Dear future grandchildren,
I know someday you will be given a school assignment to interview some old person who lived through the Covid-19 pandemic, and since your grandfather will probably drag his feet about an assignment like this, I thought I'd be proactive and write down a few thoughts while the soreness in my arm from my second vaccination shot is still fresh.
It has been a longer year than anyone ever imagined it would be. I know that your parents will have different memories of the pandemic than I do. Hopefully they remember the fun things we did--like going for walks to peek at the teddy bears in our neighbor's windows or the Christmas parade where we stood in the driveway and waited for the parade to come to us and your grandpa threw out Elf MREs. I sure hope that movie is still one you watch at Christmastime. Perhaps they will remember being anxious about the health of their grandparents, or how much they missed playing with their friends and going to church. I'm sure they will remember when schools shut down, and how it was no big deal to wear a mask to go back in the fall because every one was just so grateful to be able to be back at school.
There were tears as we waited anxiously to see if everybody would be 100% healthy so we could go to Thanksgiving at Papa's house. And Kevin told me more than once, "if it means keeping Papa safe, we can stay home."
The prophet asked us to fast and pray to end the pandemic, and miracles did come from those prayers, although it took more time than anybody wished. At some point, 11 months into the pandemic, Sly remembered that we had forgotten to pray for the end of the coronavirus and he said that was probably why it wasn't going away. Some would call it a coincidence that in the days after his prayers, his father and I were approved to get the vaccine. I call it calling upon the powers of heaven.
There were birthdays without grandparents, a postponed baptism, and Sophie's preschool shutting down for two weeks at a time, three months in a row. We wore masks everywhere. We cancelled vacations. We cancelled family gatherings. We learned to measure time without the landmarks of holiday traditions.
But we also embraced new traditions, new experiences. We went hiking more. We played as a family more. We went for walks and the kids finally learned to ride a bike. We left treats and dinners on doorsteps, admired new babies from afar, spoke to neighbors six feet apart or over fences. We found new ways to show we cared, new ways to serve. There are a lot of things I hope don't go back to the way they were "Before."
I've written a lot about what the pandemic was like for my kids and my family as a whole, but what you probably need to ask about is how the pandemic affected me.
Were there tears? More than once.
Did I wake up at night in a cold sweat because I'd dreamed I'd gotten sick and there was no one to take care of my children? More than once.
Did I panic and go get tested even though the only symptom I had was a shortness of breath that was probably due to an anxiety attack? Thankfully, that only happened once.
I've never felt so weary and weighted as I have this past year. In some ways, it was lonely, but in others I was less lonely because we were more aware of the need to reach out.
Two weeks into the pandemic, my niece and nephew came to stay for an undetermined amount of time, since with their Mom having pregnancy complications in another state and grandparents quarantined to stay safe from the pandemic, there was no safe place for them to be. This was one of the hardest things I'd ever experienced--not because they were hard kids or that I resented having them here. Oh no. Quite the opposite. I worried about all of the little ones. I struggled to keep them occupied, distracted, and happy. I am so proud of how brave those two were, having to be away from their parents for a month, staying in a new home with new rules, even celebrating their birthdays without their mom and dad. All five of the kids were total champs. Yes, there were squabbles and tantrums and whining and all the normal childhood maladies (in addition to a sprained ankle, ear infection, and homesickness), but the thing that wore on me was the emotional toll of worrying and not being able to fix anything.
Eventually, God provided a series of miracles that allowed my niece and nephew to head home and enjoy their dog and new baby brother. I was so relieved but even now, a year later, I miss having them here (don't tell your Grandpa I said that). I miss the feeling of being useful, of being needed.
That was only the beginning to the hard things that 2020 brought. It wasn't just the pandemic--in fact, by the end, the pandemic was just something we were accustomed to working around with masks and hand sanitizer and distance.
And, I have to admit right here, we were in no way hit as hard as others. Grandpa's job stayed the same, and he'd already gotten used to working from home. Financially, we'd never been more stable. We had a comfortable home. We had resources to buy new vehicles, do home improvement projects, help with a wedding.
But during 2020, we did have to bury Grandma Gardner. We watched as Pa (Grandpa's dad) succumbed the effects of early-onset Alzheimer's. In the beginning, it was trying to keep him happy and occupied as his wife took care of her mother's end-of-life symptoms. Then, Grandma Fowler decided it was time to sell their house. We helped with the move, and although your grandpa didn't seem upset by it, I mourned the loss of what had become a third home for me. Then, after we wrapped up the move, Pa had to move into a memory care facility. A month later, four days before Christmas, he was gone.
Funerals during pandemics are so different. Grandma Gardner's was held outside in a grove of trees. Being December, that wasn't an option for Pa's funeral, so the gathering was limited to family and close friends. It felt like a half-funeral, because so many traditions were left out, but in the end, I think that made it even more beautiful.
In 2020, my dad was diagnosed with melanoma, aka skin cancer. I helped drive him down to Salt Lake for appointments and surgeries. I waited in a cold car in a parking terrace because I wasn't allowed inside the hospital--we were just grateful that my mom was allowed to go with him.
In 2020, my foot started hurting again. I'd had a major surgery on it in 2019 and had hoped to be done with foot issues for a while, but that was not to be. In November, I had a third (albeit minor) surgery.
We all dealt with mental health issues in one way or another. We learned to work around things that had been our usual crutches--and other crutches became much more necessary. I watched more TV in 2020 than I ever had in my life, simply because by the time the kids finally went to bed (your parents were such stinkers), we had no brain power or energy to do anything but eat peanut M&Ms and watch Netflix. I lost count of how many shows we binge-watched.
I think the thing I have learned most from this past year is that life doesn't stop. The pandemic tried to shut everything down--no sports, no school, no church, no gatherings, no vacations--but it failed to stop life from moving in its usual cycles. Our family experienced births and death, weddings and moves and all the usual growing pains that come within an annual trip around the sun.
As I think back on all of the hard memories, I have a hard time recalling just why they were so hard because there was so much beauty in the midst of it all. And as our lives once again change and the world seeks a new normal, my gratitude for so many things has enhanced. Things like not being scared to go to the grocery store, planning a vacation, taking a friend to lunch for her birthday, picking out books at the library, inviting friends over for a holiday party.
We held an Easter Egg hunt last week with my best friends from college. I am teary just thinking about how wonderful it felt to be together, in person. We'd kept in touch through texts, phone calls, Marco Polo video chats, cards in the mail, care packages dropped of on porches. All of those things helped us survive, but nothing felt so good as wrapping my arms around my friends (who had also had hellish years), holding them tight, and feeling loved.
You can't stop living. That's what we learned. After a couple of months of strict quarantine, we started to decide what was worth risking. For my mom, it was hugging her grandchild. For my children, it was playing with friends outside whenever the weather allowed and wearing masks to school. For me, it was letting God take my worries so I could focus on what was happening instead of what could happen.
We didn't live through the pandemic perfectly. We tripped over bumps in the road so many times. But now that we've made it to the end, I can't say that I regret any of it. I am grateful we came out better than others, but I think if I came out of this experience having not changed at all, I'd just be a fully-vaccinated failure.
Love,
Your Future Grandma
PS- You are welcome for the dig at Grandpa in the first paragraph. Simply remind him what I said and he'll do anything for you. Who am I kidding? If he's anything like my dad as a Papa, all bets are off and he'll do anything you want him to do. So maybe you will choose to interview him after all, but just know, I'm prepared.
