There have been many times over the past six months where I have had to convince myself that things would, eventually, get better. Times where I had to talk myself into pasting a smile on my face and adopting a positivity I didn’t feel. Times where I said things like “This too shall pass.” and “One day at at time.” and “We are lucky in so many ways.”
It’s that last truth that makes me feel I really have no right to complain or, even, to struggle. Because we are lucky in so many ways. Neither my husband nor I have lost our jobs due to COVID. Our kids were able to move to online school (fairly) seamlessly. None of my family or friends have become ill. We have a big backyard where we can spend time safely. We are, indeed, very lucky.
I know this.
And I can only imagine how hard this pandemic is on people who can’t count themselves as lucky as I am. But I am still struggling. Especially when it comes to parenting. Because how to parent during a pandemic was definitely not in any of the parenting books.
There is no precedent for this. No one can tell me what I should do because no one knows. Plus, what’s right for someone else might not work for me. And what’s right for one kid might not be best for the other. Everyday we must make decisions for our children that could have long lasting implications on their lives. Without knowledge or certainty, all I’m left with is hope.
Hope that one day I will feel secure in sending my kids back to school.
Hope that one day we won’t have to count grocery store employees and teachers as front-line workers.
Hope that our superhero medical workers will finally get a chance to rest.
Hope that we will get to travel again safely.
Hope that even if what we get back isn’t exactly what we had before, we lean into whatever the “new normal” looks like.
Hope that the eyes that have been opened during the pandemic stay open and we see important global change as a result.
Hope that the world will be a better place for my kids.
One day.
