Last spring, as we settled into a work-from-home, school-from-home, freak out-from-home routine, I often felt helpless. Helpless to stop the pandemic, helpless to keep my job afloat, helpless to keep my parents and in-laws safe…I knew how to hunker down; the 24 hour domestic family maintenance wasn’t hard. It was a lot like maternity leave, which still felt recent.
But the unknown. The uncertainty. The lack of answers for the kids. I didn’t know what to do. One evening early on, I gave the kids donuts in bed because I thought we might all die and that would be a nice final treat. I wanted to comfort them like that scene in Titanic when a mom tucks her two littles into bed. Dramatic I know, but in the early days we didn’t know how it spread, didn’t know how deadly it was, didn’t know anything except that someone I worked with died in his bed after feeling ill just a few days. Anything was possible, including the worst. And for many many many, the worst is exactly what happened.
Most mornings, we walked the kids over to Mom’s. Felix tried his scooter. He fell. He walked it some days. Other days he scooted a bit. And then, one dappled day, he was gliding down the block.
I cried. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a very long, anxious time. He was free, like a scene in The Ice Storm when the girl glides her bike down the hill, unaware her mother is watching with awe and envy.
Today, more than a year later, we are safer and yet still unsure. The unknowns are more unknown. Sandwiched between the start of the pandemic and whatever phase this is now, was also cancer and loss. Every day has been a singular challenge.
And also today, out at the playground, Felix tried his bicycle. He rode in a sweeping arc, smooth and free. It’s most gorgeous video I have ever seen.
A bit dramatic, I know, but Mama never learned. And I’m so damn proud.