Covid Kid

Dear Andy,

Things this week have been a little insane. Actually, things have been a lot insane. A few months ago, we received reports that a new deadly virus in China was gaining momentum. We didn’t think too much of it at the time. We’ve endured yearly epidemics like this one. But over the course of a few weeks, the situation has become dire and frightening. The illness is moving across the globe, killing thousands, with no sign of slowing.

As a nation, the United States is frightened and panicked. People are raiding grocery store shelves until there is nothing left. Some aren’t able to work, and it seems the lingering effects of what is now a global pandemic may be felt for years to come. Your dad and I, like everyone else in the world, are scared. And we’re trying to figure out how to deal with this fear without letting it affect you too much.

Last night, after laughing with you through your bath, reading you a bedtime story, and kissing your head good night, we stayed up talking. We talked about our fears. I told your dad to tell me everything he was worried about to try to release some of his very legitimate anxiety. He talked about the fear of people we know dying, the loss of jobs, the panic spreading and causing destruction, and then he told me he was worried about you.

“These are Andy’s formative years,” he said. I nodded my head. “He’s going to remember this. He’s experiencing this collective trauma and as much as we think he’s unaware, he’s going to pick up on our fear and grief going forward. He’s going to always have this as a part of his upbringing. Like how there were Depression-era kids or Cold War-kids. This is a crisis of his generation’s youth. He’ll always be a Covid kid.”

Covid-19, or Coronavirus, is the illness everyone is most trying to avoid right now. It causes coughing and shortness of breath and is highly contagious, even in those who show no symptoms. It’s as new and mysterious as it is deadly. And if there’s anything we humans don’t like, it’s things that are mysterious and deadly.

So we’re on quarantine, spending as much time as we can in solitude. We are all left contemplating the future, bound to the alerts on our phones that let us know just how justified our panic is. And we listen to instructions. And we wait.

Other countries have demonstrated to us the beauty that can come from this uncertainty, and also the grave pain. Italians are singing to each other in the seclusion of their verandas and balconies, while doctors there must decide who lives or dies because there aren’t enough ventilators to treat everyone. They are saying the United States might be next, that we may repeat this catastrophic turn of events. It seems that in some ways we already are.

You see, Andy, this nation is supremely divided. More divided than at any point in my lifetime. We have so much access to information, false and true, that no one knows what to think anymore. Many in our country don’t always believe in science or medicine or doctors or warnings from the media. They are cynical and have written information off as sensationalism, and there’s some truth to that. We live in an era when sensationalized information is what sells, and we live in a nation that prioritizes monetary gain over the well-being of its people. So this emergency is a culmination of those unfortunate truths. And I fear in time, we will all pay a price for it.

But as a parent, Andy, the most harrowing thing one can think is that their child may need to pay the price for the sins of misguided adults. But all too often, paying for the sins of misguided adults as children is at the root of trauma for many of us. I want to shield you, to protect you. But the truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen next. And that’s something I have to live with. Always.

There’s beauty in this moment, Andy. I see people panicking and acting from a scarcity mindset. And I’ll admit that I’m not immune to this way of thinking. But I also see people helping each other and bonding over this shared experience and this fear. As we connect in the space of what is not known, we cling to what we do know.

We know we have love at this moment, and families we can turn to. We know that sunshine is free and that a warm breeze will carry sorrow from our hearts, if only for a moment. We know that children who are joyous and happy and spend the days laughing and pretending will grow. And we have a responsibility to meet them in their joy to the best of our abilities. We know we will all one day die. And we know we have every day until then to fully live.

So we hug and we kiss those who we still can. And we pray for those we can’t help and donate and work for those who we can. We write and read and paint and play outside. And we wait. For this catastrophe. For the next. For the planet to warm, for the water to wane, for the wealth to fade.

We truly don’t know what lies ahead, and there’s freedom in that. And that’s because for the first time in a while, we are all awake to that truth. We never know what lies ahead on any given day, it just takes a crisis for us to realize that. And so we have the opportunity to live each moment as if it’s the last, to find what really matters, and to give our hearts fully to those we love. Not because it’s the end. And not because we may not get another chance. Because deep down, we all know, it’s what we should have been doing all along.

I love you with an insane love you will not understand anytime soon. And I want you to remember that the earth is holding us all. When you feel lost and scared, as I do now, find comfort in this- you are not alone.

Last night, while your dad looked concerned, I put my arm on his arm. “I can’t say everything is going to be okay,” I said. “But I can promise you that no matter what, we are in this together.”

Suffering is a part of life, Andy. And you must remember that no matter how bleak things seem, at the end of the day, no matter the circumstance, we are all in this together. All of us.

Love always,

Mom