I wrote this the other day. It's just the first part, as the second part is still unfolding. It's a passion piece about this time, in and out of our home. It’s not perfect, it's not meant to be either. It just felt necessary to write this all out before time steals my memory.
Here it goes...
We had gone to Italy in December, right before the world crumbled and fell sick. Iller I should say. Finley was coughing and we had to give her breathing treatments for Bronchiolitis on the flight to Rome. We were unaware of the looming danger in the air at that point. Her breathing became clearer as the trip went on, but at the same time we were there, enjoying pizza, art, wine, and walks, the virus was spreading all over the world. They think it began in China, I am not so sure. We returned and headed back to work a few days after attempting to settle into our “normal” routine. It was the new year, 2020.
On my commute, I listened to information about this novel coronavirus on NPR, and how quickly it was spreading. Here though, as always, Americans’ felt protected. As if this virus could recognize borders, and shocked that it didn’t. People still gathered, greeting, and sharing about holiday break, getting close, giving hugs, sharing food; the normal.
A couple of weeks passed, more cases rose. Rose. ROSE. Endless almost. I listened to the news religiously. Worrying my already worried mind. Trying to process the death count, see the signs of sickness, knowing it was coming. I was not hopeful in the least bit. Usually, I worry for no reason, but this felt incredibly valid. It was. It is.
March arrived, like a lion they say. That sentiment couldn’t be more true.
Then, with eeriness in my body, Finley and I boarded a flight to Arizona. A fun weekend getaway for an early March wedding of a dear friend; a pre-virus trip I’m glad we went on and endlessly grateful that we didn’t get sick. It was a night flight and everyone was already tired; bodies trying to keep up but can’t kind of tired. The woman sitting directly behind me began coughing. Loud, louder. I was pissed. I had packed masks just in case, one for me and one for her. I put mine one, she refused hers. Toddlers and nationalists have that in common. I wanted to shield her, so I held a baby blanket up and around her body, a tent around her so she would be safe from this unseen virus. Numbers rose.
We sat around the pool, laughing and enjoying the sun and company. The topic of the virus came up occasionally...as well as future travel plans to see the world. Italy had just closed it borders. I was reminded of our carefree time there, saddened for those infected and killed from the illness that swept through. I messaged my host mom from years ago, who I had just visited with months before. She was well but scared.
The following week the number of deaths and sick increased. There was no stopping it. People travel, people love to travel. It becomes who they are. And so the virus traveled too. It was here. NYC, Chicago, Seattle, LA. Major cities struck, then it spread to outskirts, to the smaller towns and villages, to the places where nothing happens. Devastating, heartbreaking. Schools, businesses, restaurants, bars, churches, airports, etc. etc. etc. Closed. Until further notice. Until it went away...but it’s not going away. We were asked to quarantine.
Home, if fortunate enough to have one, became the mainstay. I was terrified to leave. Maybe I listened to too much news, maybe not enough. I woke up early most days to listen, staying up later than normal to catch up before bed. I have never liked just standing by, not knowing. I needed to hear what I could, learn how to protect myself and anyone I would come in contact with. How I could lessen the chances of my daughter, grandma, mother, husband getting ill.
Hand-washing, even if never leaving. Cleaning, nonstop. Sitting outside, distanced. Disinfecting everything that came through the door. Dancing, for my mind. Calling and zooming friends, and crying. Crying at breakfast trying to understand. Crying at lunch trying to understand. Crying at dinner, not understanding. Fights over “being safe” to an invisible threat. All of it.
We played more, laughed more, fought a little. Staying in with someone 24/7 is not normal, at all. We are meant to see people and share stories outside our home. But living like before will never be normal again. And that is okay, I’m okay with that, and I’m glad I am okay with that.
Quarantining was painful and joyous. I feel terrible saying that. So many died, and it’s not fair, and it’s not over. But I was with my little family, and I doubt we will ever have that much time together again. Just the three of us.
Time—time and time again—time is consuming. It haunts us, it takes us, it wants us with it and not at all. Some days felt like minutes, some like weeks. We worked from home, we became colleagues of sorts, with each other and our daughter. She joined meetings and set up works stations of her own. We ended many days with a drink and dance party in the living room. We jumped around and tried to get built up energy out of our bodies. We put our bodies to work around the house. Fixing and fidgeting with projects, making new spaces within familiar places. We painted, sealed, added, and changed. We cleaned, vacuumed, moved, and rearranged. We uprooted and planted, laid and watered, and sowed a garden of our own. Having wanted one for so long, and then it was there.
We turned inward, home non-stop. Being part of a collapsing and ill world felt kind normal by May. Then the world stopped. Again.
A murder. A knee on his neck. Pain so deep, so raw. We wept, as a nation, well most of us. Screw the racist assholes who saw it otherwise. He lay there, videotaped and crying for his breath, for his mother.
George Floyd, gone.
Them, free. Again.
I mowed the lawn near our garden as I watched my husband with daughter on the patio read the news of his murder. When I stopped, he shared with me. We had seen this before, but would it be the same? Would the country enrage and then go back to old ways? I prayed no. I think most everyone did. Pray, think, send energy every way.
The country exploded. Rightfully so.
Angry, passionate, pissed-the-fuck-off rage, and love. Silenced and whitewashed by too many for far too long. One-by-one masks were put on, and despite the virus, we gathered. We had to. Marches around the world, tumbling statues, burning buildings, and broken glass. For the Black and Brown bodies, for their pain, for their centuries of conditional “love.”
Tear it down.
Start anew.