Emotional Pandemic
I cried today.
I'm not even sure what day or date "today" is. All I know is it's today, and I cried - and that's not something I allow myself to do consistently. We may be quarantined amidst a global pandemic, but I still don't have time for that shit.
My seven year old daughter had a simple assignment: To write a letter. Start with a greeting, move on to the body, a quick closing (like "love" or "your friend"), and your signature. Pick a person - any person! - and drop a letter in the mail today. Simple, short and sweet.
She chose her best gal pal, who lives less than five minutes away from us. She dated the top right corner, quickly spelled out her greeting in her best handwriting, then stared at the paper.
I held the silence for a few seconds.
"Well, what would you like to say to her?"
"I don't know," she said flatly. "I'm tired. I don't want to do this."
I paused before I responded. I looked at her with all the patience and love that my eyes could possibly convey - because I know what I'm tired means.
I'm tired means "I'd rather be sleeping, or numbly watching TV, than thinking about how long it will be until this is over." I'm tired means "I'm home, and they're home, and five minutes away translates into an eternity."
Ultimately, I'm tired really means "It hurts too much to think about the people and places I miss."
I felt my breath hitch at the base of my throat, and I tried to quietly clear it, not wanting to expose my own pain. I know I'm supposed to show my vulnerability and emotions with my kids - to showcase that it's OK to cry, and it's alright to not be alright all the time. But it's been almost a full month with no extended family, no friends, no school, no playgrounds, no stores...and they're already on the brink of being truly scared all the time.
So I swallowed it down, and cursed at myself at the same time, hating what I have to be right now. Mom, teacher, friend, playmate, housekeeper, chef, the constant calm in a raging storm of germs and changed routines...I was never meant to fill all of these roles for my kids, but here I am. And here we are.
I looked at her face, and I looked out the window at the sunshine.
"Well, baby-doo," I whispered. "It's a gorgeous day today. And the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can sit outside in the sun. Just five minutes is all we need. Start with five minutes, and then we'll talk about a break if you need it."
She looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen from her. She breathed in deeply, and then turned back to the blank page.
"Just write whatever you have on your mind."
With that, she bent over the page, and began writing:
Do you want to have a playdate after all this is done? Would you like to play with my new LOL doll house? We have a new tent. Do you want to play with it? I miss you so much. And Teddy would want to play with us too if that is ok with you.
She put down her pencil, quietly said "We'll mail it tomorrow, ok?" then walked away.
I watched her leave the kitchen, and I turned the corner into our mudroom. I quietly sat down on the small bench in the corner, put my back against the cool wall...and I cried.
I'm not even sure what day or date "today" is. All I know is it's today, and I cried - and that's not something I allow myself to do consistently. We may be quarantined amidst a global pandemic, but I still don't have time for that shit.
My seven year old daughter had a simple assignment: To write a letter. Start with a greeting, move on to the body, a quick closing (like "love" or "your friend"), and your signature. Pick a person - any person! - and drop a letter in the mail today. Simple, short and sweet.
She chose her best gal pal, who lives less than five minutes away from us. She dated the top right corner, quickly spelled out her greeting in her best handwriting, then stared at the paper.
I held the silence for a few seconds.
"Well, what would you like to say to her?"
"I don't know," she said flatly. "I'm tired. I don't want to do this."
I paused before I responded. I looked at her with all the patience and love that my eyes could possibly convey - because I know what I'm tired means.
I'm tired means "I'd rather be sleeping, or numbly watching TV, than thinking about how long it will be until this is over." I'm tired means "I'm home, and they're home, and five minutes away translates into an eternity."
Ultimately, I'm tired really means "It hurts too much to think about the people and places I miss."
I felt my breath hitch at the base of my throat, and I tried to quietly clear it, not wanting to expose my own pain. I know I'm supposed to show my vulnerability and emotions with my kids - to showcase that it's OK to cry, and it's alright to not be alright all the time. But it's been almost a full month with no extended family, no friends, no school, no playgrounds, no stores...and they're already on the brink of being truly scared all the time.
So I swallowed it down, and cursed at myself at the same time, hating what I have to be right now. Mom, teacher, friend, playmate, housekeeper, chef, the constant calm in a raging storm of germs and changed routines...I was never meant to fill all of these roles for my kids, but here I am. And here we are.
I looked at her face, and I looked out the window at the sunshine.
"Well, baby-doo," I whispered. "It's a gorgeous day today. And the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can sit outside in the sun. Just five minutes is all we need. Start with five minutes, and then we'll talk about a break if you need it."
She looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen from her. She breathed in deeply, and then turned back to the blank page.
"Just write whatever you have on your mind."
With that, she bent over the page, and began writing:
Do you want to have a playdate after all this is done? Would you like to play with my new LOL doll house? We have a new tent. Do you want to play with it? I miss you so much. And Teddy would want to play with us too if that is ok with you.
She put down her pencil, quietly said "We'll mail it tomorrow, ok?" then walked away.
I watched her leave the kitchen, and I turned the corner into our mudroom. I quietly sat down on the small bench in the corner, put my back against the cool wall...and I cried.
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