That being said, I think we’re going to have to get Liz to that doctor. We think we’ve found a vehicle that will make the trip. Jeremy is trying to gather weapons and several more people to join us. I’m so thankful to have found other people who are willing to help rather than hurt. Still, the trip will be extremely dangerous. My only piece of mind is that I will be able to leave AJ in the caring and capable hands of Jill, Catherine, and the girls.
December 25th
9:15 p.m.
It’s been a long, exhausting, somewhat depressing holiday season. I haven’t been able to bring myself to write lately. It’s not that I’ve been too busy; it’s that the things I have to write were just too tough. And now it feels like writing them will make the emotions that accompany them even more real and raw.
So we made the trip to see the doctor in Melbourne two days after my last entry. There was a group of six of us traveling in two vehicles. We made the journey with no issues, but when we arrived, we found no one there. After searching the area around the doctor’s office, we located a man who we hoped was the doctor himself. It turned out that he wasn’t. It was a man who had assisted the doctor but who explained that he wasn’t a trained medical professional.
He was a nervous sort, and it wasn’t long before we found out why. He explained that a week earlier, the doctor’s office had been raided by looters. The people took all the medicine and medical supplies and killed the doctor. Without the doctor, this man (Ed was his name) was left on his own and unsure of what to do. He said that people kept coming to see the doctor. The only real reason he was sticking around was to explain to the people who arrived what had happened and that the doctor was no longer there. But he added that he was almost out of food and would have to move on to somewhere that had available supplies in the next few days.
He seemed like a decent and caring individual, and we explained to him that we were working to build a small community of good and hardworking people if he would like to join us. He readily accepted, requesting that we wait a few minutes while he penned a note explaining what had befallen the doctor. He pinned the note to the office door for anyone else who might be seeking services.
In the back of my mind, I was hopeful that even though
Ed wasn’t a trained medical professional, he might have retained some of the doctor’s training.
My hopes were dashed however as Liz’s condition grew increasingly dire until she finally passed several weeks ago. The funeral was held on the front lawn. Liz was buried in the dunes out front alongside many of our other condo friends. It’s nice to have her close by, but at the same time, it’s hard since her grave is a constant presence and reminder that she’s no longer with us.
Since her passing, AJ and I have largely thrown ourselves into our work around the condo building with even more vigor. We find that staying busy helps us cope with the loss of wife and mother. I’m glad that we still have each other, as well as the small community we’re building here, but I can’t begin to describe how difficult the past few weeks have been. I find that I’m constantly asking myself if there was something I could have done to save her. In the old days, her affliction could probably have been handled with a quick trip to the local urgent care center; but not these days.
The guilt I feel about the whole situation is almost unbearable at times. I wake up with panic attacks at night. There are just so many questions, so many ‘what ifs’. What if we hadn’t gone out in the rain that day? What if we had gone to see the doctor sooner? What if there is another doctor in the area we just didn’t know about? What if there was someone else I could have asked?
But it’s too late now. Paradise has become a graveyard for lost loved ones.
March (I think)
I’ve lost track of the date since the turn of the new year. The days all blend together, and we don’t have a current calendar, not that I’d use it anyway. It’s not worth figuring out the date, although I’m sure that someone, somewhere, with too much time on their hands probably keeps track; it’s just not me. It really doesn’t matter.
The past few months have been extremely hard on us, especially AJ. Thank god for the girls. I think that without them, he’d be inconsolable. Even though more people have joined us in the condo building, it still feels extremely lonesome here without Liz. The worst are the nights – they’re long, dark, and quiet, and they give us too much time to think. That’s why hard work during the day is the best remedy. Most nights, it keeps us too tired to stay awake very long after dark.
Our little community is making headway here, but we still have a long way to go for things to feel anywhere close to easy. We fish, scavenge, hunt, collect water, and do our best to stay cool. The winter months have made that last part easier, but summer will be here soon, and with it the stifling heat I sure haven’t missed.
I have a part-time job running supplies up and down the coast between several trading posts that stretch from here to Daytona. Payment comes in the form of food and other supplies which we split accordingly among the residents here at the building. There are almost 20 people living here now a number that includes Jill and Jeremy Davis (the cruise ship survivors), Ed (the doctor’s assistant who now helps with the fishing duties), Catherine and the girls (who help with the fish preparation, cooking, and general cleaning duties around the condo building), and of course, AJ and myself.
It’s beginning to feel a little bit more like home, but I don’t think it will ever truly feel like the home we left in Chicago, not without Liz at least.
Before I began to write today (what I plan to be my last entry), I spent some time reading back over previous entries. I find it interesting that toward the start of the flu, we tended to think that it was the end of things. But it was really just the beginning, a long beginning filled with struggle, strife, and hardship. I’m just glad I have AJ to share it with. We’ve been the crutch upon which the other can lean when necessary, and together, we’ve kept the boat afloat.
It’s certainly not the life we expected, but it’s the life we have accepted, and it’s the life we’re working hard to make the best of. Now this is home. Granted, it’s not the paradise it used to be, the place where we could hide from our problems for a few weeks each year, but it’s home nonetheless…maybe forever. And as I once assumed when pondering our many trips to Florida, the problems of life will follow us anywhere…even to paradise.
Even through it all however, AJ and I stayed strong, and we have formed a new life, with new friends, and hopefully one day, new loved ones. Our lives will never be what they once were. All we can do is persevere and strive to make this a place where we can pursue lives that are fulfilling and full of possibilities no matter where they might lead.
The Dystopian Diaries Page 72
