The announcement was made last week that West Virginia schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. I had been waiting for that piece of news, and I wasn’t surprised when it came.
I took a deep breath, released it, and prepared myself to tell my kids. This was going to be a big spring semester. My oldest was scheduled to go to Disney over Spring Break in April with her high school band. Perhaps even bigger than that, she had been chosen for a solo in the spring showcase there.
The first two weeks or so of the corona vacation found her singing that solo as she went about her day or while she was doing her homework. Then, the other day while I was listening to her sing along with her favorite musical soundtrack, I realized that I hadn’t heard her solo for quite a while. I was so sad for her because I knew how excited she had been about that part, and I knew how sad I was because I had never heard it done with the choir.
My youngest child was hopeful that she would have a solo in her spring chorus concert, as well. Singing in the choir is the one thing she loves about school. It means so much to her when she gets to perform, and she was hoping to have a chance to shine. The disappointment here runs deep.
It comes in waves, the realizations of what we’re missing. This weekend, it was the fact that my kid wouldn’t see the seniors she has performed with for two years before they leave for college. My youngest realized that she probably wouldn’t see her friends again who were leaving the 8th grade. And as for me? Well, I’m not sure if any of it has really sunk in yet.
The Losses
A part of me wants to feel silly when I think about how sad my kiddos are about the way this school year is ending. I mean, people have lost far more than a trip to Disney, but then again, I can’t bring myself to tell my children to simply get over it. I mean, we’ve all had something taken from us due to this pandemic. Some of us have lost loved ones and friends. Some of us have lost our jobs. And there are too many of us who have been pushed backward by some type of loss or another, but, aside from a few shares of an article online, I haven’t heard anyone really talking about what this is doing to our mental health on a big stage.
I’ve checked in on a few people because their social media posts have seemed a little different. I have asked a few people if they needed anything. I have checked in on those I felt needed it. A friend called me the other night for the first time in months and I ended up vomiting all of my corona rage into the phone. I complained about everything from not being able to travel for work to not wanting to go to the store because I don’t want to deal with people’s looks and comments when I buy what they feel are non-essential items. It was a straight-on gripe fest. I felt badly when I hung up because I had laid all of that wide open, but she didn’t seem to mind. I guess it has been bottled up for about six weeks now.
We’ve been living in a strange space. The world is screaming at us to stay home. We’re made to feel bad if we do go out, but stores and restaurants are open. The world outside is crumbling but you can still go grocery shopping if you choose. Schools are closed, but the governor wants to open childcare centers up again so we can get back to work. I’m trying to wrap my head around school-aged kids not being allowed back in their buildings while we send the youngest and most vulnerable out there first. I know a lot of parents who have kids who fit into both groups. Will they really have to choose between sending one to childcare while the other one stays home for the rest of the year?
How does a parent make the choice to send their baby back to childcare? All of the if’s and but’s will be there that were there for older kids. And the center directors? How will they manage? How do they feel? And will they be able to survive much longer with their doors closed?
What’s Been Lost
The stress of all of this has been heavy. None of us have lived through this before, and there’s no playbook on how to return to normal. I don’t envy anyone in a decision-making position because there will be people arguing both sides of this. I am trying to picture how outside dining is safe when the tables are full since hearing that the governor plans on reopening those soon, too. Summer traditions, such as fairs and festivals, have been cancelled already, even some as far off as July, leaving me to wonder when we will at least appear normal again.
We need to acknowledge our losses and what this pandemic has taken from us. If you haven’t talked to your family about it, that might be a good idea. I think we all need a chance to mourn what we’ve lost; family and friends to high school and college graduations to prom and senior pictures to Disney to solos to sports to festivals to jobs to … the list goes on and on.
Let’s be kind to ourselves as the curve flattens. Let’s realize that it’s okay to feel all of the feelings and that we don’t always have to be sunny. Let’s try to let go of some of the guilt we’re feeling for feeling. Check in on your friends and family because they’re upset and disappointed about things they’ve had taken away, too. Mental health is health, and we need to monitor it. We need to grant ourselves permission to grieve and mourn so we can let it fester and cause bigger losses. It’s okay to feel like you don’t know how or what to feel.
In the meantime, continue to wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. And check in on your emotions. Stay well.
Onward,
Amy Jo
