Disinfecting the Dinosaur in the Age of the Coronavirus

We’re just going to pretend that this dinosaur hasn’t been extinct for the last 3+ years. We’re also going to pretend that it’s not going to die off again in a month or two or ten, however long it takes this Coronavirus/Covid-19 thing to go away (or at least to reach the kind of new normal in which we’re not all constantly processing the world we live in). 

I took this picture when we stopped at the Sand Dunes on our way to San Diego. It seems strangely fitting for these crazy days. 

Let’s recap: In early March, things were rough in Italy. Things were starting to get ugly in Seattle. Dominos were teetering, but not so scary that we didn’t leave for a few days at the beach in San Diego for spring break. As Charles said, when we left, it seemed like a 2/10 level worry. We washed our hands a lot, ate out, played in the sand, got caught in the rain — you know, enjoyed a lovely little vacation before the storm.

By the time we came home a few days later, toilet paper was out of stock, Italy was a disaster, and places like New York were shutting down. It had reached 10/10 on Charles’ things to worry about scale. I went to the grocery store and bought. . . . a week’s worth of groceries and several products to flesh out our “stash.” I’ve got enough food on hand to keep us fed for about a month, but go to the store weekly-is for a week’s worth of fresh stuff/supplies to not over-deplete the stash, in the (I consider very likely) event of a full, two-week quarantine for our family.

(With regards to that pesky beast, toilet paper, I had happened to go to Costco a few days before the first, now tiny, wave of panic hit and got our family well-stocked on paper products. I am convinced that I will never be able to purchase hand sanitizer again, though.)

We wisely went to Confession and Mass that weekend, not knowing when we’d be able to go again. Sure enough, Masses were cancelled that Monday. Indefinitely. 

School closed — for a day, for a week, for 2 weeks, for 4 weeks. This last week, schools were closed for the remainder of the school year.

So here we are, we’re three weeks into distance learning, three weeks into stay-at-home-ing, three weeks into this new-never-normal.

I’m trying to see the good. I love not having a crazy morning rush every morning. I love not having the chaos of evening extra-curriculars. I love playing games, reading chapter books to my big kids, and taking walks. We’ve enjoyed the first blooms of the roses we planted. We’ve built outdoor fires for sipping weekend coffee. At moments, it has been positively dreamy.

I have grown so much in my faith. I’d already begun to open Scripture more and am increasingly grateful for that gift. I have started to pray the Rosary daily — a habit I hope to maintain when the world starts to reopen. The absence of the Eucharist makes me realize how desperately I need it. I know with more certainty than ever how much I need God. 

I have seen how blessed I am by our faith community and friends. I love our parish and our school. I feel particularly thankful when I see the extremes that people in other schools, districts, and states are dealing with as they navigate the distance-learning shift for their kids. I cannot wait for the day I see that sea of early morning plaid, but still find it surreal that my kids will be in 1st and 3rd grades when that happens.

Instead of going to the grocery store and Target and Costco willy-nilly, sometimes just because, I feel like a trip to the store is a glimpse into wartime. I only go to the grocery store — everything else is ordered online. I arrive a half-hour before store open. I stand in a socially-distant line. I buy with certainty that I won’t just “pop in on Wednesday and grab what I forgot.” This is is, guys. Today, for the first time, the store didn’t look post-Apocolyptic. Sure, the paper goods and cleaning supplies were pretty wiped out. Canned goods and rice were still pretty picked over, but you could get some. There was plenty of meat and produce and dairy. It makes things feel less dire, I guess.

But you guys, I’m aching.

I desperately long to attend Mass. I’m heartbroken not to have it. I am in stunned disbelief that Easter is next week. I went, in the blink of an eye from dreading wrestling little boys at the Triduum to tears that I don’t get to wrestle little boys at the Triduum. 

Peter’s 6th birthday is Tuesday. It will certainly be a once-in-a-lifetime celebration. I am probably sadder than he is. 

I miss people—I miss my friends and my family. I miss date night. I miss all the acquaintances I say good morning to just walking my kids in and out of school each day. My kids miss their friends and classmates. They miss going places. 

There’s no conclusion today. Isn’t that when this space has always been at its best — when there is no conclusion, just my pondering? It’s also when I’m at my best, and right now, I need to be my best, so that, even at my low moments, I can be present.

I hope to use this space that way in the coming days and weeks — to think about, pray about, and process the things that are happening in the world today; to have a recorded memory of them; and to share those in the best possible way.