And a week ago, I was standing in our bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, silently sobbing, and eating a large homemade cookie.
It was banana oatmeal chocolate chip, like my mom used to make. Because it's a comfort food of my youth (much like buttered saltines and Mrs. Grass's soup). And I had made a large batch earlier that day with a few bananas that had gone too ripe. (I knew I could freeze them if needed to and was in doomsday-meal-prep mode that day.)
A culmination of feels hit me all at once as I picked up the first still-warm cookie to try out. And as that wave broke, I dashed to the bathroom. The bathroom was a closed door that I could use to shield my husband from any further stress, so I wouldn't be a burden. A refuge for me to process my emotions before putting back on the brave face and stepping back out. It was a silent space for some introspection. I could take all the time I needed. No one questions a closed bathroom door.
It wasn't until I was standing in front of the mirror that I realized the cookie was even still with me. There, in my hand, warm chocolate chips began to smudge my fingers. I let out a quiet, childish chortle thinking about how great, now my fingers looked like they had poop on them. And that's when the tears started to flow. Because it was arguably funny and weird that my cookie and I were there, but arguably awful everywhere else in the world.
I let the tears flow, slowly eating my cookie, and stared into my own eyes to reflect on the root cause of this particular breakdown....
.... I finally let myself accept the fact that we wouldn't be having a honeymoon. The situation had passed a tipping point in Europe and the journey around Portugal and the Azores I had meticulously planned (kicking off April 1st) was simply not going to happen. We likely wouldn't physically be able to get there, due to new border restrictions being put into place daily. And even if we did, every restaurant, museum, or park we might want to visit would be closed. We'd put ourselves and others at risk as we hopped between a half dozen airports on our way to and from. And we'd likely be put on quarantine either upon entry or upon return, if we even could return.* We had to cancel our honeymoon; we had to stay home.
.... My husband was still going to have to physically go to work the next day (as he can't work remote like I'm luckily able to), and risk being exposed to this accelerating plague. I'd be home working all day alone, with my phone propped up nearby, forever worried about missing his call telling me that he was in danger (because I missed it once, and it broke me, and I never want to miss a call from him again). He was going to come home after work, carrying with him the news and germs of the day, and spiral into a news-reel black hole, obsessing over the increasing number of cases (and deaths), and wondering why more wasn't being done. And I wouldn't have any answers for him. Any words of comfort would continue to be fairly hollow, as the situation changed so drastically each day, and all projected outcomes didn't bode well. I couldn't console my husband and I couldn't keep him safe.
.... My mom was going to still go to the casino for St. Patrick's Day with my aunt.** And plenty of others were going to continue going about their lives like nothing was happening. And this virus would just continue to spread because the people of the world wouldn't give up their freedoms until the situation got so dire that they were forced to. And there was nothing I could do to stop that. I could practice social distancing or stay entirely quarantined, and I personally could do my part, but I couldn't control anything beyond that. I could talk til I was blue in the face about the steps that needed to be taken, and still be told that I was overreacting and this was all a hoax. My actions alone felt like they meant very little.
.... We had friends losing their jobs, stepping into an unknown timeline of financial insecurity. People we knew with compromised immune systems (and conditions that make them more vulnerable) who were scared to go outside and worried sick about getting sick. Relatives who would hate it if you said it out loud but who, quite frankly, fall into the "elderly" category and are thus in a higher risk zone. We watched friends have to adapt their career and home situations, suddenly working remote and needing somehow to care for their children who no longer could go to school/daycare due to closures. Friends who are nurses and doctors who are on the brink of a real shitstorm and will have to face the biggest challenges yet to come. We saw other friends get stuck while attempting to travel, people rushing to get to their final destinations. Events were cancelled, with many more pending cancellation. Everything and everyone we knew would be impacted by this.
.... I was also just straight up pissed. Angry for all the selfish reasons, but also for the lack of preparedness on a global scale, for the senseless loss of life, for the amount of misinformation being circulated. And mad at myself, for not taking it more seriously sooner, for all the times I'd gone out and about and could've possibly unknowingly contracted and spread this virus to someone else. I was just so vexed that this pandemic was really happening to us.
.... The timeline was totally unknown. Would this really be over in a month? Or were we all about to sign up for a much longer tour of duty with coronavirus? Would everyone do their part and this would all move along faster, or would the lies coming out of the President's mouth have done irreparable damage? Even if we all quarantined, would it just spread again the second we all returned to normal and we'd have to wait a year for a proper vaccine? Would our honeymoon not be the only thing we'd have to cancel in what was to be our most travel-heavy year to date? When would it really end and how bad would it get? When could life go back to normal?
I talk a good talk about the steps to be followed: stay home, wash your hands, practice social distancing if you have to go out for vital supplies, flatten the curve, keep your mental health in good shape, be kind, thank essential workers, stay strong and united at a distance, etc. I talk that talk on any platform I can and hope it will somehow help, but at the end of the day, I was still the one cry-eating a cookie in a bathroom. No one is immune to the feels during this health crisis.
I'd wager I've not been the only one sobbing in a bathroom in recent weeks. And that I'm not the only one who feels like they're at the point where anxiety, anger, and helplessness walked into a bar (against public order that such facilities remain closed to stop the spread) and then they licked everything in sight, touched their faces, and ran about in the streets buying up toilet paper. And I'm certainly not the only one who had to cancel a honeymoon, or whose life plan has to look a little different based on recent events. I'm happy for a strange feeling of solidarity, but am also just so damn frustrated-sad-enraged that we're all in this mess together (...but apart, please stay home).***
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| It's okay to have cookie-cries in the bathroom - just be sure to wash your hands for twenty seconds afterwards. |
* Spoiler alert: they've since blocked all travel into Portugal, and the Azores have mandatory quarantines in place for all those entering. The bright side is, we were able to get full refunds for our hotels and AirBNBs - and some of the airlines we were to fly with, others we're still arguing with that we want refunds and not vouchers (since we have no idea when or if we'll be able to reschedule our trip and if we do we're uncertain as to which airlines we'd fly based on timing needs).
** Note that my mom and aunt are both now practicing better social distancing, and I know there's a certain level of guilt at their having continued to go on their annual casino holiday trip, but at the time of the above depicted scene, I was basically hyperventilating at the thought of them both getting infected over a fucking penny slot machine.
*** I also feel grateful and lucky in so so many ways, but right now I just am not in the optimistic mood to talk about the sunshiny shit, friends. Perhaps in another post.
