I hoped that by sharing the good, the bad and the ugly of my experience I could —in a small way—serve my community.

I thought by sharing my specific experience, others might find something they could connect with.

My Facebook posts and now my blog were greeted with generous displays of love and caring. I’ve heard from many of you and your comments have given me strength and boosted my spirits. But more importantly, I’ve heard from several of you that my story made you stop and think about the virus and the safety of your loved ones.  For that and more, I thank you.

That’s the good.

The bad is the virus itself.

It’s dangerous.

It’s scary.

And it’s potentially lethal.

It’s important that we know that and respect that fact. It is not a flu and it is not a hoax.

It’s also not going away the day after the election.

I wish it would. But as we experience yet another surge in America and across a good swath of the world, it’s becoming apparent that we are up against a dangerous hydra that will alter our lives for the foreseeable future.

The ugly of this virus can be put into two buckets. The political aspect and the long lasting effects that some will experience.

The politics of this pandemic can be frustrating.

  I will probably be attacked for pointing out the seriousness of the virus because some believe that Covid is an overblown hoax. That’s OK, bring it.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion but not their own facts. I just don’t share those views. I trust in science. Not that science gets everything right, especially on its first pass, but eventually our best and brightest scientific minds figure things out.

The other bucket relates to the potential long haul of this disease.

For some, even when you recover, there are lingering issues to deal with.

When I decided to write about my experience I committed to telling the truth even if that truth is well…ugly.

So let me say that while I feel much, much better I’m still struggling.

My breathing is improving but still not quite back to normal. I remain very sore, my physical strength is returning but is vastly diminished and I suffer from horrible stabbing pains in my left leg and steady pain in my right arm.  I have daily headaches and have experienced Covid related hair loss.

All of that is bearable—even the leg. And it sure beats the alternative. I know I’m very fortunate.

But there’s an emotional aspect to this virus as well.

So here’s my confession—I’m a little off these days.

I get sad a few times a day.

It comes in waves triggered by stories I hear about people who have lost their lives during the pandemic or songs that just get to me. I get restless at night, have some trouble sleeping and feel anxious for no reason.

I’m really worried about my family and friends. I’m really worried about our community and the world itself.

I think about kids missing out on a normal social life and about senior citizens who are at risk and unable to enjoy their lives —cut off from grandchildren and others who enrich their lives.

I worry about small business owners and the unemployed and I think about the families of the more than one million people who have died worldwide in the pandemic.

I also worry about our medical workers, teachers, first responders and essential workers who fear for their health every time they leave for work.

I’ve been told that the flood of emotions I’m experiencing is to be expected.

Last week, I learned about a concept called “survivors guilt.”

Readers of this blog may remember the name Skip Brown.

Skip is a friend, a retired Delray police officer and a Vietnam veteran. I had the honor of pinning the Bronze Star he earned in combat to his chest a few years back. It was one of the great thrills of my life.

Skip has taught me a lot over the years and he explained the concept of survivors guilt, the idea that you feel pressure and question why you survived while others died.

We spoke on my way to a pulmonologist appointment I had last week. When I walked into the doctor’s office I was told of other patients who died and how lucky I was to have made it considering the violence of my pneumonia and the damage the virus did to my lungs.

Hearing the stories of those who didn’t make it, leveled me. It just leveled me.

It’s important that I share that because you may know someone who gets this virus and it’s important that we be there for them not just with medical care but with spiritual and emotional support as well.

I believe I was spared for a reason. I’m not sure why, but I’m searching for answers.

I’ve been wrestling with what to do with my second chance.

I’ve been told by people I love and respect that the answers will come and I believe they will.

I’m on a path and I have to trust.

So far, several people have come to my rescue. And I believe that there may be some divine intervention involved.

The call from Skip came at just the right time.

A call from Max Weinberg, yes that Max Weinberg, which inspired me and pointed me toward a book I need to read.

Two calls with friends who recommended psalms that are relevant to my experience.

A conversation at work about grace, healing, love and faith.

At the height of my illness, so many people sent messages of love and kindness.

I was overwhelmed; grateful for each and every message of hope. Thankful for every prayer.

I vowed then that I would share my story because I wanted to let people know not only about the virus, but about doctors and nurses, family and friends, prayer and hope, love and friendship.

I experienced the power of community in the midst of a period in our history where we are angry and estranged.

I feel compelled to tell you that love and community feels a lot better than anger and division.

I honestly don’t know what I will do with my second chance.

I’m going to trust in the path laid out for me.

So when the darkness washes over me, when the waves hit, I’m going to keep fighting. I’m going to keep working. I’m going to keep breathing—for as long as I can.