The last week of normal

When I look back on this week, one year ago, my feelings get all tangled. It’s at these times, that I am so glad I wrote down what I was experiencing, so I can share those moments.

The following are excerpts of a book I someday hope to publish on 2020, and how COVID-19 impacted me, emotionally. Maybe you will identify with it, too, as we reach one year of living with COVID, and look back on what started it all.

March 2020 – The school is holding a book fair. I run in for a few minutes, get hugged by some of the kids going by for lunch, call out to Libby about how she did at State with her youth hockey team. Paul comes out to chat, thanks me for coming, points out the large Christmas tree stationed near the entrance, now decorated by the students for St. Patrick’s Day.

We talk about the new coronavirus going around. I ask what he thinks and what will happen. There’s been talk the schools will shut down. He rolls his eyes and says it won’t happen. He agrees with me, that there is no reason to panic. The county hasn’t even seen any cases yet. We nod sagely, and determine there is far more to fear from the ordinary flu.

I go into the library to take my pictures of kids looking at books and novelties. Seth is in there, loading up on who knows what kind of books. Johanna is eyeing some of the cool things for sale besides books and gives me an indulgent smile, when I squeal over a “squishy” notebook.

Back out in the entryway, while I put my camera away, I ask Allison how she likes the new job. She’s subbing at the front, while Kylee grabs something to eat. I remember when Allison was born; I first saw her asleep in the back of her mom’s car. I remember how Mom and I ran over, and there Allison was, this cute little bundle, off to dreamland, with her cheeks scrunched up against the car seat.

I still remember how Lisa beamed, as we admired her brand new daughter. Imagine, she’s engaged now and bought a house. I start to walk out after we talk, then remember the tree.

I grab a few shots, thinking it will be a nice addition to this week’s front page. Hope the color printing comes out right, I think, and walk out into the fresh air. I pick up the pace, as Duke starts soon. They didn’t play that great in the regular season. I hope they can step it up in the conference tournament, before the NCAA tournament.

I can’t find Duke on my CBS app. Stupid phone, I’m so mad I could spit. I’ve never had any trouble with it playing before. The girls always get tickled at how I can type and watch the game on my phone at the same time. Hey, if they insist on playing day games, a basketball nut’s gotta do what a basketball nut’s gotta do! They just grin and brace themselves for a lot of yelling.

This year, there is no yelling. I try to at least find the score for my Dukies, but instead, I see a news release that Duke will not play in the conference tournament. The team is scared and so is everyone else. Like a chain reaction, other teams declare they won’t play.

Then, on the heels of that, the conference declares no games will be played at all. Florida State is proclaimed the conference champions, because they won their game and I’m ticked as heck. That ticked feeling turns into disbelief, sadness and a feeling I can’t even describe.

The NCAA has canceled the tournament altogether. No One Shining Moment, no yelling, screaming, celebrating. There will be no pounding of my heart in exhilaration, no excitement, nothing to look forward to for the rest of the month, sports-wise.

It’s like my worst fear has come to life, that I would die before March Madness happened. Except, I’m alive, and this has happened. Everything happened so swiftly, I barely have time to mourn, before the WIAA high school tournaments are canceled, too. I am stunned.

I’m even too upset and disappointed to cry. I don’t understand why the tournaments aren’t postponed, then resumed. Why cancel them completely? It makes no sense.

Paul was wrong. The governor closed the schools statewide, for two weeks, although we haven’t had any cases here. The governor makes the announcement late on a Friday, saying the schools will close the following Wednesday. I am annoyed.

This is just throwing off all the sports banquets that are coming up, not to mention, I’m getting ready for the spring sports supplement. Supposedly, the closure is being done to “flatten the curve” of the coronavirus, whatever that means. Two weeks, they say, and we should be able to return to normal. The virus will die and life will go on as usual.

In the meantime, we should postpone gatherings and stay home as much as possible. I scoff at that. Stay home. Sure. There are things to do, events to cover, errands to run. But good luck with that staying home thing.

We go ahead with our St. Patrick’s Day Parade. There are way less people than last year, lining the streets. It’s really cold out, though. But in the back of my mind, I wonder if it’s because of the virus. You’re supposed to do this thing called “social distancing,” stay six feet away from anyone and wash your hands...a lot. Also, don’t touch your face! Which, of course, makes me want to touch my face.

Joy and I sit in Falcon while we wait for the parade to begin, and talk about what the school closure will mean. She thinks it may stretch out longer than two weeks. Nah, we can’t just close the schools forever, I reason. We have a good time at the parade, despite the cold, and nobody is “social distancing.”

This will all blow over, I think, and we’ll remember it as a time when the kids got to be home from school for a couple weeks. I think about how we will laugh when we look back on this. For now, we laugh at how bad Warren hates that we dressed him up as a leprechaun.

He’s so adorable, though, and I get lots of kisses from his warm little cheeks. We take pictures together and he is amused over the green hair/alien-looking head piece I’m wearing. When I get home, I unload the car, grab Mom and head out to get groceries. I remember to take off the head piece, but forget to change my green shirt.

There had been talk that people were hoarding food and toilet paper, because people were saying everything would close, trucks wouldn’t be allowed through and we’d all starve, because of a food shortage, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Until I get to the store and a lady has a cart overflowing with toilet paper.

I smile at her as I pass, as is my custom. She throws herself over the toilet paper and scurries on. I just laugh. One in every crowd. I stop laughing when I get inside.

Apparently, the ones from every crowd, are here. People are shopping as though their lives depend on it, but really, the only things in short supply are the toilet paper, Kleenex, paper towels, disinfectant wipes, cans of tuna fish, and boxed macaroni and cheese. I’m bummed about the macaroni and cheese, but otherwise, find what I need.

People who only ran in for a loaf of bread or a jug of milk, give me a nasty look at my heaped up cart. The checkout lady just sighs. I tell her I’m not hoarding, I just live 45 minutes away and stock up for a month at a time. She smiles and nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

Neither does the kid bagging groceries. I hear him tell a girl he is sick to death of hoarders. I feel stung, like I want to shout my innocence. All the times before, my cart has been just as heaped, because I truly never know when I will get back. I work so many hours and then there’s the weather. And now, with Mom recovering from her major surgery, well, plans get upset.

And no one said a thing about it before or looked askance at me. I act like I’m not listening, but I hear the boy tell the girl that his friend works for the government and that there is talk of shutting down the interstates, to try to prevent people from spreading the virus.

Can they do that? I wonder to myself. Isn’t that unlawful? If that’s true, I hope Brett can make it back to Iowa. He needs to get back to his job and finish his classes.

I don’t think we’ll starve, but a little voice tells me otherwise. I tell the little voice to shut up. I will not give in to fear. Surely, I think, this won’t play out how people think. How long can we remain shut down? We won’t survive longer than a couple weeks, without businesses and schools. People have to work, have to live.

No, I tell myself. This will all end soon and everything will go back to normal.