Two Years

 It’s been two years since our lives changed overnight. Two years ago we had each had a foot in both the pre-pandemic and pandemic worlds, one of which we were so familiar with and the other was entirely unknown. Everything prior to March 13th two years ago will be known as the before, the before the pandemic, before masks, before lockdown, and before all things zoom. It is important for me to commemorate this amount of time because we all went through a lot. Collectively and alone we suffered, we struggled, many survived and many did not. 

Text messages went between my friend and me about what was happening in Italy. That seemed so far away so if they were closing their schools, it didn’t seem evident to me that we would be closing ours so soon. Another friend and I met at the park and talked while our boys played. She had already purchased a new play structure for her backyard because she was worried that if they closed schools that she wanted her kids to have something to do outside. Another friend bought pounds of dried beans and rice in case stores ran out of food, while another stocked up on anti-bacterial wipes. I watched them all thinking they were all over-preparing. I was one of those ignorant people who thought that it might take a few weeks but then everything would go back to normal. I was so wrong and they were so right.

Honestly, when schools shut down a week early for spring break, I was happy. I wasn’t happy with what was happening around the world, but I thought the kids could all use a break and we would all be back in three weeks anyway. I remember reading an article about how people were getting themselves more worried about Covid-19 than they needed to be and the anxiety they were causing themselves was worse than the virus itself. Whoever wrote that article was also very wrong. What started as an extra week of vacation turned into everyone's worst-case scenario. Hospitals were filled with dying patients. The virus was more contagious than anyone initially thought. People did indeed panic buy food leaving grocery store shelves bare. We were afraid to walk out our front door, afraid to touch our own mail, we wiped down everything from the outside world and stopped seeing other people. 

After it was clear we would not be returning to normal for some time, we wondered how and when kids would be allowed to return back to school. When my friend told me that they wouldn’t reopen it at all that year, I couldn’t process her words. Unprecedented was the only word that would stick in my mind. None of us knew anything and we just got through the day as creatively as possible while wearing so many new hats. Teacher, chef, entertainment coordinator. I would clad a mask and take the dog for so many walks just to get out of the house. At one point early on I started to feel claustrophobic and asked my husband to take over while I went for a drive. I couldn’t be inside anymore and yet we weren’t supposed to go anywhere. I had to see something that hadn’t changed so I drove to the ocean. I didn’t even get out because we were not allowed on the beach. I just rolled the windows down and breathed in the salty air as I stared at the ocean. I was envious of its crashing waves, the tide moving in and out despite the pain that people were feeling everywhere, it kept moving unaffected by a lockdown. It made me feel at peace even if it was only for a few moments.

That last Friday before the lockdown began the final school bell rang and I walked my kids over to our friend’s house. We were unsure if we should be socializing, but we knew it might be the last time for a while so we let the four kids play in the house together while my friend and I had tea. This was all before masks and social distancing were in our vocabulary, yet even so we were afraid to get too close. We were careful to wash the mugs and spoons we just used because we knew nothing about how this new virus could spread. When we said goodbye that afternoon, little did we know how very long it would be before we would step foot in each other’s houses again?

The last day of school came and went without any ceremony. My daughter was in sixth grade and after such a challenging transition to Middle School, she had finally started to like it when it all shut down. Middle school is hard enough to get used to in the best of times so if there is any age to avoid your peers I suppose I would choose to lose out on middle school. My son was in second grade and having the best school year. He loved his teacher and had a wonderful class of kids. For him, it was devastating to end the school year with zero closure. That summer came and there were no camps to send kids to. There was no traveling to see the world. There were no family get-togethers, so my friend and I tried to make the summer as interesting as possible. We took lots of trips to the beach, which had opened again for the summer.  We “traveled” by doing crafts, eating new foods, and learning about other countries. We did scavenger hunts. My kids and I painted rocks, did a lot of sidewalk chalk, we raised chicks, fostered kittens, and played a lot of board games. 

That August we took a family road trip because it was safer to manage than getting on a plane. It was one of the best experiences we have had as a family and one that we talked about doing but only made happen because of the pandemic. When school started up again it was all online which was a nightmare that was only countered by the fact that we could get out of town and zoom from anywhere, so occasionally we did just that. These little trips were our self-preservation. I baked more, cooked more, read more, and created more. The quiet time together wasn’t all bad. I am forever grateful to have had one year that went by slowly enough to really see my children. When it was time to go back to school, all of us were ready. I would be lying though if I said there weren’t things I missed about the slower pace the pandemic made us take. 

Now two years later, things are back to a new version of normal. We still wear masks a lot of the time. We still don’t just go into each other’s houses. Lots of people just work from home, but school is back in person. In some ways, I am still really missing the interaction I had a few years ago. In other ways, I am content with a simpler life. The virus has been a roller coaster but it now seems a lot more in control and a lot less deadly. The world is by no means in a great place these days, but we have come a long way together, and I will take whatever peace comes my way. May we all be healthy, safe, and at ease again soon.

A World Without Ned

 As a teenager, I met Ned after he came to see the Off-Broadway play I was in. He was looking for a young girl to play a role in the play he wrote called “Funky Crazy Boogaloo Boy.” He asked if I would meet him at a pizza shop by a subway train stop downtown to show me the script, and see if I was interested. He explained the play was going to be done at his theatre company, Naked Angels. As he explained this to me on the phone he must have heard my hesitation, between the word Naked, meet him at this pizza shop, and the fact that I had no idea who he was. He asked if I wanted to bring my mom or dad with me, and that is when I knew he was a good guy. 

The play that he came to see was directed by Liz Swados about racism and antisemitism. It was creative, educational, loud, heavy, and intense. It was an incredible theatrical experience, both for the audience and for me in the cast. This play was many things and meant so much to me, but it was far from what would be considered a traditional play. Liz was just as eclectic as her art. She was unpredictable, extreme, and fiercely protective of us. Our cast was made up of mostly teenagers and for the four years we worked together she became our theatre Mama. It was sometimes a complicated relationship but we loved her, and she loved us.

When Ned met me for a slice of pizza he handed me his script and told me a bit about his play. It was the story of a Jewish teenager falling in love with a Black girl. It took place in the sixties when navigating each other's communities was nearly impossible. It was such a beautiful, funny, and poignant story. In comparison to what I had been working on with Liz, it was a much more traditional piece of theatre. I liked and understood what his vision was right away. Before I even got my slice, I knew I wanted to be a part of it, but I waited to hear everything he had to say before saying yes. He gave me the script and told me the role he wanted me to consider was the fourteen-year-old little sister. She was annoying and irritating to her brother because her music and makeup seemed trite compared to his real-world relationship problems. I fanned the script glancing page by page to see how many lines my character had. 

Ned laughed and said, “You are a true actor right there, counting your lines before you commit.”I laughed because I realized at that moment just how obvious I was being about it. 

Ned was kind, patient, and had smiling eyes that seemed to beam out joy. I was excited about the script and excited to work with him. The schedule worked out perfectly with the other play and along with my friend Shawn, we were able to be a part of both these fantastic productions. My days were full of rehearsals for Ned’s play and performances for Liz’s play. I felt like both provided a sense of family with both these theatre parents guiding the way. The contrast between the two of them was clear. Liz was the tough one, and Ned the gentle one. I loved them both.

Ned was warm and welcoming to everyone who was part of the play. Every time we walked into rehearsal he would say “There he is, or there she is.” making all of us feel so important to him and to the production. This was his way, not only did he make you feel like he was happy to see you, he legitimately was happy to see you. The play was a great experience between getting a chance to work with a great cast of actors, and meeting a slew of successful thespians who came to see the play. When the run was over I was disappointed to have to say goodbye to everyone. Many of us stayed in touch, including Ned and me. I finished college and found my own tiny apartment on the upper west side. By chance, my new place was a block away from Ned and we would occasionally run into each other, or plan on a walk or cup of tea. When I moved to Los Angeles Ned sent me off with a piece of paper with a name and number on it. He told me when I got settled in I should give his friend George a call. I was twenty three and leaving the only city I ever knew to try something new. I had mixed feelings about leaving my friends and family in New York, and I wasn’t sure how long I would last in LA, but I had to give it a chance.

I called George a few weeks after arriving and it was like talking to a piece of home. I didn’t know him, but because he was Ned’s friend he felt so familiar. They grew up together and were high school buddies from the Bronx where my mom also grew up. George and I became close friends. We went to movies together, he introduced me to a lot of his other friends and helped me get work when I needed it. We talked about seeing Ned whenever we went back to New York. George shared the news with me when Ned got married and later had his son. When I met my husband and later when I had two kids of my own, I stayed in contact with Ned and George. 

A few years ago I found out that Liz passed away and it shocked me. I didn’t know she had been sick. I always thought I would go back to New York and visit her again. As I get older and more people I know pass away, I am trying to find a way to process loss. There are moments when because of the time difference it is too late or too early to call my dad in NY. I sometimes wonder if that feeling of missing the chance to talk to him is what it will feel like when someone I love is gone forever. 

One day while my daughter was at school and I was home with my toddler, George and Ned surprised me to come for a visit. They arrived at my house together and it made me so happy. I could see the sweet relationship they have had over the years, and when they both walked in Ned hugged me, took a look at my son, and said “there he is.” My son was barely one and smiled up at Ned with his mouth wide open and his two little teeth gleaming up at him. We had a wonderful visit the four of us. I never imagined it would be the last time I would see Ned.

We stayed in touch checking in now and again. George would fill me in on what projects Ned was working on, how old his son was, and how his family was doing. George would always tell me when he saw Ned and would send me his regards. A few days ago when I saw Geroge’s name pop up on my phone I smiled, but my smile fell instantly when Geroge told me that our friend Ned had died. He lost a battle to two types of cancer. A battle he barely shared with anyone. In true Ned form, he kept the light in his eyes strong even as he suffered so that he could go to work and could provide health benefits to his wife and son. 

I can’t believe that I won’t see his smiling eyes again. The world lost another good guy, and I lost a great friend. 

Soar

 There is a recurring dream I have often enough that it is clear enough in my mind that I have to remind myself it is just a dream. I am standing on two feet, I bend down and lift straight up off the ground. Once I am high in the air I lean forward and soar. I fly through the air watching the ground below me as I pass it by. It feels so real and so effortless to fly up and above the ground below. I am alert, aware, and present in my body. I have to lean a certain way or I get shaky, but I know what I need to do to correct my positioning and steady myself.  

Flying dreams are not uncommon, and I do wake up realizing that I can’t actually fly, but the feeling isn’t unlike when I used to figure skate. Every Olympic year a flood of memories of my skating days rush in. I became a figure skater when the 1988 Olympics were barely over. I watched Ekaterina Gordeeva and Sergei Grinkoff skate.  I  was so enthralled by their speed, their grace, and their enthusiasm. I wanted to do what they were doing and couldn’t wait to try. I begged for my parents to sign me up for a skating lesson and loved every second of it. My first coach is still a close friend to this day. 

I rarely skate these days. My daughter who now is the same age I was when I started competing, really loves to skate. A few years ago she showed interest in taking lessons but there isn’t a rink nearby and the closest one is a fancy expensive training facility that was just too expensive. There was a local rink right near where we now live but sadly it was closed down the year before we moved in. I have a feeling if it was still there she would have followed in my skate steps. Similarly to me, she was inspired to skate from watching the Olympics. Last Friday night I took her, along with her friend, and my son to skate down at the fancy skate center. I decided to skate too since I didn’t want to sit in a cold arena. I pulled out my old skates from the garage and when I laced them up at the rink the foam from inside the tongue fell apart. There was no edge left on my blade since I have had these skates since I was seventeen. They weren't as comfortable to put on as I remember. 

I took the ice and it felt familiar enough to skate around holding my son’s hand. He has only skated once before and wanted my help. Once he felt comfortable enough to let go, I tested my own comfort level. As a skater I was always taught to skate into the ice as opposed to on it, meaning deepening my knee bends and connecting to the ice a bit. I found this more challenging than I remember it to be. I used to take off speeding on the ice, turning backward, and doing crossovers around the rink. My blades didn’t feel sharp enough to skate into the ice and it had been a long time since I flew around the rink forward or backward. I asked myself if I missed it, and I didn’t, but I did miss the feeling of coasting off the earth. I missed the feeling of being in control at a faster speed than I am off the ice. I missed feeling the cool breeze as I glided around the rink. At the end of the session, all I could muster up the courage to do were a few single jumps and a few spins. 

Friday nights at the skating rink are a teen's hangout. It makes sense and I was happy to see so many kids doing a fun activity together. My son and his friends were the youngest on the ice, and without a doubt, I was one of the oldest. It felt odd to see figure skaters practicing that weren’t even born when I was practicing like them. In my mind, I thought I would one day get a coach, relearn everything I used to be able to do and maybe even compete again. I don’t have that drive anymore though. I stumbled onto a Facebook page for figure skating adults and spent some time reading some of the posts. People complained about how much ice time and lessons cost. Or they were looking for a certain type of blade soakers, that you use to soak up the water after you have skated. They posted about finding time to skate around their work schedules. I didn’t join the group, this wasn’t me. I don’t think being an adult skater is in the cards for me again. Surfer yes, skier yes, swimmer yes. I do think I get some of the same feelings from those three activities. I don’t have as much confidence doing them as I used to on the ice, but especially swimming quenches my thirst for soaring off the earth. I love being underwater and moving in what feels like another world.

My daughter wants to go back to skate again tomorrow with her friends. I will gladly drive them to the rink, but I won’t be bringing my skates this time. As I stay in touch with my skating friends they update me on the skating world that they are still very much a part of. They all had daughters who are now skaters themselves. They are again waking in the early hours of the day to get to a skating session before the school day begins, only now they are just the drivers like my dad was for me. I am grateful for all the chauffeuring around my dad did to get me from rink to rink. I am often the chauffeur now and it can get old fast. My daughter still asks me from time to time if she could try a skating lesson sometime, she knows that her schedule is pretty full these days with other passions she has. She is in the school play, plays tennis and loves filmmaking. If I can help it she will keep pursuing areas where she can soar off the ice. The competitive world of figure skating can be pretty cold. I’m happy to have her skate with her friends on those teen Friday nights. I will drop her off next time though. 

Stay Gold

 After three months of rehearsal, my daughter got to participate in her first play this past weekend. She couldn’t eat for two days leading up to the performance, and the morning of opening night, she wasn’t sure she could make it through to the evening with the nerves she was feeling. She went through a series of “what if” questions with me, and I did the best I could to reassure her that it would all work out in the end. This was an experience that she and I had both hoped she could have experienced earlier on in her middle school, but if she gets to finish out eighth grade in person then this year will be her first, last, and only year of middle school. 

For years to come, I think I will mark the passing of time by before and after the pandemic. Photos, trips, and memories will be defined by mask wearing. Despite the incredible advancement of science stepping in so quickly, I think it will take quite some time until the impact of last year’s lockdown lessons. My two children have lasting memories of the challenges they were dealt with during school last year. My daughter seemed to lose all muscle memory of socializing with her peers. This happening when socializing with peers at this age was arguably the hardest even without the pandemic was like salt on the wound. She stayed in her bedroom hour after hour trying to stay as engaged as possible while she stared at her screen. She was comfortable reaching out to friends on her own but also didn’t want me to reach out for her. Other than the memories we made together as a family, it was a lost year for her.

My son had a hard time navigating school on a laptop, but it was fewer hours. In hindsight, I should have gotten him help to supplement how little he was getting, but my priority was to keep him moving, social, and outside as much as possible. He was younger and so it was a lot easier to make that happen for him than it was for me with my daughter. He seemed to be getting by okay, but his very rocky adjustment back into school as a fourth-grader makes it apparent how much he lost by missing a year. He is still struggling to catch up and as a parent, it is painful to watch his self-esteem drop the way it has recently. We are giving him the extra help he could have used last year – better late than never.

My daughter’s adjustment back into school this year could not have been more opposite than that of her brother’s. She was a wilting flower that got a drop of water and came fully back to life. She found her ability to socialize again, which I am sure was challenging for all of them, but so very needed. She was so excited to be back in school and took advantage of all it had to offer. She made the tennis team, joined improv again, got super involved with the student council, and auditioned for the play. 

In seventh grade, part of  the required reading was the book “The Outsiders.” This year the school decided it would be the play they would do. One of the many reasons for this choice was that like the characters in the play, the students had all endured a difficult life experience living through the pandemic. Everyone could identify with accepting their situations, trying to re-identify with themselves, and trying to overcome hardship. The play was also about gangs, violence, and the ongoing battle between rich and poor, which in reality was also relatable to a lot of the kids who participated in this production. It is a large school so the roles were double cast to allow more students to participate. 

My daughter got the news that she was cast as Pony Boy, who is the lead character who not only acts with the other characters on stage but also talks directly to the audience narrating as the play moves along. She had wanted a part in a play, but she wasn’t prepared to get the lead, nor was she so sure she wanted it. She worked hard though and in the end nailed every single line. I don’t think I let out my breath until intermission. She blew me away with her focus, acting ability, and dedication. I was proud, I am proud! 

There is a poem by Robert Frost that Pony Boy recites to his best friend Johnny.

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Later in the play, Johnny from his death bed explains why he disagrees with it and tells Pony to “Stay Gold.” It is a sweet moment that became the famous quote from “The Outsiders.” Admittedly, I am guilty of poking fun at how cliche that line can be. I even bought my daughter a sweatshirt with the quote on it, because I thought it would be “cute” to have as a memory from her experience. As I watched her on the stage, the words took on a new meaning for me. I watched her with a group of friends, some old, some new, all working together. I watched how she was part of this production along with all the other kids, after being locked inside alone last year. I watched as all of these kids, despite what the world has gone through, were gold again.

The play wasn’t without flaws, it is middle school after all. The wigs were all a bit odd, there was some backstage rumbling into hot mics, and the kids had to do the entire production from behind their masks. It took some effort to figure out whose line was being said by who, since we couldn’t see their faces, but despite it all, they all came alive and were shining. 

The other night my husband was telling me how he had caught up with an old friend. He told me that when they asked him how he was, he had answered that things were really good. I was surprised at his positive spin. He is and has always been a glass-half-full person, but after every blow he has been hit within the last few years, he is still able to focus on our health, home, and family. I admire him for that. I have had a harder time finding all the positives when I can’t quite see the finish line clearly. I appreciate that we are on our way, but I miss working together with people. I miss a sense of community and teamwork. I catch glimpses of it in bits and pieces, but I don’t feel connected quite yet. I feel hopeful and watching these kids reminded me that we can and will all shine again. Even behind the mask, there is a light in our eyes that has been able to “stay gold!”

By November

 When my daughter started Kindergarten she cried and clung to me on the first day of school. The teacher’s aide had to take her from my arms as I ran out so no one could see me crying. The next day she wrote a note to us saying, “I’m not goin to school” and then clung to the couch when it was time to go. Other than the missing “g” she had written her note so well that I thought maybe she didn’t even need to go to Kindergarten. We kept taking her back and in those first few weeks, the drop offs didn’t get any easier. The teacher let me know she was okay once she settled in for the day, but saying goodbye each day was brutal. In the second week of school, a mom who had been watching me suffer each morning told me something that I keep reminding myself of lately. She explained that she was a teacher before she had her own kids and she always noticed that each year for some kids, it would take until Halloween for them to settle into the school year. She said there was something about Halloween that helped bring the kids together as a class and she hoped that would be the case for my daughter as well.

She was right and by November my daughter stopped crying at drop off. She started again after every vacation, even after Spring Break with only weeks left to the school year, but she eventually got comfortable at school. Every year since has included some tears, fears, and in most cases both for both of my children when it is time to go back to school. This is hard to watch as a parent, but not unexpected since I also struggled every year to settle into school. At around third grade, my daughter stopped crying on the first day of school, but she is yet to eat anything for breakfast on those first few days due to nerves. In sixth grade, at the beginning of middle school, she had an especially difficult transition. She would get into my car after school and plead with me to let her stay home the next day or to homeschool her. Little did we know then her wish would come true, but by then she had finally settled in.

It is difficult to know as a parent, when to save your child, and when to keep trying. This year my daughter was nervous, didn’t eat, and was not excited to go to school, but it didn't take her long to sink her teeth into school. She acclimated so well this year, which will hopefully be her one (and only) full year of middle school. My son was more excited to go back to school this year. He has had some teary start days in the past. He has gotten scared, clung to me, and needed to be the kid that gets to help the teacher in the morning, so he can be distracted from his sadness. Historically his morning jitters start to pass after the first few weeks. As a second-grader he really loved his teacher and had a pretty great class of kids, but then the pandemic struck and school hasn’t been normal since. 

Last year being home all together, all day, every day, had its challenges. For my son the loss of learning and the loss of the love of learning were impossible to ignore. He would sit in for his obligatory zooms and then the struggle would begin to get him through his independent studies the rest of the day. His tears last year were followed by begging to return to school. When the doors finally opened for the last two months of school, he literally hopped into school he was so excited. Again, he loved his teacher and was so starved for social interaction that nothing could damper his mood. When it ended at the beginning of June we were all sad.

This year he is in fourth grade and after so much loss of learning and loss of time at school, he and a number of kids are working with a staff of interventionists to get them up to par. The school has had a lot of turn around lately though, and with a new teacher and a new principal, it was even more challenging to return to school. Fourth grade is also the year the class sizes go up from twenty four children to thirty. The first day he went in happily since he was thrilled to be back with friends and back to a full day. When I would ask him about his teacher he would respond with one word answers. He went off the second and third day fine as well, but then things started to shift. There were a few situations that came up that seemed out of character for him. He was having trouble navigating conflicts with other kids, being silly when he should be focusing, and shutting down when he didn’t understand school work. A particularly challenging kid is in his class and that has presented more than a few issues. I have received calls, had zooms and emails with his teacher. I even got my first phone call from the principal this year, and I’m taken aback how quickly a child’s disposition can turn so quickly.

It is really a perfect storm of post pandemic, missing a whole grade, and a lack of academic confidence. He has started to cry on the way home from school because the day was hard, crying himself to sleep at night because he doesn’t want to go the next day, and then crying in the morning because he is afraid to go. My husband and I are trying to give him tools to help get him through the day. We try to remind him to take one section of the day at a time. We remind him of the good parts of school that he likes. I pack him up with an arsenal of snacks, positive reinforcement, and a promise to see him a few hours later at pick up. What he is feeling is anxiety and I know it all too well. As someone whose makeup consists of the same fear of new beginnings, my heart breaks for him. I believe in genetics and that generation after generation passes down the will to live, and also the worries about living. Since it is in my nature to lean towards the more anxious side, I need to find ways to nurture his nature now too.

The day-to-day can be considerably more daunting when you add in anxiety. Things seem harder than they need to be, mean more than they need to, and feel scarier too. We are working with him to remind him that he has the ability to turn some of that noise down to a calmer, safer, and healthier volume. We have our work cut out for us, but I also am holding out hope for a magical Halloween, and that things will begin to settle by November.

Close Call

 We eat a lot of pizza. Mostly I heat up a frozen Trader Joe’s one, sometimes I make one from scratch, but ordering one in is a treat for us. Last night the kids were so excited that we offered to pick up one, calling it “a real pizza.” Before my husband went to pick it up, he and my son were joking around about where the best pizza place was. He headed out to our downtown area and when my son saw my phone ringing with his dad’s name across the top he answered “What do ya want?” He is silly ninety percent of the time, so I smiled across the room and listened in, but my son’s face changed quickly. He went from smiling. to confused, to scared, and then quickly handed the phone over to me. I picked it up expecting to hear my husband’s voice but it wasn’t him.

“I am calling from your husband’s phone. Your husband has been in a car accident.” said the voice on the other end of the phone. I was still trying to familiarize myself with this voice. I wondered if it was a friend he had run into and my husband was laughing standing beside him? That isn’t really his sense of humor, so this must be someone who doesn’t know us that well. 

“Is this a joke?” I asked, hoping that it was.

The tone of his response made it clear that he wasn’t joking. I think he said something about wishing he didn’t have to make this call, but my head was spinning too fast to catch on to any of his words or to find any of my own. Eventually, I managed out an apology for thinking he was joking, but I was too afraid to ask the most important question, “Was my husband ok?” I needed him to just tell me. As if I said anything my words would actually have the power to change what had already happened. He told me that his car swerved over the sidewalk and into a wall. He told me my husband had a concussion. He told me that my husband was confused. Those three pieces of new information swam around in my head for a few seconds. My first thought was why would anyone drive into a wall? My husband wouldn’t do that. Then I worried that maybe his phone had rung, or worse he tried to text someone, but that didn’t seem like my husband either. I asked if he was bleeding or if any bones were broken. He told me my husband was sitting up with his legs crossed, confused but talking. His legs crossed. That sounded like my husband.

The man who called me said that my husband's phone seemed damaged and he couldn’t hear me that well. If I wasn’t convinced before that he had been talking about my husband I was certain now. He asked if he could call me back from his cell so he could hear me, and those few seconds waiting for this stranger, who was connected to my important person, felt like forever.  This time when the phone rang, it was a name I didn’t recognize, a person who I hadn’t talked to until a few minutes before, and yet someone I depended on deeply to tell me it was all going to be okay.  My thoughts began to clear enough for me to ask detailed questions. I needed to do something and suggested I come to the accident site, but the man said my husband was likely going to be taken to the hospital. He told me he would stay on the phone with me to keep me updated. He also sent me two photos to show me what the scene looked like. He confirmed that the ambulance would be taking him to a nearby hospital. I thanked him, got my kids in order so I could leave them for a bit, and head out to see my husband.

When I rushed through the doors of the ER of our closest hospital, It was more familiar than I wanted it to be. We had been here before. Just over three years ago my husband and I were hit by someone who ran a red light. We aren’t even done dealing with the mess from that accident and here we are again. In my effort to get to my husband as quickly and safely as possible, I completely forgot about Covid. There was no one allowed in the ER or anywhere in the hospital. My husband had been moved to a room and I was handed a piece of paper with a number to call for updates. I left the ER and sat down outside on the closest bench and cried. Since I couldn’t be beside him, I settled for as close as I was allowed. I texted my husband to tell him that I couldn’t get in, and when he responded to his texts I could tell something wasn’t right. He asked me where he was and then asked a few confusing questions like if the kids were in an accident or if someone was in trouble. My stomach dropped as I reread his questions. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I think you are confused.” I wrote. I waited a while longer outside, alone on the bench. I knew I shouldn’t drive until I calmed down. I knew it was common to be confused after a concussion but I didn’t know if that was all he had. I wanted to learn more, to talk to a doctor or just to be told he was going to be fine. . If I wasn’t going to go in to see him after a while I decided to go get the pizza he ordered. The kids would be happy to have it. By the time I parked my car, I saw more texts from my husband, this time all of them made sense. He told me the police came to let him know that the man who had hit his car was drunk, admitted guilt, and was arrested. He told me that the driver was so apologetic to him and kept saying he wouldn’t leave my husband’s side until he knew he was taken care of. He also said that the man who had called me was such a gentle, kind man who helped him out of the car when he was still unconscious and there when he came to wait for the police. Then my husband said I should go get that pizza. 

On my way back to the kids I drove to the site of the accident. There were huge skid marks, shattered pieces of plastic, shards of glass, and a piece of what was once our bumper. The tire tracks went right up on the sidewalk and threw the planter of dirt that had been behind the cement barrier that was shattered into crumbles. We don’t know exactly how the other car hit ours and from what direction since my husband blanked out for the entire accident, but we were told the whole thing was caught on video. I don’t care about the car. I'm not worried about the details of insurance, or lawyers. I don’t have it in me to be angry at the man who drank and caused the accident, but I wouldn’t go as far as my husband who feels bad for him. It is over now. What I do care about is that I almost lost my husband, again and I am so happy I didn’t.

When I drove from my house to the hospital I saw neighbors out walking their dogs and I was jealous of the simplicity of their evening. I thought about how long it has been since life has felt normal. Every time I reach for a piece of even a new normal, it slips from my fingertips. The next day my husband was home. He was checked and given the all-clear.

 He was told to expect his head to ache for a few days and maybe his body too. I woke him every few hours as instructed to make sure he was okay. When I brought my kids home from school, my son asked for help with his math homework. My husband jumped at the chance to sit with him, and as I watched them both I felt the words “Thank you!” flow over me. Things may not be normal for a while, but if the four of us are together, then we can wait as long as it takes.

Being Negative

 This time last year we took our kids' first day of school photos of them out in front of our house like we always do. They didn't have backpacks and they didn’t have shoes on. They also didn’t go anywhere but straight back in the house to log on for school. They did not return to school until mid-April and when they did finally go in it wasn’t all day and it wasn’t every day. Last year we locked down at home in the face of a raging pandemic. My husband, my two kids, and I spent every day working separately, but together all from inside the house, all of us in front of our computers. It was fraught with problems, but we did what we had to do and got through it. 

This year when my children stood side by side for their picture on the first day of school, they were finally actually going to school. It was the smoothest first day of school both kids ever had. There were a few nerves, but no tears, and overall a lot of excitement. They both came home looking more enthusiastic than I have seen them in a very long time. It was then that my emotions kicked in. I was all over the place. I was thrilled for them, but suddenly furious about what we lost last year while staying home. To see the light on both of their faces, to see the twinkle in their eyes, making it impossible not to realize how long their sparks had been out.

At drop-off at the elementary school the next day a pediatrician friend of mine joked that she gives school one week before it shuts down again. I feigned a smile and a laugh, walked away, and tried not to show my concern. The Delta surge is posing a big risk, especially to unvaccinated people, which is the entire elementary school student body, but one week? I know we will likely have some positive tests and some, maybe many families will need to quarantine, but I just want my children to have normalcy back in their day to day. I was hoping for a few months, or at least weeks, but we might all have to settle for days. 

I am not prepared to have my children at home for another school year. Without a doubt, it was not healthy for any of us. Children need other children, and I need quiet time. When a friend mentioned to her husband that she needs a plan if the kids end up having to be home due to Covid, he told her she was being negative. I don’t agree with him on this one, we aren’t wondering what will happen if schools shut down. I think it is likely that they will at some point shut down again. Maybe just for a group of kids, or a grade level, class, but it will likely happen. I don’t have a plan in place for how it will work for my family, but I do know I will scream.

We have all been thrown into the fire, we have experienced collective trauma, and all of us have had to mourn life as we knew it two years ago. The rate at which our lives changed was so rapid that eighteen months later, we are still trying to process it all, and we are adults. For our children the idea that one day they can go to school, and the next they can’t is baffling. I remember that first month of the lockdown being faced with so many of my children’s questions, none of which I had answers for. We still have a long way to go with this virus, and there will be a lot more unknowns about what the future will look like. 

With the vaccine there came a sense of calm, hope, and freedom. I thought it was the beginning of the end, and maybe it still is, but the initial restart button on our lives didn’t stay pressed long. With the Delta variant, the lambda, and other variants we don’t know about yet, we went one step forward and two steps back. I am relearning the Greek alphabet while I try to keep track of variants. I make sure my kids leave for school each morning with water, lunch, snacks, books, and the right mask. Simultaneously things feel normal and bizarre as we go from hardly leaving the house to full days of school, meetings, sports, after school activities all within the last week.  Just walking up to the gate of school on the first day, my muscle memory kicked right in. I walked up instinctively as I had for years, but then I saw the cones lined up to mark off the lines the kids were to stand in before entering the school. I saw the sea of masked faces. I saw the parents being asked to move into a line beside them to avoid crowding. It is impossible to not feel the impact this virus has had on all of us, but when I see these kids excited in line waiting to enter their school, I am grateful. For each and every day that they get to go to school this year I will celebrate. 

Wishing all the kiddos out there a fantastic normalish year ahead while I am also being as realistic as possible. As soon as the school starts testing all the students there will be calls home to come pick up your kids from school. It is only week two into the school year and already three friends of mine at other schools have their kids quarantined this week due to a positive covid test for a child in their child's class. So while I hope for negative tests all around, I don’t think I am shooting negative vibes into the universe when I think about when not if someone around us gets a positive test. I will make sure to stay distanced when I find out, not just because it's the safe thing to do, but also because my scream is likely to break the sound barrier. Desperate times call for desperate measures!