Day by Day by Day

Let me look back on the past week. Here in Central New York, last Friday, March 13th, we were behind many other parts of the world in realizing that this virus had already entered our community and that we must take urgent and drastic measures to stop it. To stop it, we now know we had to stop most of the things we call our lives.

Just three weeks ago I was at an assembly for the whole elementary school, led by my son’s 4th grade teacher, about African American history and Black Lives Matter, for the whole elementary school (just a few parents were there). I am so glad I was there! Assemblies and gatherings like that are always very moving. All the kids in the school prepared something with their classes to present to the rest of the school, essays, poems, songs, re-telling histories. The school did it so well, as a community they are adamant about being inclusive, kind, aware of what others are experiencing, being helpers and showing thoughtfulness and care. I felt so fortunate that my kids go to such a diverse school (diverse in many ways, not just racially, as we live in a neighborhood with families from around the world - Theo’s 4th grade class had all the ESL students, and I think they came from 8 different countries, so many of his friends this year were just learning English and came from Mongolia, Iran, China and more). Even if the kids don’t go back to school this year, that assembly was a wonderful event which brought them all together in effort and appreciation.

At the assembly another parent told me she was worried about the coronavirus, and that the school isn’t doing enough (with hygiene) to prepare. I thought, “oh, yeah, that’s a good thing to think about.” But I was ignorant - it was not on my radar that we had to be so cautious, yet.

Then last Friday evening, after kids were done with school for the week but had no idea they would not return at all, the ICSD sent an email announcing the school would close. Over the next days, the rest of our little world closed around us, one by one all the things I thought we’d still be able to do fell like dominoes. My brain took about 48 hours to accept that the school closing meant everything else in our lives outside the house had to stop as well. No karate, which the kids just started last week and had really liked. No Children’s Garden pre-school for Frieda two mornings a week. No visits to the Children’s Garden which is now closed. No library, no library books (except the ones I had in my car ready to return, which are now back inside the house), no Sciencenter, no going out for dinner, no spring soccer, no piano lessons, no meeting friends. No Rosenthal Family Passover in Connecticut in April, no spring break visit with my kids’ four grandparents in my and my husband’s hometown. No cousins coming from Rhinebeck or Boston for a weekend. Will Abel’s best friend from Germany be able to come here this summer as we’d planned? Frieda, the four-year-old, keeps mentioning places we go and saying, “We can’t go there, because of the Coronavirus, right?”

Also, my own work - no new session of the Singing and Songwriting classes I teach afterschool at the elementary schools. No spring songwriting workshop in my son’s classroom. And as the Program Manager for the Coalition for Healthy School, my job is to offer programs in schools, bringing healthy food and nutrition education to students and the whole school community. I was planning our spring benefit dinner, and a whole bunch of awesome programs in Ithaca middle and elementary schools in the next few months.

And no child-care exchange with my good friends - we each watched each others children a few times every week this whole school year, so our kids were becoming like family to one another, which had it’s challenges, but was such a beautiful thing to see. Frieda especially misses her best friend Ada, they are so much alike and so joyful together.

Not complaining, just reviewing all the changes. Community and activities - all on pause. Now we call out to each other from the screens, from the phones, and hopefully in some paper messages sent the old-fashioned way. And we are meeting more neighbors, from a 10-foot distance during our walks, than we ever knew existed. We used to take family walks and see no one outside - now there are people all over the place in this cute suburban paradise. Stopping to talk about the grim probabilities for the future. Or just smiling tensely to let them know we feel their pain.

Last night walking home from the school (I wanted to remember it for a few minutes), Frieda asked Greg and I to stop talking about the Coronavirus, “it’s making me sad.” I asked her why and she said, “I’m afraid my friends are going to die.”