I used to have a perfect life. Maybe not perfect, but perfect to me. I had everything I had ever dreamed of. Life was easy for me. Finally. My marriage was seasoned and we were happy. Our two daughters were happy and healthy. My husband was finishing his degree. We were getting ready for a long vacation in Europe. Our troubles were few.
I try to remember our last normal day. I wish I could have known, could have savored it. Told myself that it would be the last time that I'd have peace in a long while. I got up that morning and made a hot breakfast for my husband and youngest and sent them off for the day. I poured a cup of coffee and sat at my computer and started work. My oldest popped her head in to say goodbye. She looked beautiful. She had just gotten her license a few weeks prior and was excited to be driving herself to school. It was a relief for me. After doing morning runs for the better part of 10 years, I had the morning to myself.
She headed out, and I worked. I looked at Opera tickets in Verona. They hold an opera festival there every year in the Coliseum. There were rumblings of the virus in the news in Italy but it was so far away- 5 months that it didn't dissuade me from purchasing tickets.
That afternoon, I picked up my husband from work and we drove to West Ashley to my youngest daughter's first track meet. It was the first activity she had done since gymnastics and she was enjoying herself. She walked from the middle school to the high school with her friends every day. We sat on the bleachers and watched her compete. She looked so beautiful, in her track uniform with the sun shining on her face.
We headed home and I had a phone call with another mom about the 8th-grade picnic that we were planning to celebrate the milestone of our children completing middle school. That evening I poured a glass of wine and sat on the couch with my husband. The children were showering and finishing their homework. It was a normal day, a great day. When we woke up the next morning, there were talks of states shutting down and I made an emergency trip to the grocery store. Then, I waited.
The months that followed were difficult as events were canceled and the normalcy of living was slowly sucked out. My kids missed school, routines, people. Virtual school was difficult for them. They hated it. Some kids do well with it, but not mine. There was a quiet resentment about the who thing. I did my best to stay positive. I'd smile, plan activities, and tried to speak comfort to them. Once a day, I'd go work in the yard or walk and that's when I'd break down. I didn't want them to see me like that.
There is this tree on the old golf course in our neighborhood and I call in the crying tree because I would go and sit under it sob. Sometimes you just need a good cry to get it all out. That was at the start of the pandemic. I don't really cry at all anymore. I am cried out, there are no tears left in me.
My oldest was accepted into The Governor's School. It was her dream. She's talked about it for 3 years. About the new music building, doing homework in the courtyard by the fountain, going downtown with friends on the weekend, performing regularly. She was passionate and excited about it. Of course, they announced that they would go virtual in July. I don't know if devastated is really the word to describe it.
We tried to be positive. We re-did her entire room. Painted it, got new furniture and a new desk. We tried to connect with other students locally, which didn't work out and just made things more disappointing. They said students will be back on campus in January. "It's just a few months. We'll make the best of it." I can't even tell you how many times I've said it.
We waited with bated breath for news about the high school. They announced that there was the option to go back face-to-face five days a week starting in September and give a blended option. When I went to my daughter I said, "You can go face-to-face but they are making the parents sign a waiver that says it's not their responsibility if you die." She looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "I'd rather die than do virtual school."
School has been different but she has thrived. She enjoys the high school, she's made new friends, been involved in new activities, and is volunteering. She starts a job this week which she is super-excited about. In spite of the masks and the social distancing, there is a sense of normalcy for her. It has been a blessing.
I think it was hard for my oldest to see her sister go back to school and she was stuck in her room, day after day. Zoom link, after zoom link. The joy slowly fading. "January will be here before you know it," I would say. But January seemed like an eternity. The waiting was the worst part.
They say that a mother can only be as happy as her saddest child. That is the truth. If you could see my heart right now, you'd see it in pieces. Held together with all the hope and faith that I have left in my tiny little body. I live in Spain but the S is silent.
At the start of October, I had a call with my daughter's guidance counselor. We spoke about things and finally, I said, "I need you to tell me the truth. I cannot keep getting my child's hope's up and have her hang on to something that isn't going to happen. They aren't going back in January, are they?"
There was a long pause at the end of the line. Surely she was debating whether or not she was going to break the rules by telling me the truth. "Please don't tell anyone, but no, they're not," she said in a voice that was similar to the way you tell someone that their loved one has died. There was a sad acceptance in her voice and it shook me to my core. "There is no guarantee she'll even go for senior year," I replied. "No, there's not," she replied.
I felt like my knees were going to buckle. I mean, I knew it in my heart of hearts, but the confirmation crushed me. I could not ask her to sit in her room, alone, day after endless day, in front of a computer. I knew I had to tell her and when I did, she didn't breakdown. She has nothing left either.
She just looked at me and said, "I have to go back to school, Just let me go back." That's what I did. I re-enrolled her in her home high school. Even with the mask and social distancing, there is a sense of normalcy that she needs. Getting up in the morning, getting dressed, learning in a classroom, interacting with her peers. She needs that. She applied for a job right away and got one earning double than what she was making at her previous job. She is slowly coming alive again.
She is in a re-building stage of life. What do you do when your dreams are dead? You bargain, you cry, you mourn and then you get new dreams. It's all any of us can do.
I've thrown myself into work. I started my own Digital Marketing Company. I have a handful of long-term contracts and do side projects. I started my own podcast. I've kept busy. Fuck this pandemic. If I'm home, I'm going to hustle and be a badass bitch.
We are still in very dark days. This is not over. One day this will all be a painful memory. The lessons learned will change us irreparably and shape who we are. It will make us stronger. We will hunker down, we will pray and we will try to have some semblance of normalcy. I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to have the option for my children to be in school. I am grateful for the roof over my head and the food in my mouth. I am grateful for my husband. I am grateful for my faith.
I pray to God to allow me to bend without breaking.
