As I’m sitting in my bedroom — I mean, my office — I’m reflecting on our new “normal.”
My oldest is doing college online from the dining room table. My middle daughter was sent home from her Americorps service year in California. My youngest attends Zoom classes in her best sweats, lamenting missed senior-year activities. We also have two extra kids living with us during the quarantine — seven if you’re counting. We’ve binged our shows, eaten too much, played a five-hour game of Monopoly, gone on countless sanity runs and dog walks, and cried seeing the real pain of families losing loved ones.
I feel fortunate that my family is well and that I have a job. I don’t ever want to look past those blessings, and I’m confident we’ll get through this as we always do. What I don’t want to forget are the families riding bikes together, people waving and being kind, neighbors singing and learning instruments. May we remember the healthcare workers, the volunteers making sure kids get breakfast and lunch, the principals leading teachers and loving the kids.
My fear is we’ll just move on — back to vitriolic comments, violent thoughts about the man with too many items in the express lane, honking at the car that’s slow off the light. This coming together will fade as it has before. I was a firefighter paramedic on 9/11. In the months after, firefighters received an outpouring of gifts, recognition, and thank-you cards — and then, as quickly as they came, they faded.
May we not forget this time we were “forced” to spend with loved ones. May we not forget those who felt even more alone. May we remember the amazing job our healthcare workers do every day. We will get through this — let’s get through it better.