

It was here that it seemed oceans, time, the call of adulthood might have finally caused our friendship to become a memory. We stopped writing, stopped calling. We began to live separate lives. I met and married Barbara. She met and married Daren. We did not attend each other's weddings. I moved to Saipan for more than a decade. Chandra eventually ended up in southern California. I saw Chandra and Daren once, when Barbara and I were on our way out to Saipan. We met them for dinner at a Thai restaurant in Loma Linda, and it was lovely evening full of fond memories. But we didn't really keep in touch. Yet even in those years, I knew somehow that we were still friends. I talked about it in my 2007 blog series on the Most Influential People in My Life. Chandra was on that list, and in my tribute to her I expressed my belief that that our friendship, like that little stick she gave me was still there, waiting to be rediscovered.

Grown-ups

And beginning in 2009, it was. Chandra reached out to me on Facebook early in that year. She complimented me on the cute baby boy she'd seen in my Facebook posts and shared stories of her newly-born Kendal as well. Over the next 11 years, we'd stay in regular contact, exchanging warm messages at least a couple times each year, tracking the ups and downs of each other's lives. In 2014 I had meetings in California for a week and was able to spend two evenings with Chandra and Daren and their daughters. It felt good to reconnect, to keep that eternal flame of friendship burning. Life wasn't always easy for Chandra--she seemed to face challenge after challenge, and I know at times it must have been hard to hold on. But Chandra was a fighter, stronger and more courageous than she gave herself credit for. I admired so much her fierce will, her open heart, her deep determination. And I was honored to be able stand with her in those tough times, even if only through a PM, text message or phone call. It brought me joy to see her making her way, overcoming the challenges she faced. She hoped great things for the future, I believe. She was undaunted. She persisted.

And then she was gone.

The Silence

As our perfect as our friendship must sound, I assure you we had our share of hard times. On a few occasions we had big fights and Chandra simply stopped talking to me for awhile. I think of those times as The Silences. And they hurt. I can think of one particular time, the summer after our senior year of high school.  We had been extremely close throughout the year, and that very closeness caused a sense of guilt to start gnawing at me. I had been keeping something from Chandra all year. I had been lying to her and the more I came to realize the value of her friendship the worse I felt about the lie.  So finally, I came clean. And Chandra, was rightly furious. She stopped talking to me and the Silence began. She wouldn't take my calls, wouldn't read my letters.  She refused to see me. And I was devastated. It seemed our friendship truly was at an end this time. In my desperation, I concocted a plan to at least see her. I called up Mrs. Maloney and told her I wanted to practice my swimming and would it be okay if I came by to practice in their pool a couple of times a week. Mrs. Maloney gladly agreed, and I started showing up every other day to swim in the pool. The gambit didn't work. Chandra studiously avoided me and I rarely saw her as I doggedly worked on my laps. Mrs. Maloney would smile sympathetically at me, as if to encourage me to be patient, that with time Chandra would come around. And Mrs. Maloney knew her daughter well, because come around she did. By the time we left for our separate colleges, our friendship was fully restored and stronger than ever. The Silence had ended. (And as a bonus, I was now a very strong swimmer, who could swim laps for thirty or more minutes without a break!).

Right now, feels like one of those Silences, except so much worse. This time it isn't a misunderstanding. It isn't a fight. It isn't hurt feelings. It is the cruelty of death, a life cut short far too soon that has brought about this most awful of Silences. She can't return my calls, or read my messages. She can't see me, or I her, again, in this life. And I am beyond devastated. It seems as if our friendship is truly at its end this time.  Mrs. Maloney cannot offer me comfort this time, because she has experienced every parent's worst fear. The Silence is deafening.  But in that silence God whispers to all of us who are brokenhearted, to all of us who love Chandra. He tells us to be patient, that in time He will bring Chandra around. She will be fully restored to us, stronger than ever.  This is the last and longest Silence, but just like all the others it will end. We will hear her voice and her laugh. We will see her bright smile, unshadowed by pain. And on that beautiful day, our friendship will resume, this time to continue on--as we promised way back on that Forest Lake Academy lawn--forever. 

Until then, I've got no choice but to keep swimming.

Friends Forever, Chandra. I can't wait to see you again.

We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill

As the day begs the night for mercy love
The sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars carved into stone
On the face of earth
The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes

You run like river, on like a sea
You run like a river runs to the sea. . .

I'll see you again
When the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red
Over One Tree Hill

We run like a river
Run to the sea
We run like a river to the sea
And when it's raining
Raining hard
That's when the rain will
Break my heart. . .

        --U2, "One Tree Hill"

"Therefore you too have grief now, but I will see you again; and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you." 

                       --John 16:22

 

November Pain: Meditations on Grief and Giving Thanks

 

It's common this time of year to encourage each other to think of the things we are thankful for. There's always a reason to be grateful, the thinking goes. And it's true. We can always count our blessings.  But sometimes there are losses so huge they make what's left behind hard to see. The blessings that remain seem washed out and hollow in the face of unimaginable grief. I'm finding it harder these days to announce praises for God's protection and provision. It's not because I don't believe that He does provide, protect, and heal. It just seems perhaps a little insensitive to loudly celebrate how the Lord has spared my family when others are wondering why theirs weren't so spared. If you have yet to struggle, like Job, with why God has allowed tragedy to touch you and the ones you love, well, that is something to be truly grateful for. But perhaps, you could rejoice a little more modestly out of respect for those who are in a much more painful place.  

One of the observations I've made about the difficult story of Job, is how God addressed Job and how God addressed Job's friends.  Job spent the bulk of thirty-seven chapters complaining about the injustice of what had happened to him. While God did remind Job that there was a bigger picture he couldn't hope to understand, God defended Job to his sanctimonious friends. He said to them "You have not spoken accurately about Me, as My servant Job has."  This should give pause to those of us who would consider coming to God's defense in the face of those who cry out in pain: "Why God? Why did you do this? I don't deserve this." God in essence said, Job's not wrong to protest, to rage at the cruelty life can mete.  Without any help from us, He Himself can deliver the message to his hurting followers that He is in control. God doesn't need defenders.  But His children often need our compassion, our gentleness, our love as they face the very worst life can bring.

November has proven to be a hell of a month in recent years. I lost one of my dearest friends, Chandra Maloney Rudisaile, just a few days ago. My grandmother Enid Thomson, died on November 5, 2014 and my father-in-law, William Leen, passed away unexpectedly three weeks later, exactly six years ago today, on Wednesday, November 26, 2014--the day before Thanksgiving. The family, was of course, already gathered, expecting to celebrate both the holiday and Ezra's birthday, but instead we found ourselves gathered for grieving. There was no party for Ezra and I can tell you that year we didn't have the heart for the usual Thanksgiving spread. No one had much of an appetite and we spent the day poring over picture albums and planning Dad's memorial. No doubt a similar scene has unfolded today for Chandra's parents and brothers, husband and daughters. Of course we are not alone.  My colleague Pat Fountain lost her baby grandson. My principal Evelyn Goodman lost her daughter's godmother a few weeks ago, a woman who had been like a mother to Mrs. Goodman.  My superintendent, Dr. Violet Cox, was devastated by the death of her sister. Another colleague, Larry Brooks, lost his cousin without warning near the beginning of the month (after losing both his father and uncle in the last weeks of October). And of course this is just the tip of death's iceberg as so many thousands have suffered losses from the virus and other causes this month. Death almost seems mundane, except for when it comes to knock on the door of the people we love. Then it feels like the world stops turning. The axis shifts and nothing is ever the same again. 

When I was a senior in high school, I went through a period of depression. At the time there was a popular song on the radio that really resonated with me. It's grand (some might say grandiose) musical ambitions and pensive lyrics were the perfect fit for my melancholy mood. Yet, despite it's somber, weepy vibe, there was hope hidden in those lyrics. "Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain," Axl Rose would sing in his signature whine. I held on to that theme, choosing to believe no matter how bleak things looked in the moment, nothing lasts ever. Eventually the rains would pass and the sun would shine again. And indeed, that proved to be the case. But as I've grown older, I've noticed Rose's rock opera promise that nothing lasts forever applies to the sunny days as well as the cold rains. And I've learned those rains might merely get your shoulders wet as you dash inside, but for others the same downpour may be a deluge that leaves them feeling about to drown, a storm that forever changes the contours of their lives. We live in a world where nothing lasts forever, both the evil and the good. And that leaves us hoping for a Home, where the very best of life does last forever.

On this holiday, if you can't muster Happy, that's okay. If you can't think of anything to be grateful for that is equal the gaping hole death has left in your life, I weep with you. I wish you peace, comfort, strength to keep going, joy that remains despite the pain. And most of all, I wish you a Hopeful Thanksgiving. Because after all, among the things that do not last forever is death. And there are things that will last through eternity--faith, hope, and most of all, love.

Who's to say where the wind will take you
Who's to say what it is will break you
I don't know which way the wind will blow
Who's to know when the time's come around
Don't want to see you cry
I know that this is not goodbye

                       --U2, "Kite"

Dear Chandra

The last time I saw you--six years ago this past summer, June 2014. It was great to meet your family, and enjoy a nice dinner with you and Daren and the girls.

Dear Chandra,

How can you be gone? I keep asking myself that question over and over again. How can you be gone? What I want more than anything is to call you up and talk about this. The sad irony is that I don't think anyone else besides you fully understood what you meant to me, what we meant to each other, and so you are the only one who could understand what I'm feeling right now. You would get it.  I want to let you know that I really do value your friendship. I hope you knew that.

I will never forget where I was, the very spot in my front yard, which I'd just finished mowing, when Daren called. I looked down at my phone and saw your name on the incoming call, and my heart just smiled. We hadn't spoken on the phone since June and I was happily surprised that you were calling and wondering what might be the occasion. I picked up the call and said "Hi Chandra!" and Daren, said "No, it's Daren."  I was surprised that he was calling me, and on your phone; it was the first hint that something was wrong but even then I could not have imagined. "Hi Daren, how's it going?" I said. "Not good at all," he replied. And then he said the words that have been playing in my mind like a broken record ever since. I keep hearing his voice telling me you were gone and I still can't believe it. How can you be gone? I just want to go back to that moment and make it not true. 

There was a comfort I took for granted in knowing you were out there in California, raising your beautiful girls, and navigating this crazy thing called life.  I know it wasn't always easy, but you were such a fighter. You had such a beautiful, tender heart, and so much more courage than you ever imagined. I just can't believe you're gone. How can you be gone?  I thought we'd have more time. I thought "one of these days"--maybe when this COVID business was over--we'd get our families together. Our kids would meet. Your Kendal and my Elijah, your Karsyn and my Ezra, each the same age. How cool is it that both of our kids were born just months apart--Kendal three months after Elijah and Karsyn two months before Ezra. While they played, we'd do some real catching up--the kind you can't do so well through text and Facebook Messenger. 

I know you'd be so angry by this sudden turn, this crashing end. You would hate this. Leaving your girls, your family, everyone who loved you and who you loved so very much. This is not right. It's just not right. How can you be gone?

I'm so grateful for the contact we've had in recent years. I only wish it could have been more. The last time I saw you in person was in 2014, the last time we spoke was in June of this year, and the last text message I got from you was on my birthday, August 3. But our last exchange on Facebook Messenger, from May of this year, is one I especially treasure.  We were reflecting on our journey of friendship that began all those years ago when were just high school kids, at Forest Lake Academy, grateful that through all the ups and downs, our friendship had survived intact: 

Friends Forever

You sent May 9

That was the deal

You sent May 9

You sent May 9

Glad it's worked out that way.

sent May 9

Yay!!! That makes my heart so Happy. Love u friend.

That was your last FB Message to me and it's one I will always treasure. One thing I know for sure. We are now certain to be friends forever. And Forever is where I'll find you. That makes me happy too, even through these tears. 

I love you so much. I miss you so much. I never thought I could miss you like this.

Friends Forever

Love,

Sean

Where'd you go?
I miss you so
Seems like it's been forever
That you've been gone

   --"Where'd You Go" by Fort Minor (Feat. Holly Brook & Jonah Matranga)

The Corona Chronicles: A Different World

 

The view from my world

We live in a different world.  I've found a number of meanings to this phrase in recent months. In one sense I refer to what the world looks like now in the age of COVID-19.  Life has changed so much in the past year, and it's not surprising that it is so hard for us to accept the world is simply different than it once was. Many of us cope with this different world but simply living as if it is not different. At first the virus was a lark, something exciting we could all rally together (apart, of course) to defeat.  But even then our efforts were half-hearted and this virus is not contained with half measures. Now is we roar into a corona season that is making the spring and summer look tepid by comparison, many are worn down from the listless struggle, right when constant vigilance should be the watchword.  We are "going on about our lives", eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage even as the flood of the virus bears down upon us to sweep us all away.  Trying to live in a world that no longer exists doesn't work.

We also live in different worlds, I've realized. Different realities. As political unrest has replaced public unrest in the past month, it's become clear that different segments of our country inhabit different realities. There is the world in which Donald Trump, has nobly sacrificed his successful career as a billionaire businessman out of a deep love of country.  During four remarkable years, he wrought the most amazing transformation of this country bringing jobs to the huddled masses and playing hardball with our enemies and so-called friends abroad, all while enduring a withering onslaught of attacks from a leftist press determined to see him fail. And yet he persisted, leading the world in COVID. .. uh. . . response and hammering the virus into submission both personally and nationally. And then, at the very apex of his success, he was shamelessly robbed of his second term by a corrupt election process.  That's the world that some of my friends live in.

President Trump, laboring heroically for the nation even in the very face of COVID (Photo released by the White House)

Then there are those of us who live in a world in which Donald Trump, carelessly threw his hat into the race for president, upending the norms of what it means to be president from the earliest stages of his campaign. To the surprise of almost everyone, including perhaps himself, this cartoon candidate actually won the highest office in the land. During four increasingly disturbing years,  Trump remade the Republican party in his image and committed himself to cementing a loyal following among those who had elected him, shattering norm after norm in the process. He played footsie with our enemies and openly criticized our allies, all while demonizing as enemies of the people any media entities who dared to critique his leadership.  The damage he'd done would likely have gone mostly unnoticed as the economy continued to hum along. But then, a global crisis arrived, an emergency totally unsuited to the strengths of our president and perfectly tailored for his weaknesses. His complete bungling of the virus response has led the United States to be a world leader in coronavirus cases (highest number of cases and sixth per capita) and deaths (highest number of deaths and seventh per capita).  No matter who was president, we would have suffered, without question. But it didn't have to be this bad*. And then at the very nadir of his presidency, he lost re-election, and has since made quite a show of refusing to accept the results. That's the world I live in.

Different worlds.

Of course the truth is there is only one world, and we are all living it. The question is who recognizes the world as it actually is, and who is living in a schizoid fantasy, detached from reality? One thing is certain, none of us are living in the year 2019 and there is no going back there.  Sooner or later, reality will come crashing in and some of us will be brutally awakened to the world as it is. Only time will tell which illusory world will crumble.  But crumble it will.

As for my world, the past month has been a series of COVID obstacles that so far my family and I have successfully hurdled. 

On October 15, right before the current virus tsunami began to mount, my colleagues and I hosted an outdoor school day for our remote 6th through 8th graders. It was a wonderful morning with our students, some of whom were meeting each other for the very first time.

The sixth through eighth grade students socially distanced and masked for outdoor school day, Thursday, October 15, 2020

 On October 26, I traveled to Indiana with my former principal Brenda Arthurs and my colleague Tamaria Kulemeka to attend the funeral of the father of my other colleague Larry Brooks. His father had died after a lengthy battle with cancer and we decided to take the risk to lend our support to him in his time of grief. Our presence ended up being more of a blessing to him than we had anticipated, and thankfully we managed to dodge the virus as well. 

On November 1, I spent the day filming scenes for a short film I was in.  I played a very old man, and the makeup process involved very close contact without masks for about an hour with the make-up artist, followed by a couple more hours of riding around in a car with the director and photographer (virtually all my scenes were of me behind the wheel of a car). Again, no masks.  It's been almost two weeks since that day, and so far as I can tell, I'm still healthy.

In my old man makeup for my friend Jasmyn Green's short film Rear Views. See it on YouTube! It's really good!  November 1, 2020

 Last Sunday, November 8, we had our 10K Run for the group of students who'd been training with me since September. We took care to follow the guidance of the park where we ran, keeping our families separate and wearing masks.  But by then the virus was raging through Ohio, and what a month earlier might have felt pretty safe, was starting to feel more risky.  By next weekend, I should have pretty safe idea of whether we cleared that hurdle as well. 

At the finish line. It was unseasonably warm, and the only time in my ten years of running this race that I ran it in shorts and a t-shirt

 Currently we are in self-imposed quarantine, in the hopes of being able to spend a few days with Barbara's mom at Thanksgiving. I did more than two weeks worth of grocery shopping, including all our Thanksgiving food on Monday (an ordeal I don't hope to ever have to repeat), and Barbara has started teaching from home (and not a moment too soon, as there have since been several cases of COVID in the school circle this past week and the school has decided to go fully remote through the Thanksgiving holiday).  We will be hunkering down at home until Thanksgiving while the viral storm rages around us, hoping to remain untouched.

I took this photo of our street while raking leaves yesterday. It was a perfect fall day.

Well, the third wave has arrived and the forecast for winter looks grim. I was just too busy during the week to write on November 10, as planned. I actually documented my numbers on the 11th so that I'd at least have that out of the way. But it turns out that in four short days those numbers have changed so much as to be irrelevant.    As of  early this morning, November 14, we have had 10,818,611 total cases of the coronavirus in the United States ( an increase of almost 400,000 over the past three days). This is well over a million more cases than I predicted, a total of 3,092,894 new cases in the past month and a 40% increase.  There have been 244,250 deaths from the virus (almost 3000 in the past three days). This is just under 1,000 more deaths than I forecast (though to be fair, on the 11th I was over by 2000); that's a 14% increase, the same as a month ago which means I was essentially right on target in my prediction. This represents 30,374 new deaths in the past month, about a 1000 Americans a day being consumed by this plague. The charts below tell the story.  My optimistic hope that the the slight uptick a month ago would add up to a leveling out has not panned out. Instead we now see ourselves in a steep upward climb both in cases and deaths.  I shudder to think what the next month will bring.

*Interesting side note from research I did for part of this blog. The United States is the third largest country in the world by population, surpassed only by India and China. Indonesia, with about 274,000,000 people is the next smallest country. Yet, the United States outstrips all three nations in per capita COVID cases and deaths. They are not even close. And Indonesia has fewer COVID cases than the states of Florida and Illinois!

If this rate of increase stops growing exponentially and instead maintain its current pace, I  would expect 15,146,055 total cases by December 14 and a total of 278, 445 dead from the virus. 

On to the states: Illinois has absolutely destroyed the scale of my chart with it's dramatic increase in new cases over the past month. It hides the considerable leap Ohio and Nebraska have made as well. Study the chart carefully and you'll note that Ohio's new cases have about doubled in the past month. Florida's new cases were high to begin with, so it's increase while appearing modest still represent large numbers--the number of new cases this week are double what they were a month ago in the Sunshine State. Ohio has quadrupled the number of new cases and Nebraska's new cases are five times what they were a month ago. Only Hawaii has shown no change since October. Its flat line is essentially accurate as the state's new cases each week have remained at an average of 610.

Total Cases:

Florida: 870,544 total cases, 141,631 new cases, an increase of 19%. This is almost 50,000 more cases than I predicted.  Prediction: Florida joins the Million Case Club, more than most nations, with 1,035,947 total cases by December 14, 2020.

Ohio: 282,528 total cases, 116,426 new cases, an increase of 70%. This about 70,000 more cases than I predicted. Prediction: 480,298 total cases by December 14, 2020.

Nebraska: 94,922 total cases, 44,528 new cases, an increase of 88%. This is almost 14,000 more cases than I predicted: Prediction: 178,453 total cases by December 14, 2020. This will be closing in on 10% of the state's population that will have had the virus!

Hawaii: 16,514 total cases, 2,873 new cases, an increase of 21%. This is about 3,000 fewer cases than I predicted, and the only state of the five who had lower case numbers than expected. Prediction: 19,981 total cases by December 14, 2020

Illinois: 553,083 total cases, 232,970 new cases, an increase of 73%. This is 147,000 more cases than I predicted. Prediction: 956,834 total cases by December 14, 2020

The death rate is no longer "steady" in any of the states.  This is good news for some (Hawaii, for example) and bad news for others (Nebraska in particular, but everyone else too). Florida appears to have reached the end of a long downward trend and may be at the start of another death climb. I was concerned about the rate of deaths in Hawaii last month but this past month has shown a significant decrease. It doesn't register on the graph but Hawaii is now in the single digits for deaths, with none last week and three this week. Nebraska, on the other hand has had increase in new deaths every week since October 3 and the state's 84 deaths this past week is almost four times what the number was on the week of October 10.  Ohio and Illinois both registered their highest number of new deaths last week and this weeks deaths are the third and second highest respectively since I started tracking weekly data.

Total Deaths

Florida: 17,444 total deaths, 2,259 new deaths, an increase of 15%. This is more than 2,000 fewer deaths than I forecast. Prediction: 20,061 total deaths by December 14, 2020.

Ohio: 5,700 total deaths, 706 new deaths, an increase of 14%. This is 142 deaths fewer than I predicted. Prediction: 6,498 deaths by December 14, 2020

Nebraska: 789 total deaths (that's 48 new deaths in the past three days, which is almost half of the new deaths for all of the previous month!), 266 new deaths, an increase of 51%. This is 130 more deaths than I predicted. This is the third month in a row that Nebraska's death toll has exceeded my forecast. Prediction: 1,191 total deaths by December 14, 2020. For a state Nebraska's size, this is an incredibly bleak forecast. And if Nebraska continues to register 48 deaths a day for the next month, more Nebraskans will die of COVID between now and December 14 than have died from it since the pandemic began.

Hawaii: 221 total deaths, 56 new deaths, an increase of 34%. This is about 120 fewer deaths than I forecast. It's worth noting that, while the number is quite low, this is the second highest rate of increase of the five states I've studied. However, this may also simply be a function of the low numbers we're dealing with. For example when you go from one death to two, that's a 100% increase even though it's only death. Prediction: 296 total deaths by December 14, 2020.

Illinois: 10,907 total deaths, 1,673 new deaths, an increase of 18%. This about 750 more deaths than I predicted. Prediction: 12,870 total deaths by December 14, 2020.

I further predict that, with the exception of Hawaii, all my predictions are lower than the actual death toll will be.