One year ago today was the last time I packed lunches for my children and sent them into someone else’s care. I rattled off a list of urgent instructions as they stood at the door zipping their coats. Don’t touch your face. Wash your hands every chance you get. Don’t share food. Don’t share chapstick. Stop touching your face. Didn’t their lives depend on these instructions? The past 24 hours brought an onslaught of hard hits, each one chipping away at normal and deepening a gash just the right size for fear.
*****
It was Thursday, March 12, about 3:00 in the afternoon, one day away from the kids’ spring break, and I was sitting on the living room floor with Milo waiting for Andrew to come home from preschool. The evening before I took Andrew to Mini Ninja class, and his teacher gave all the kids a squirt of hand sanitizer at the start of class. Well, I suppose she has to be extra careful. Chip.
During Andrew’s class I called my mom in Chicago. We planned to meet her and my dad in Indianapolis the following week to go to the children’s museum, but all this talk of coronavirus was beginning to feel unsettling, and a children’s museum seemed like the ultimate petri dish. We canceled our plans, but our tickets would be good anytime in 2020. We can just go another time, probably over the summer when the coronavirus was gone. Chip.
As Milo and I played on the floor and watched out the window for Andrew, my phone buzzed with the official message that all Ohio schools were canceled for the next three weeks. Three weeks? Can they do that? Just cancel school for an entire state? It felt daunting but not impossible. I foolishly imagined we would go to parks and to the zoo, maybe even squeeze in a playdate. I would definitely pack up the van to go visit my parents for a few days. An extended three week spring break. We could handle this. Might even be fun.
Within minutes of the governor's announcement about schools, my phone was blowing up with the thoughts and opinions of friends and family all over the country. It wasn’t just Ohio; schools all over the country were shutting down. Some thought it an overreaction, others celebrated freedom from school, but most, myself included, didn’t know what to think. The seriousness of it all couldn’t be overlooked, but I was teetering on a ledge and one faulty step could send me tumbling into anxiety. I didn’t let myself go there—yet.
*****
Stephen left early the next morning and called within a few minutes. He stopped at Kroger to pick up a gift card for someone at work, but at 8:00 in the morning the lines to check out were 30 people deep. Chip.
I put Charlotte on the bus—Wait. Did the girl next to her just cough?—and dropped Andrew off at preschool where he greeted his friend with a hug —A hug? Oh my gosh, he’s going to be the death of our family. I sat in the preschool parking lot debating whether or not to call the doctor. Milo had been fighting what was clearly manifesting as an ear infection, but it seemed like there were more serious medical concerns going on than ear infections. I decided to call and an automated voice told me I was 14th in line to speak with someone. Chip.
The doctor was able to see Milo that morning. Relief. I didn’t know at the time how those tiny moments of relief would sustain me in the upcoming months. All the toys were cleared from the waiting room, and we were ushered to a room in the far back that I had never been in before. The visit was brief, faster than any other time we’d been there. It didn’t seem normal, but Milo indeed had a double ear infection and getting in and out of the doctor’s office felt like a victory. I took a deep breath and wondered if this coronavirus thing maybe wouldn’t be that bad.
We tried to drop off books at the library on our way back home, but they were not accepting returns anymore. Chip.
Soon after we got home I saw a picture on Facebook of the line at Costco, stretching into the parking lot, people waiting hours just to get into the store. I did a mental tally of our food supply. Chip.
I foolishly kept scrolling and saw another picture of an empty meat case at Kroger and an article about a nationwide shortage of toilet paper. I did another mental tally of our toilet paper supply. Chip. Chip.
Information and updates came faster than I could keep up. Emails from every company I’d ever given my email address to sent updates on how their business would handle the upcoming weeks. It was a parade of cancelations. First soccer, then Mini Ninja class, then ballet. The library was closing. The zoo was closing. Airline travel was restricted. Italy was shut down. Hand sanitizer was selling for $100 on Amazon. Church would be live streaming. The president officially declared this a pandemic. Tom Hanks tested positive for coronavirus. Facebook was overflowing with 50 Great Activities to do With Kids at Home and 10 Tips to Help You Thrive While Homeschooling. There were color-coded sample schedules to help me survive my day. There were free virtual story hours and craft hours and yoga hours. We could gather by the computer to draw with Mo Willems at noon and then meet a zoo animal every day at three. Educational websites offered a free month trial. Stephen’s coworkers were packing up their entire work stations. I saw someone wearing a mask. What does shelter-in-place even mean?
My head was spinning, trying to not slip over the edge because the kids would be home from school soon, and I didn’t want them to be afraid or disappointed. Certainly the pain in my chest was anxiety and not coronavirus.
“Are we still going to be able to go on the field trip to the aquarium in April?” Charlotte asked as we walked home from the bus stop. It didn’t cross my mind that we wouldn’t walk home from the bus stop again for at least another year.
“Well, I’m not sure. I think a lot of fun activities over the next few weeks will be canceled, so it might be best if we start thinking of fun things we can do at home instead.”
What a lame response. As if anything we could do at home would be as fun as a field trip to the aquarium. I could tell she was disappointed, but really I was just being cautious, trying to prepare her just in case. The field trip was over a month away.
Certainly things would be under control by then.