Up until now, I have been very tongue in cheek about the
reasons for not crying (with the possible exception of the regional volleyball
defeat), but the 22nd reason has been hard for me to wrap my head
around discussing because it’s a real reason for tears and grief. I’ve been in a funk for weeks over the
situation, and Facebook and the news are full of tearful accounts of regret and
sorrow. I’m speaking, or course, of the
worldwide Coronavirus pandemic that has resulted in untold hundreds and
hundreds of thousands of losses—from devastating loss of lives to trivial
disappointments like missed birthday parties and postponed leisure travel. Not crying.
But for some, including my Grace, this is the year. The culmination of everything. The end of it all. As bittersweet as the past months have been
for me, there was still a very real sense of joy and anticipation. We’ve all spent quiet moments recalling our
own final events—prom and pep rallies, awards ceremonies and graduations,
senior skip day, senior prank, senior gift.
No more. No more. No more.
No more. Grace’s experience will
forever be marked by this unprecedented loss and it is fully breaking my mama
heart. Not crying.
Our realization that this situation was about to change
everything came in the weeks leading up to spring break. Chad and I spend the entire month of December
researching and planning our last big family trip. God willing we will have plenty of more
opportunities to explore the world as a family, but this was the last time we knew
with certainty that we were the ultimate boss of everyone’s schedule. We had planned for months to make it a big trip. We researched Mexico and Jamaica and Hawaii,
and ultimately settled on Punta Cana (we all love the beach) at an all-inclusive
resort that included a water park. As
the days drew nearer, it became clearer and clearer that our trip was
inadvisable. We held off until the very
bitter end, ending up on hold with the travel company until after eleven on the
last chance cancellation day that ended at midnight. We were nearly completely packed. Not crying.
In its place, we cobbled together an in-country family road
trip, driving all night to reach a Florida VRBO with its own pool that we
aggressively wiped down with Lysol wipes before settling in. As the week wore on, venue after venue closed
and though we were able to spend a few days on the beach and enjoy takeout and
boardgames in weather that was significantly better than early Iowa spring, it
wasn’t even close to being the same. We
had to cut even that sad substitute short as our fears about additional
closures and limitations (including a worrisome dwindling of toilet paper at
the rental house) pushed us to leave a full day early. My girl was a good sport, and we made some
good memories (Sam’s first hilarious taste of oysters, driving on Daytona
beach, Grace at the wheel as we passed through Nashville, our first family
vacation with our puppy in tow), but it wasn’t the same. Not crying.
As I type this, I can see Grace in the backyard playing an
ingenious game of volleyball for one and I want to sob all over again. She was going to go out for tennis for the
first time this spring. (In spite of its
abrupt conclusion, I will forever be grateful that Grace at least got to play
the entirety of her final volleyball season.
I can’t imagine the heartbreak of the senior track and soccer moms at
the news that spring sports were cancelled).
Regardless, Grace should not be in my backyard with a volleyball and a
wooden box developing practice drills for one.
She should be at tennis practice or in the weight room with her
friends. She should be laughing and
grabbing dinner at the House of China (her favorite) before settling in for a
too late night of study. I should be
dragging her out of bed and silently praying Hail Marys as she drives (too
fast) to avoid her fifth tardy during first period. She should not be sleeping in every day and
staying up late watching Netflix alone (though she might have been doing that
anyway). This is nothing like how it
should be. Not crying.
I’ve moped around and vigorously complained and consumed my
weight in box wine more than once in these first several weeks. Earlier this week, however, I decided that I
had to make some changes. I was setting
the tone in our home and weeping and drinking weren’t going to fix
anything. I decided that I needed to
reframe everything. All along, I have
been noticing silver linings for sure.
Having everyone around my dinner table every night has been an enormous
blessing, especially since I am here to prep during conference calls and breaks
in the day. I bought a pretty pitcher
and some new salad bowls to dress up the table a little bit. I chop lemons and limes for our water. I make monkey bread and banana bread and
lemon poppyseed muffins and monster cookies.
We took the time to make a complicated marinade/multi step smoked
chicken wing recipe we never had time for before. We taught the whole family how to play Euchre
and hearts and played a very memorable game of Catchphrase at our kitchen table
and an epic game of Monopoly in Florida.
Despite our disappointment, we can change our perspective on this
time to one of an enormous gift. Now, in
these final months before my little bird flies the nest, we’ve got her all to
ourselves. It’s not what we would have
wanted for her, but as a mom who has always struggled not to squeeze too tight
and to let go gradually and appropriately, I now have a government mandated
month (or more) of togetherness. Not crying.
So, can I
learn to embrace it? If things were as
they should be, she would be little more than a mostly absent roommate in our
home. She would be a door slamming hours
after I’ve gone to bed, a cluster of shoes tossed carelessly in a doorway, a
dirty cereal bowl in the sink, a pile of papers left on a countertop, an email
reminder for this deadline or that recognition.
Instead, she’s here. SHE’S HERE. Those golden curls and long limbs, the
radiant smile and too big forehead (my legacy—sorry, my love) are underfoot and
up in my business all day every day.
What a gift! I was learning to be
unselfish—to give her up more and more to the world, and now we are together
more intensely than we’ve been since she was an infant. She belongs wholly to us—to me-- again. We aren’t sharing her with a gaggle of
girlfriends, with an out of town volleyball team, with a long school day and
hours in the weight room. She’s at my
table and on my couch, she’s helping her little brother with Spanish homework, she’s
asking for grammar help on her essays in the middle of the workday, she’s blasting
her music for a late night workout in our basement.
She is lingering with us after dinner for banter and sharing her
favorite memories of our family time over the years. Now that I’ve reframed it all, I have a new
reason not to cry. Now, I’m dreading the
end. Now instead of an on ramp of
increasing hours away from me, I’ll have her completely, and then, if things go
as we all still hope, she’ll be gone.
Poof. Vanished into her own life
after I had her completely in my grasp for a bizarre, too brief season of nearly
smothering (for her—not me) togetherness.
Not crying.
No senior assumes her final months of high school will be
spent almost exclusively in the company of her immediate family. My own final years of high school were so
frantic and full that when my youngest brother (9 when I graduated) was asked
years later, he admitted he didn’t even remember me living at home. Ever.
We saw so little of Grace before this shutdown forced us all back in the
house, that there were days it felt like she was already gone. For the mom of a first child standing on the
precipice of grown up life, I can be grateful for the blessing of more time
with her, even as I deeply grieve all the experiences that she will never have. Not crying.
This weekend, we will open up the lake house and put in our
boat. We have made plans for themed
dinners and family Euchre tournaments, and possibly a family prom. Chad is lobbying hard for a karaoke night and
a dance contest. My foot has recovered
enough for family HORSE games in the driveway.
Never in our lives, beyond the vacations we all fondly reminisce about
this during these days when a trip to the grocery store feels exotic, have we
spent so much intense time with one another.
Now that we have turned our attention from what we miss to what we’ve
gained, things are looking up. Somehow,
someway, the universe has unexpectedly conspired to thrust my precious girl
back into the very heart of our family and my day to day life, just before we
have to face our enormous goodbye. I’ve
decided to find the joy in the sadness of the never shall be. Not crying.
Because it’s just graduation. It’s just a stupid dance in an overpriced
dress. It’s just a boring assembly and
stupid moments of giggling and gathering with friends. It’s just a few more sporting events. It’s just precious minutes that keep ticking
forward even as the world grinds to an eerie halt. It’s just one sad, scared mom and one
disappointed daughter making the best of things in a world gone mad. I’m not crying, you’re crying.
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