What the Pandemic Taught Us

Mike and I felt pretty smug about ourselves during the pandemic.

You see, we were similar in many ways:

• fiercely independent;

• "can do" problem-solvers;

• technologically savvy;

• content in our home life.

The Lockdown That Seemed to Last Forever did not faze either of us. In fact, we relished in the isolation of it.

Goodbye to all the "silly" obligations that were part of our routines for no good reason. No more kid birthday parties to awkwardly sit through and make small talk until it was time to go home. No more forced parental volunteering at the school. No more kid drop-off and pick-up.

No crowds at Costco! No traffic.

No toilet paper at the supermarket? Pffffftttt. Not only did we have them, we also have bidets.

Kids need to Zoom in for class? Ha. I already had lots of Zoom experience from my previous job.

Kids need more support for school? As it turned out, I had just lost my job and wasn't in any hurry to get a new one.

Bored? We dyed our hair. Built some raised beds and gardened. Baked bread. Made chocolate truffles. We prepared elaborate meals. We collected swarms and tended to our beehives. We held elaborate tea parties just for the four of us. Played games. Swam in our pool. Babied some sourdough starter and experimented with bread and discard recipes.

We were proud of our pandemic garden.

We "doorbell ditched" our friends and left them homemade presents.

We created a movie night ritual. We attended church services online. Even a game night on Zoom.

We learned how to do our grocery shopping safely and helped my elderly parents with their shopping.

I even started a home-based artisanal ice cream business, and it was a source of joy and excitement for all of us.

The whole family participated in my new business endeavor, including being models for ad campaigns.

Best of all? We didn't want to kill each other.

We felt safe and secure in our home and in each other's company. And we were not bored.

Even though we had loved ones who had a completely different experience and even some very real scares that hit too close to home, we felt somehow invincible. We even lost loved ones to COVID-19, and some to other causes, but still we felt relatively untouchable.

Because we were young, smart, capable, and not foolish risk-takers.

As restrictions loosened and we were able to find a semblance of "new normalcy" that allowed for more social interactions, we emerged from isolation, both cautious and optimistic. We were selective of our social activities and exercised extreme caution. (Masks and sanitizers always at the ready.)

We were quick to isolate and tested ourselves for the virus whenever infection was suspected.

That said, as parents, we felt a great responsibility to our children to not be fearful even as we showed them how to act responsibly. And, I think, Mike and I both felt like we were doing a great job at this.

How ironic, indeed, that just as the pandemic was winding down, we were to find all of us infected with COVID-19 on Christmas 2021. And that we lost Mike just four weeks later.

How smug we were, and how foolish. Foolish to think that we were safe from harm or mortality.

Foolish to think we didn't need anyone else in our bubble. Not really. We were self-sufficient. We were the helpers, not the ones to be helped.

And yet when our world started to crumble, we found our village gathering around us. To pray for us. Bringing us meals. Bringing me coffee. Or birthday cheer (both my older daughter and I marked another year while Mike was in the hospital).

And when we found ourselves husband-less and fatherless, our village doubled down and loved us more.

What was even more amazing was how big this village actually was. A friend once remarked, "You have people praying for you guys in so many time zones. You are covered for 24 hours of the day!"

The kindnesses -- so many of them -- left me speechless. And they reminded me of the beauty of humanity. How each one of us brings a different gift to the table. How each person fills a unique place in this world of ours.

That, even imperfectly, we can each be a blessing to one another.

So here's the point I'm trying to make: The pandemic, in all its scariness, desensitized Mike and me to our need for community. Because we were forced to disengage. To live in isolation. To rely only on ourselves. And somehow, we convinced ourselves that we only needed our small bubble. Our "pod".

And we were mostly successful... until we weren't.

I am thankful for this lesson. Because it was taught to me with so much love and gentle grace.