A year of profound loss

By Steven L. Shields

As we reach the end of the second year of the COVID-19 pandemic, most are wondering, hoping, waiting for the time when we can begin to feel normal. Just as things started looking up, the Omicron variant appears. Before it we got the Delta variant, and who knows what is next. That is the nature of viruses.

They constantly mutate, change. The bubonic plague that tore through the world in the 1340s and 1350s ran for seven years before finally burning itself out. That pandemic killed twenty times more people than COVID-19 has, so far.

While some authorities are telling us not to panic, many governments are back in full lock-down mode. Panic is the watchword for too many. Of course, we should be concerned. Of course, we should mask up and wash our hands often. Of course, more people will get infected despite all that. Vaccines may be helpful; everyone should get vaccinated. But vaccines are not a panacea. No vaccine has ever been 100 percent effective. Those of us who get annual flu shots know that. Our doctors always tell us the efficacy of this year's vaccine.

All have experienced loss this year. We experience loss every year. Like the virus that constantly mutates, life continues its cycle. Births and deaths, joy, and sadness. We can only depend on change. Change is the only constant. The life cycle is dependable. Sometimes we wish it were not so. Most of the time we wish it were not so dependable.

This year alone, I have lost several close friends. One friend, Kim, although safe, was forced to close his business of six years. He lives far away. Social distancing restrictions and a change in office workers staying home to work created a negative economic environment.

Despite government assistance to small business owners, Kim still did not have enough customers to pay the rent on his shop space, let alone all the other needs of his business. For the past many years, his shop has been my "living room." It was a place to sit in a comfortable chair and read books, to meet others from the neighborhood, and to watch passers-by. Businesses come and go. It is part of the cycle.

Another friend, Peter, died suddenly in May from congestive heart failure. For the previous year or so he had been working exclusively from home, taking every precaution against COVID-19. He held business meetings online, with European customers, in the wee hours of the mornings.

They could no longer visit Korea to take care of business with Korea-based suppliers and customers. As the pandemic wore on, Peter's stress levels unfortunately increased. Peter used to call me at night when we would have great chats about Korean history and our shared experiences of having lived in and been engaged with Korea for about 50 years.

Baek, a life-long coin and stamp dealer in Myeong-dong, died suddenly of a stroke in late summer. I have known Baek for about 15 years. He taught me everything I know about Korean coins and paper money. He helped me put together a nice, but inexpensive, collection of Korean banknotes dating to the early 20th century. The stories he knew could fill a book. He was only 78 years old and had his shop in the same location for more than 40 years.

He was a treasure, a walking encyclopedia of history. I visited him several times a year, and we would have a cup of instant coffee and sit in the small chairs squeezed into the back of the tiny shop. He would teach me, and I would buy a couple of items or add to my growing wish list. When I returned from visiting my grandkids in September and went to his shop. It was closed. A sign in the window said, "Due to personal circumstances we are closed." I went across the hall to one of his colleagues and got the sad news. That cycle, again.

Many people of faith (regardless of whether it is Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, or Muslim) are lulled into a fantasy-like ideal that "if only" we had stronger faith, "if only" we prayed harder or longer, that Supreme Being would change things to how we want them. The truth is our prayers are often taking the wrong approach. We pray that "god" will take away the pandemic, for example. Or we pray that our loved ones will not become infected or die. Or we pray for a miracle to cure a loved one from disease. The list goes on. We are the problem, not "god."

For what, then, should we be praying? I pray that I can be more loving, more forgiving, more compassionate. Like many, I get frustrated and pop off with angry words sometimes. It is not a pretty sight and I want to be calmer. That is what I can pray for. I can pray for friends who have lost family members that, somehow, I might be able to comfort them by sharing a kind word, by being there to listen.

From a daily practical standpoint, I can support local businesspeople, and spend my money at their businesses. My small purchases may not be enough to eventually save their businesses from closure, but I will have done what I can do.

Loss is ever-present in life. With the only constant being change, we can change ourselves, our perspectives, our interaction with others, and become forces for good change. That alone might make a difference in even one person's life. That would be good.

Steven L. Shields (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. He served as copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977. He is a retired clergyman and president of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea.