I hear my three sons in the front room. Two are clattering on their keyboards doing assigned online work from their school, the third, home from college, gaming. I love them. I am happy to have them home on any normal occasion.
This isn't normal. This is a global pandemic called Coronavirus or Covid-19.
I put a jar on my counter today with a pad of paper beside it on my counter this morning. I labeled it, "Letting Go of Things I Wish I Knew." So far I'm the only one who has put anything in the jar:
"Will my son have his Senior Prom?"
"Will my small business crumble?"
"Will my sons have a soccer season?"
The pad is there with a pen, in case my boys are moved to put something in there. I know I have more to add.
I keep seeing new information, two weeks of this, two weeks of that...but each one means two weeks from that announcement, so it's all adding up to lots of time.
None of this will end quickly. There is too much unknown and yet to reveal itself. It's not going to be like a light switch and we all go back to life as we know it the next day.
Uncertainty, as a Nation, it feels...familiar:
I'm suddenly staring at morning television watching planes crash into the World Trade Center. I'm feeling the incredible wave of concern about bringing the baby in my belly into this suddenly scary world. That's the same baby who is now a Senior in high school. His life has not been the same as mine. He hasn't known a life without bag searches at public events or taking his shoes off to get on a plane. He never got to be naive like me.
I know there are a million and one ways to be positive and productive during this time. That's my plan. I just need this minute, I need today. I need to say I don't like the unknowing of it all. I can't wrap my head around the massiveness of it, the extent of the impact on businesses and people is more than heart and brain can process. So much is changing and will change in response to this. It's a lot. And I need a hot minute to wrap my head around that.
Starting tomorrow I will use my home made jar of things I can't know. I will make conscious decisions to stop thinking about the unknowns when I begin to get overwhelmed. I will find and feel the joy in each day. I will wash my hands and stay home as much as I can. I will allow myself to feel the love of my sons being home, regardless of circumstance. I will adapt to the change as it comes.
I'd so much rather reach for that magical light switch and make things 'normal' again. The mental and emotional parallels to 9-11 are real, though, and just like back then I must slowly accept that life will never be the same.
So I remind myself, it will all be okay in the end.