2 Years Since 1st Suffolk COVID-19 Case Reported, We Remember

LONG ISLAND, NY — Tuesday marks two years since the first case of the coronavirus was reported in Suffolk County.

Although it's been 730 days since that first case, which was reported in Greenport, came to light, it feels a heartbeat away — as if I have been holding my breath every day since.

I remember the first hours after, when elected officials including Suffolk County Legislators Al Krupski and Bridget Fleming, along with Southold Town Supervisor Scott Russell, Greenport Village Mayor George Hubbard, and Southold Town Police Chief Martin Flatley, gathered, socially distanced, around the carousel in Mitchell Park so that they could speak to the fears spreading so quickly within the community.

The faces, the voices I'd heard at countless press events over the years, were the same — but suddenly, everything was different. The streets empty. The stores shuttered. The fear a palpable presence as real and solid as the dark enemy in any horror movie ever filmed.

As a reporter, those first days were, quite honestly, terrifying. Constant emails, messages and texts from residents, wanting to know how many cases, where, what was being done. The daily press briefings, listening to former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, as well as Suffolk County Executive Steve Bellone and on the local front, Fleming, who spoke to the press daily in an effort to share information.

Whatever knowledge we had at the time felt like some kind of armor against the unknown.

There were the societal impacts, the rush on toilet paper and Purell, the dearth of Clorox wipes and the supermarket shelves, emptied of everyday essentials now more precious than proverbial gold.

Then, there were the stories. The heart-aching truths told with trembling voices, of beloved parents lost days apart to COVID-19, of a nurse holding a man's hand so he would not have to die alone, holding the cell phone with the voices of his loved ones, saying their good-byes. Of a mother, terrified that her child might be lost to the pandemic.

The stories of funeral home workers who couldn't keep up with the endless procession of the lost; of refrigerated trucks ordered to ferry the unthinkable.

These stories will live in my heart forever. I will never forget them. None of us should.

There were the stories of joy, of triumph — of a North Fork couple married 61 years who both survived the coronavirus. The story of the lifetime bond forged between a woman, 84, and the certified nursing assistant who refused to let her die. "I love her," she said simply.

As the months passed, we became weary, as a community. A nation. A world. Long-haul survivors battled daily with agonizing symptoms that refused to subside.

The pandemic left businesses struggling and pivoting — and angels, lifting up those in the hospitality industry who needed a helping hand and food to feed their families. Local heroes bringing endless trays of food to feed front-line warriors.

Over the past months, we saw the omicron variant send cases spiking as a controversy over masks threatened to widen an already deepening social and political divide. That same variant derailed holiday plans, kept families apart, another year, another Christmas, left us unable to hug our sons and daughters, grandparents and friends.

But now, the proverbial dawn seems to be breaking. Two years later, mandates are lifting and protocols, eased. Social media pages are peppered with friends and family, yes, on vacation — traveling to sun-drenched destinations where they smile, unmasked, for photographs, making memories and soaking in every moment.

Two years later, this journey has been terrifying and painful, fraught with anxiety, frustration, isolation, and crippling loss. It's been one characterized by anger and denial by some, but grief as wide as the Sound, for others. But it's also brought us together in ways too great, I think, to realize yet. Together, we've lived through something unprecedented. Together, we've found ways to stay close, despite the odds, whether that by via Zoom, or baking oh, so much bread together on Facetime.

We've learned, by all that we've lost, just how precious the everyday things we've taken for granted our whole lives really are. Hugging the ones we love long and hard. Dancing for hours while a band plays loudly. Eating, family-style, at restaurants where tables are close together and hands are held by candlelight. Seeing our children's faces, unmasked, as they board a school bus after so many, many long months. Laughing at Broadway plays and strolling in museums. Cheering at ball games. Street fairs are back this year, festivals — and parades. So many parades, in hometowns where these traditions are deeply ingrained over generations.

It's all there, waiting for us. Life, in all its sometimes messy but always beautiful glory. As we mark two years, maybe the best way to honor the lost is by living, fully and fiercely, in their honor. Looking ahead, with the experience of all we're leaving behind — so we face the future stronger and hopefully, kinder.

On the two-year anniversary, here's to the next two years, and savoring every single moment of those 730 days.