What I am afraid of

The virus has triggered a new, old feeling in many people who have settled relatively comfortably and securely into an affluent society, people like me: fear.
It's not the cold, naked fear that grips you when a bull terrier bares its teeth, but the vague worry that an experienced captain feels when he registers a change in the weather earlier than others.

Something is coming.

The fear I felt was not about a disease. Of course I don't wish the virus on myself. But I didn't think about it every day either.

No, the fear was for my parents.

They're both healthy, do sport and don't talk incoherently yet. They're in their mid-70s, so they still have many years ahead of them, and as they both have new partners, they're not lonely either. So I'm not really worried about them. And even if something were to happen to them: I know that they have accepted finiteness. They don't cling to life, they're not health neurotics. I think they have made peace with themselves and their lives. They may not have lived the life they dreamed of, but they have lived a life. Above all, they have lived.

No, the fear was for my parents.

The fear that drives me is the fear that they will fall ill and I won't be able to visit them. The idea that they would have to die alone, without a visitor, without someone to hold their hand, scares me.

And then there are my children, their grandchildren. My grandparents were warm but ultimately bizarre people from another time, whom I loved and looked up to, but who remained strangers to me. I was always happy to see them, but when they died, I immediately realised that it was a blessing for them to be allowed to go. My children have much closer relationships with their grandparents. They are actors in their lives, not grey supporting actors. Years ago, when asked what she was afraid of, my daughter replied: «That grandmother will die». At the same time, our children are getting older, they are just starting to immerse themselves in life and sometimes forget to write to their grandparents. «I have so much to do,» my daughter once told me with shining eyes. She has her life ahead of her.
What do my parents have ahead of them?

While I was pondering what it might be like to die, I suddenly wondered whether it wouldn't be wiser and, above all, much more important to hold their hand while they are still alive. So: now, for example?

I decided to call my mum.

Mikael Krogerus is the author and editor of «Magazin». The father of a daughter and a son lives with his family in Basel.

He has blogged for us once a week since the beginning of the coronavirus crisis. This is his last post. Here you can read all the columns published so far during the Corona period:

• Kinder und Katzen sind die wahren Corona-Meister
  Die einzigen zwei Dinge, die ich bislang in dieser *** Corona-Krise gelernt habe, habe ich von meinen Kindern gelernt. Und von meinen Katzen.
  
• Deep Work? Mikael Krogerus übers Homeschooling
  Für den heimischen Fernunterricht holt sich Mikael Krogerus Hilfe aus dem Silicon Valley. 
• Oben kalt, unten verbrannt
  Mikael Krogerus überlegt, an was sich seine Familie erinnern wird nach dem Lockdown. Kleiner Tipp: Corona geht, wie die Liebe auch, irgendwie durch den Magen. 

• Die Essneurosen meiner Familie, Teil 2
  Mikael Krogerus schreibt über seine wilden Corona-Träume. 

• Das Ende vom Anfang
  Unser Kolumnist Mikael Krogerus sinniert über seine Grabinschrift und wer eigentlich die Gallionsfigur der aktuellen Krise sein könnte. 

• Corona-Lockerungsübungen
  Ist die erste Ruhe nach dem Corona-Sturm der erste Vorgeschmack auf die Pensionierung? Mikael Krogerus macht sich Gedanken über die neue Stille zuhause. 

• Im Corona-Flow
  Mikael Krogerus beobachtet den Einfluss von Corona auf den gesellschaftlichen Smalltalk. Neu fangen Gespräche an mit: «Wie hattest du's so im Lockdown?».

• Corona-Zeit ist Filmzeit
  Begrenzung statt Uferlosigkeit, findet Mikael Krogerus. Und versucht, seinen Kindern neu Filme statt Serien zu zeigen.