Last night, we drove home from spring break. We were down in Florida, and spent an absolutely lovely yet bizarre week sharing a house with friends; bizarre in the sense that even though we were in the midst of the best weather we’d seen since what seems like forever, all we could think about was a world that we didn’t quite recognize, and one we were nervous to interact with without a gallon of hand-sanitizer, barbed-wire gloves, and a light sabre.
Most of the time when we ventured out, it was to the local Publix. The first couple of days, we were able to find all that we needed. As the week went on, we started seeing less and less available, with what seemed like minimal replenishment. The final time I visited, I arrived as thirty people were waiting in line to go in. Many were elderly, many wore masks, and everyone looked nervous if not outright fearful.
The road home was a quiet affair. My wife Stephanie and I silently thought about the same things: our new normal in the era of COVID-19, of distancing, of whether or not our children will see the inside of their school again this year, of the news from our parents that there are so many things that you can’t find at the store without grace and blind luck… bread… ground beef… eggs, with no guarantee that any of it is coming back soon. It’s a bit like the shelves during a snow-pocalypse… but on crack. And possibly a touch of meth.
We had a reservation at a Hampton Inn in Chattanooga to break up the fifteen hour drive back from Sarasota to St. Louis, but decided to cancel it because we thought being in our own home would be safer; the thought process being that even if there happened to be any COVID germs in our house before we left, they would be dead after eight days of being undisturbed.
The ride was also spent listening to a 2013 interview on Sirius/XM with the now-late Kenny Rogers. It was a masterclass of the good and bad decisions that all of us have made in life, and the words of wisdom that he’s now left with us… besides knowing went to hold them, fold them, walk away, or run. One that hit me hard was, “My dad told me to be friendly to everyone, but be friends with few, because friendships take work to make them work.” Don’t think I’ll ever forget that nugget of wisdom; so spot on.
From Georgia through Kentucky, we re-lived all of the emails sent out from either teachers or the principal of our sons’ school over the past days, alerting us that we would be doing distance learning, and then we should go next week to pick up books, finishing with, “You have a forty-five minute window to pick everything up on Sunday.”
As we crossed the Poplar Street Bridge and gazed at the magnificently lit-up Gateway Arch, a surreal experience greeted us for the last eight miles: we saw a total of five cars. At 10:23pm on a Saturday, St. Louis is usually buzzing like mad. Now, it was a ghost town.
This morning, we unpacked, picked up our dog, and went by the school at our designated time. As we arrived to pick up the books, the smiles on the faces of those brave and selfless teachers made me realize just how much they were willing to do for their students and the parents of those students. It truly made me smile.
Sadly, apart from the phone call to my folks, and the moments that Steph and I have had with our boys and each other today… there is not a whole lot to smile about. Every time I turn on the news or read the latest social media posts online, I realize that we are, indeed, in a dire situation. I saw it in the grocery store just this morning, with people attempting to push their carts into the paper goods aisle, only to stop and slump and the barrenness of it all.
And as I asked the check-out person if and when there was any type of light at the end of this tunnel that didn’t happen to be the lamp of another locomotive, I saw the light leave her eyes for a moment. But then she steeled her gaze and smiled and said, “We’ll get through.”
And I think at this moment in our history, that’s one of the things I’m going to imbibe. For those who don’t know, I’m a cancer survivor, and there were so many times during my treatment when I was just so lost… and the only thing I had to hang onto was the fact that, at some point, all of this would eventually be over.
I also learned, however, that during those times, no amount of, “At least” or “Look on the bright side” would help. In those moments, I just had to embrace the suck. And sometimes, it was simply the best thing I could do for myself: to rationalize that things weren’t good, and that it was normal for me to feel that way.
So while people (myself firmly included) shout from the heavens to do everything we can to be positive, I think it’s also important to know that it’s okay to admit that things suck, to grab on to the suck, to hold it tight, and… yes… legit embrace it.
And once you squeeze the marrow out of it, put it down and do whatever you need to do to simply “get through.” And if you’re so inclined… pray that we all “get through” stronger for it. I know I am.
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This is a series that I’ll be writing while in our quarantine. This will feature all sorts of things, from advice given, to advice requested, to recipes, to anything worth sharing. Much love and good thoughts to all of you.
