Six months into the pandemic and I still feel like I’m stumbling out of a haze. Ever since the Covid wrecking ball crashed into our lives, we’ve scrambled to pick up the pieces and fit them together into some kind of a new normal. Everyone has a personal tally of what Corona has cost them. Some have paid huge prices; loss of life, health, mental health, isolation, or livelihood. Ours did not have that weight. But even so, the string of smaller losses felt relentless, leaving sad messes everywhere.
When the pandemic hit, our family was headed toward a cluster of exciting milestones and life transitions. We had celebrated one graduation with three more to go. Then, all three kids were moving out, and so were we—packing up our house to travel indefinitely.
Our oldest had finished her Masters in Computer Science. Her grad ceremony was cancelled. Before Covid she’d landed a job in big tech on the West Coast. She was scheduled to fly there to choose a neighborhood, a home, and a boss from three dept options within the company. That was cancelled. Fortunately, her company did not rescind her job offer like many did. She rented a place from some online photos and her plans still went forward.
Our middle kid graduated with her undergraduate degree. The MCAT exams were cancelled, starting with the date in May she had signed up for. This would delay her plans to go to medical school for a year. She was bummed. Eventually, the MCAT people opened more test-taking slots in August. She scrambled and in the end, met all the necessary deadlines for med school applications.
Our youngest lost the best part of her senior year, which she’d been heavily anticipating. Prom, senior awards, college signing, senior trip, high school grad, her Associates Degree college grad. All those celebrations, gone. Completing her Divemasters Certification in the summer, cancelled. Her first year of university would be online.
Then, my dad passed away in the end of April. He was in a retirement home so none of us could see him, except for my sister who could play her doctor-card. We did a zoom memorial service, which was surreal on so many levels. Our little square faces on the screen resembled Candy Crush more than a major life loss.
Three weeks later we moved out of our house. Movers took the older two girls’ belongings for Seattle. We packed up boxes for the youngest kid’s university apt, and put the rest of our stuff into storage.
After we moved out of the house, the plan was a long family summer trip. Two solid months with no time conflicts for anyone, likely the last one with all of us for this length of time. All three had graduated, needed a break, and were pumped for the trip! We would start in Ireland, do some of our favorite places in France and Spain, and then countries in northern Africa. But Europe said no. Africa said no. So we planned a road trip across Canada, since we have dual citizenship. But Canada said no. Thank goodness we live in a gigantic, beautiful country. New York and much of New England said no. We road tripped where we could for two-months, from coast to coast to coast. Miami. Seattle. Miami. It wasn’t what we’d planned, but ended up being a spectacular National Park tour we otherwise wouldn’t have done. Utah did not disappoint.
I’m not gonna lie. I struggled not to wallow in what didn’t happen; the last big summer family trip, all the graduations and celebrations. But while driving on a long stretch of Texas prairie, a different perspective hit me hard.
The Covid monster shut the world down. A global time-out. With one giant sweep of its massive arm, it cleared the table of everything we go out for; work, school, friends. These things were no longer happening on its watch (unless you’re Sweden). The disciplinary consequences for ignoring this time-out could be long-term health repercussions or death. But excuse us Mr. Covid Monster, sir, but you seem to have left us with uh… nothing!? It paused to consider this, agreed the empty table was a bit stark, and may not be the best creative use of our limited time on this planet. After some thought it decided to allow us one thing for the best use of our limited time on this planet, that often isn’t prioritized in our busy lives, and placed this treasure oh so gently in the middle of the nothingness—our family.
The monster, unsure we understood what we’d been given, threw in a bonus kicker. Like some crazy never-seen witchcraft, it removed from family time the ever-present cloud of kids’ fomo (fear of missing out). No snaps from friends at places or parties while your kid frantically checks their phone and sighs all through family night. Their friends are also stuck at home playing the same lame games or worse, watching their mom’s romcom choice for movie night. Thank you no-fomo-witchcraft, you magical family-time thing of beauty.
When the pandemic slammed us, I was busy being sad about all the cancelled stuff. It hadn’t clicked that we’d received the rarest gift of all—a concentrated, undisrupted, fomo-free, huge block of family time with zero distractions. It’s never happened before and likely never will again. The timing for us happened to be a few months before our kids were moving away. The pandemic carved out time to do one of those movie montages of all the favorite family activities, but played out in real time for months and months. More giggling, climbing on to the roof for sunrises, spa nights with facials and mani/pedis, star-gazing from the backyard dock, more sister sleepovers in each other’s rooms with deep convos in the dark, more s’mores and spider-dogs over the campfire, house hide-n-seek, baking cookies, Dutch Blitz.
Beyond the family montage of the old favorites, there was also room for new traditions. With no in-person classes, clubs, work, volunteering, social events, there was unprecedented space in the girl’s lives. And they’ve never met an empty time gap they couldn’t fill with something fun. Immediately they instituted tea times in the afternoons so everyone could take study breaks together. They enthusiastically researched and planned the menus weeks in advance. They baked elaborate little desserts, displayed them on fancy stands, with colorful festive drinks and proper high tea napkins. Every 3 p.m. was a little party on the back porch by the pool, with the ocean breezes, waving palm trees, a good playlist, and conversations about everything. We all looked forward to them.
As we do, we exploited any little excuse to celebrate. We had parties for 2 birthdays, 4 graduations, a university decision, getting a first apartment, a prom-proposal followed by a home prom (with a prom king and queen of course), and took grad pictures in front of the house rather than on a stage.
The girls did all those unfinished projects: making family travel videos, photo editing, sewing projects, painting canvases and dressers and jeans. They learned how to do highlights, color and cut each other’s hair, then their boyfriend’s hair, then the dog’s hair. They tried 50+ new baking recipes and cooked up a storm most nights. Then we did group workouts to balance out those recipes. They sorted childhood keepsakes, books, games, dozens of boxes of photographs, and read childhood summer journals.
A new daily rhythm emerged. We coffeed and watched travel shows in the morning. Lunch was often French style picnic with baguettes, cheese, and meats. In the afternoons following teatime, were little pool parties or workouts on the dock. Suppers were often new recipes or roasting things on sticks or in foil packets over the campfire. We played old favorite games and found new favorites like Throw Throw Burrito. Every night was movie night, not just on weekends. If we watched a scary one, the girls slept in each other’s rooms.
It was crazy fun. Like a family summer camp, away from the world, that just kept going. Normally, that volume of family activities would take two years to accumulate, maybe three. Since nothing makes me happier than having fun with the people I care about most, this concentrated time together was the most precious, unfathomable gift possible.
So half a year in, the pandemic has forced each of us to pause; to sit and soak in the life we’ve created so far.
1. To reassess what is most important.
2. To reflect if we’re investing our time and resources toward the life we really, really want, with the people we want to spend it with.
3. To redirect, if necessary.
While I’m ready for the Covid to find the exit, on a gut level, I can’t help but be deeply moved by the family memories we made. Not the ones I thought we’d make, but the unexpected collection from those wild and wonderful monster days.
