Covid Letters, No. 8

From my husband’s first cousin MacKenzie Cooper comes another letter from the west coast. I feel for everyone in quarantine with small children.

Thanks MacKenzie.

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Here in the Bay Area, by mid-February we saw the virus looming. My husband was reading alarming social media posts and quickly got me on board. After he stocked us up on staples (and I made a separate run to stock us up on critical items like chocolate and ketchup), we decided to attend an event on Feb 28th as “one last hurrah.” We weren’t sure about having a babysitter in our home or getting a sandwich at a restaurant or going to a theater. The woman next to us kept offering everyone hand sanitizer and the crowd was silent when the Canadian host, trying to lighten the mood, offered “free hugs” during intermission.

In the week or two that followed I told anyone who would listen to start social distancing and my husband and I talked at night about when we should pull our children from daycare and first grade. I canceled work travel and sought relief from my requirement to report to the office once a week. He did the same. Finally, we decided we couldn’t send the children to school anymore—and then the world caught up. Like all at once everything I’d been watching on the horizon came and people rushed grocery stores and offices sent workers home and our children were under our roof. All day, with no relief while we tried to work our jobs. Although new challenges set in, I actually felt some degree of relief – I don’t have to warn everyone; I don’t have to seek permission to adjust my work schedule; I just have to wait.

In the waiting and isolation it is hard not to worry. I worry about everything about the world to the difficulties of small children in an apartment with downstairs neighbors. For the first time in my life I think about food security and access to medical care in a way that is personal to me. I never realized how exhausting it could be to wonder constantly if my children are playing safely or if the groceries will stretch to the next planned grocery run without depleting emergency supplies. And I know that I am so privileged to have been able to store up food and quarters for laundry in advance while many could not. I hope this experience will make me more compassionate.

In this time at home, I think also about my family. My three year old’s growing vocabulary is charming — she has started using the phrases “whew, that was a close one!” and “don’t worry, that happens sometimes” many times a day and often (and loudly) sings “The Wheels on the Bus”. But she also throws massive temper tantrums and clings to my leg and says “I miss you mommy” even though I can’t go anywhere. I move 10 feet away from the breakfast table to my desk and she sings “grown-ups come back.” My usually sensitive 7 year old, is handling much of the experience with impressive resilience. She recently asked me “could you sign me up for gymnastics or soccer when it’s allowed in a year or two” without a sense of mourning but rather just recognizing that it’s not allowed now. I try to answer questions honestly, but also tell her how amazing it is to know that — for the first time in her life or mine — people all over the world are working to solve the same problem. I try to hide how sad it makes me that no one is spared. She’s been introduced to social media sooner than I would have liked—she misses her friends, but misses more when she calls them. I tell her we’re doing this to save lives. While she waits she binge watches surgeries on “Dr. K Exotic Animal Vet” and acts them out on her stuffed animals, imagining the day she can save animals’ lives instead.

I think also about my marriage and about those separated from loved ones right now, especially teenagers. My husband was 17 and I was 19 when we met at the end of our freshman year of college. Within weeks of meeting each other—and within days of deciding we wanted to date— we parted ways for three months. We spent a summer not seeing each other, but instead talking on the phone, telling jokes, and learning about each other. Our sophomore year we spent another month apart when I was not available even by phone. In advance I wrote him a letter to open for each of the days I was away. These exchanges while separated set us up for a really good friendship — we still laugh about these conversations or dumb jokes I wrote over 20 years later. It also set us up for some of the challenges to come. I think often these days about the month in college when I had undiagnosed pneumonia. Without enough energy to make it to the dining hall a block away —and unable to eat much anyway with my raw throat — he brought me bananas and apple sauce and ice cream. It set us up for the two years after college when we dated long distance. I’m hoping it set us up for months shut in a two bedroom apartment with two small children and the stress and strain that brings. These months can help build the friendships that bring you value and help you see what —and who — brings you love. Those people will be there when we open our doors again, provided we can keep each other safe.