Here I sit in the time of pandemic. A lucky one by all accounts. I don't know anyone who has struggled health-wise from Covid 19. Certainly I don't know anyone who has died. We all have our jobs, save Cade, who thanks to a nice dose of youthful optimism, or naivete, or plain luck due to unemployment checks and plenty of other things to keep him occupied, is doing great. Thanks to Jeff's summers off we haven't had to scramble to find safe childcare. Olivia even has a best friend whose family agreed, after 3 months of quarantining, that the girls could safely play together. To top it all off, while small businesses have been falling behind on payments, struggling to stay open and finally closing doors, unable to make ends meet, we have the good fortune and audacity to open a small business that appears to be thriving. We don't have black or brown skin in this hateful country, and so amidst the violence and oppression and racism, we remain privileged, safe, ignorant to the pain millions of people wake up with every day because their skin is not white. We not only don't live where natural disasters strike, we live in one of the prettiest places to be in summer and we get to take advantage of it with leisure and luxury. Our life is a freaking joy ride.
And yet.
As the summer slowly creeps to and end, as Autumn draws close, bringing with it's cooler breezes the evergreen feeling of a new beginning, this year it feels different. In the past those wisps of crisp air have carried hope and and almost excitement of a new start. New routines. New activities. New teachers, classes, friends. This year, though, as my eyes light upon a lone red leaf, as dusk meets the day and ushers it out sooner, I feel nervous. Almost dread. The uncertainty of all that is coming sometimes nearly freezes me in place. Olivia is transferring to a new school for 3rd grade, as all kids do in this town. But they don't get orientation. They don't get to tour the school or see their classroom. They don't get to meet their new teacher. What will school be like for Olivia? How will she wear a mask all day long? How will she be able to make new friends or even nurture old friendships from 6 feet apart. She is already quiet. How will her classmates and teachers hear her beautiful, intelligent voice now, muffled by fabric? How will the kids play? Will school be fun? Will it hold any joy? How can we expect so much from teachers? From 8 year olds? She's starting on the gymnastics team this year. A low-risk sport when it comes to the virus. Yet again my heart beat speeds up when I consider all that's involved. Normally I would be filled with concerns about broken arms, sprained ankles, bumps and bruises. This year, though, it's more than that. We're not allowed in the building for safety reasons. How will she do? She will be the only one joining, so all the other girls will already know each other and know the drill, as it were. Will they open their circle to her? Will they befriend her and show her the ropes. Will they hear her from 6 feet away? Will she feel scared? Will she feel alone? Will she learn and grow in her skills? Will we be allowed to watch her at any point? Will she be happy? The same pondering swirls around my mind for Jeff. How will he be able to teach online 4 days a week and in class 4 days a week? There aren't 8 days in a week! Technology did not prove to be his friend last Spring. Has the district better prepared for the Fall semester? Will the students in his classes participate online? Will he feel the camaraderie with his kids that he normally feels and makes him such a beloved teacher? It's his first year teaching calculus. Will it go okay despite all of this? And last but not least. Will we stay healthy?
In my heart of hearts I know that everything will be fine. Fine. Which is much better than many, if not most, have it from day to day. Everyone and everything has been affected by this pandemic. I can't help but want it to be more than fine, though. Even amidst our luck, our good fortune, our privilege, I can't help but worry about the future and wish it would all go back to "normal." For now I hope I will continue to acknowledge how lucky we are. I certainly hope in the future we will look back at this time and see how much we gained amidst the loss. See how much things changed for the better despite the sadness of it all. We will learn from this, right? Right?
