“Just think,” I said to my 12-year-old, “when you’re planning your kid’s 13th birthday party and she asks what your party was like, you can tell her that it was spent at home because of the Coronavirus Pandemic of 2020.”
This week was supposed to look a lot different. First of all, I was driving to St Augustine, Fla., for a speaking engagement. I felt blessed because we were staying with a friend who had said she would stock her fridge. I have never been to St. Augustine, and I was so excited, PLUS both of my kiddos have birthdays this weekend, celebrating 16 and 13 years. I felt as if the planets had aligned. I could taste the salt in the air and couldn’t wait for a few days away from here.
And then BAM. COVID-19 cleared the itinerary.
So, instead of beaches and live music … instead of parties and friends … instead of big meals out at the restaurant of their choice … we will be celebrating birthdays at home. It definitely wasn’t how I had it pictured, but this whole week has been a bizarre reminder of how vulnerable we are, despite being the most powerful country in the world.
I can usually handle whatever is tossed at me. I get a little crabby when filled with anxiety, but I am able to handle regrouping, changing course, and starting again. I don’t freak out in the midst of the struggle. I am the rock that doesn’t roll and always wait to fall apart when the emergency has ended. I have walked through some pretty big fires in my life, but this week has had me on edge more than I can ever remember being before.
Exposure?
It started on Monday when I thought that one of my children had been exposed to the virus while babysitting. I was terrified. I mean, upper-lip sweating, voice-and-hands-shaking terrified. And I’m a fixer with the lived experience of life bringing some fast and furious unexpected storms, so my head was already three days ahead by the time I got to my kid.
First thought was what I could do to protect her. Then, immediately, my mind went to my mother, who was with me in the car, and what I had to do to protect her. Then PING to my other child and how to keep her safe when we got home. My head was like a pinball machine, and the ball dropped as I was forced to realize that I, too, needed protection because I don’t have health insurance.
I called my friend who knows all the things. She gave me some pointers and phone numbers. And then I prayed and sweated until I got to my kid. My mom called the health department, who helped to calm my nerves a bit. For the next 20 hours, I felt as if I was going to puke. I didn’t relax. I didn’t sleep. I was mentally absorbed by silent list-making and reading everything and anything I could find about the virus and kids.
She rested beside me on the couch that night, and we sat there, my arm draped around her shoulders, which is something she doesn’t do much of these days. I knew that whatever happened that I would do what needed to be done. But I was scared. And it was worse because I realized that there really was nothing I could do. I was powerless in my fear, and that is a feeling/realization that I am not used to owning.
A Vulnerable State
The next morning, I touched base with the friend who had been ill and was reassured that her fever had been gone for a long time and had never gone over 99 degrees. I felt my shoulders relax and my nerves stopped tingling. She wasn’t exhibiting any of the symptoms of the virus, and I cried, locked in my bathroom, with relief. But COVID-19 had almost done me in by the mere thought of it trying to attack someone I loved.
And that’s where I am. While the country is stockpiling toilet paper, I am hyper aware of how vulnerable we are as a nation. I am hyper aware of how vulnerable we are as a state. I’m worried about the working-class folks I know who work in retail and are essential right now. I worry about my friends in the restaurant business, staff and owners. I worry about my friends who have already been laid off. And then I allow myself to feel proud of the skills developed because of my lived experience. I know how to ration food. I know how to prioritize needs. I know there are options when you run out of toilet paper. I have boxes of Airborne on standby and elderberry.
I am working from home and am homeschooling. I have realized that I can’t be present on a conference call and help a teen understand “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at the same time. I’ve had the staunch realization that my kids might not get everything done by the time it’s supposed to be, but I have also (maybe most importantly?) shown myself a little grace. I’ve almost dealt with the guilt of not being all things to all people this week. Almost.
Making Memories
And I realize that no one can tell me how to emotionally and mentally react this week. And I know that I lost almost an entire day filled with dread and fear. But I also know that today I will see what I have to do to buy birthday gifts for my 16-year-old. I will call around and find a deli with a big chocolate chip cookie. We will spend the day on conference calls and homework, and our evening will be dinner, sweets, and presents without a lot of fuss. Monday will be a repeat of today as my youngest turns 13.
Years from now, when we remember these bizarre days on birthdays to come, I want us to laugh about the Great Amy Jo COVID-19 Freakout of 2020 and brag to my future descendants that we made it through. I want us to learn important lessons during these next weeks, lessons about compassion and empathy, truth and fiction, kindness, and hope. I want us, an all-girl house with two female teenagers, to be able not to just exist in the same room together but to BE in the same room together. And I want us to remember that it might be necessary to freak out for a minute … but it’s rarely necessary to hoard toilet paper.
Stay well. Wash your hands. Don’t touch your face.
Amy Jo
