I woke up this morning in the middle of a YA novel we we entered the beginning of our second week of the COVID-19 societal shut-down. That's here in Virginia, at least, as this virus has been ravaging the world for months. Both Italy and China have surpassed 3,000 deaths, and the US is just beginning to experience what will undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.
The governor and local governments have declared a state of emeergecy. All schools have been ordered to remain closed until the end of March. Our local school systems have commited to closeure until April 14, and the word on the street is that this will last until what would have been the end of the school year. Mr. Milkweed is in the process of moving all his classes to Zoom as VCU has shifted the rest of the semester online. I'm effectively on administrative leave from my own work, though I'm going in twice a week for four hours to help answer the phones with one other employee. Since I'm full-time, I'm still being paid. My part-time coworkers are largely out of luck.
I keep waiting for the part where the dead rise again as zombies, or for the government to declare Martial Law amidst rioting and looting, but so far, those plot points have yet to come to pass. Instead we thrum along in a bizarre, forever repetition of a weekend, except one where we don't go anywhere and don't see anyone as group gatherings larger than 10 have been outlawed. Except for nerve-wracking trips to the grocery or pharmacy where we try not to touch more than we have to and marinate in hand sanitizer before, during, and after, the world has ground to a halt.
Spring weather is here, though. The trees are budding and flowers are bursting into bloom and suddenly, there is ample time for yardwork. Yesterday after dinner I ate some ice cream with Silas on the back deck, looked up, and gasped. The clouds were moving. I haven't looked up at moving clouds in literal years, but there they were, and I was so relaxed and unhurried that I could take them in 100% as myself, unmitigated by anxiety and exhaustion.
What is happening to the world is frightening. I hate not knowing how this will all go, because very much unlike a YA novel, I can't flip to the last chapters to read how it ends. This pause, though? This forced time at home, with my children and our dog and the beautiful, blooming outside world? It's a balm to my soul. It's amazing. I've even taken some time to try and pray, which is a pool I've dipped my toe into so many times over these past six years. This week, to my utter astonishment, I waded in past my knees.
The way I was living was untenable. I see that now. And things will have to change once we get back to normal. I can't short-circuit my very being just to be a full-time employee. Somehow, there has to be room for looking up and noticing the clouds.
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