Mom describes one day in isolation
* This column features a day-in-the-life reflection from a different family member of a Drawstring contributor*
By Joan O’Donnell
Musical instruments made from recycled household objects - Photo Credit: Joan O’Donnell
It’s Tuesday morning, 7:15 a.m. I wake to the chorus of birds singing outside my window instead of the beep of my alarm clock, which hasn’t been set in 74 days, now nothing more than a decorative night light. As I shower and get dressed, I run through the upcoming day in my head. I’m on a lot of Zoom calls on Tuesdays which requires me to look presentable and wear something more than my sub-standard quarantine attire. Around 8:00 a.m. I make my way downstairs where my husband, George, is getting ready to head into work for the day. He tried working from home for about a week, but prefers the peace and solitude of his private office. George has my cup of tea all set on the counter and we spend a few minutes sharing a rundown of our days ahead. As he heads out the door I slip into my home office to check my email.
I work for a large hospital system and run a family resource center based in an elementary school. Schools closed on March 13th and will not re-open for the remainder of the school year. We are still unsure what September will look like. This morning I received emails from two teachers with students having difficulty completing their online school work due to internet access issues, and one with a family in her class struggling with food insecurity. I was also contacted to assist with a local young mother who has just been placed in an emergency shelter to escape an abusive situation, and is in desperate need of supplies for their child. I spend the next hour gathering resources and getting the most recent information on food pantry locations and hours, updates on school lunch drive-thru procedures, and what free or low-cost internet options are still available for families with school children.
At 9:45 a.m., after a quick breakfast of avocado toast, yogurt and a second cup of tea, I’m back at my desk getting ready for my first Zoom call of the day. I host a weekly online playgroup for parents and their children ages birth to five years. At first it seemed like an impossible feat, trying to re-create programming that is so driven by human interaction in a virtual format, but surprisingly it’s working. This morning I have a musical theme planned and from 10:00 - 10:30, with 13 little faces joining me in zoom boxes on my laptop, I read the book I See a Song by Eric Carle. We sing a few songs together and I share a selection of musical instruments made from recycled things I have saved around the house. I show parents how to make a guitar out of a tissue box and rubber bands, a drum out of a large empty tub of yogurt, and a rainstick out of a paper towel roll and a handful of dry rice or beans. The last few minutes of playgroup consists of the kids sharing things they’ve made at home, or showing us how much their plants have grown from the seeds in their egg carton gardens. We sing our goodbye song and close our meeting. I hit the “end meeting” button and sit back in my chair feeling both exhausted and exhilarated.
At this point in the morning two of my adult daughters, Erin age 22 and Samantha, age 21, appear in the kitchen to start their mornings. My next meeting is scheduled for 11:00 a.m., leaving me just enough time to get three phone calls in to the families I need to contact, and take a brief stretch and breath of fresh air out on my deck. My 11:00 a.m. meeting is with colleagues doing similar work in my town. We meet twice weekly to discuss any updates to resources and services or case management issues related to a particular family. Midway through the meeting I find my eyes wandering around the screen checking out everyone’s living rooms, kitchens and home offices - silently wondering if mine looks up to par or interesting enough. I also catch a glimpse of my very long white roots and feel a combined sense of horror and relief. I’ve been considering letting my natural grey/white color grow in for some time, and think perhaps the decision has now been made for me.
I use the next hour to recheck my email, take a walk, make lunch and prepare for my next meeting. I realize how incredible the harmonies of Peter, Paul & Mary’s song, “Lemon Tree”, sound through my airpods. I set a goal to learn each of the three different parts so I can sing each one on future walks. From 1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m., I’m on a leadership team meeting with my hospital coworkers, to get updates on everything from COVID policies, budgets, grant deadlines, programming, and life in general. We set aside time during each of these weekly meetings to share any personal celebrations or struggles so we can try and stay connected. This meeting also includes a discussion on the re-opening of our department potentially in late June, what that may look like, and when we may start the transition. Admittedly, this conversation leaves me feeling a little anxious.
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3:00 p.m. and my eyes are tired from looking at my screen all day. I make a note to look into buying a pair of blue light blocking glasses, wondering if that may help. Around this time of day is when I start to hit the wall. As I grapple with conflicted feelings of sorrow and joy, fear and logic, worry and well-being, I take some time to meditate, journal and clear my head. I make an effort to get my thoughts on paper as a means of both off-loading for today, and documenting for tomorrow.
It’s now 4:30 p.m. and I get a call from my mother who lives on Long Island. She needs another Zoom tutorial, our third one this week. I immediately summon my two daughters to join in as they tend to have more technical skills and patience than I do at the end of a long day. I also text my daughter Jeanne, who lives in Chicago, to join us so we can get the full spectrum of assistance. My parents are both in their 80’s and I worry about them in this pandemic. I worry not only for their physical health but for their mental health while being isolated from friends and family. Thankfully, they are both adventurous when it comes to technology and my mom is determined to become an accomplished Zoom hostess with her friends. An hour and a half later, after some frustration and a lot of laughs, we say goodbye, hopeful that this lesson will stick and she’ll be Zooming this weekend.
Around 6:00 p.m. George returns home. The family regroups in the kitchen and after exchanging recaps of our days, we turn to the more important question, “What are we having for dinner?”. We decide that we just don’t feel like cooking for the 17th day in a row and since I have another Zoom workshop tonight, it would be easiest to order out. Another agonizing 30 minutes of debate later, we learn our favorite Chinese restaurant has re-opened for take out. Wonton soup, an egg roll, steamed shrimp and broccoli, and brown rice never tasted so good.
The best news of the day comes at 7:45 p.m. when I check my email for a link to tonight’s workshop and discover it is being recorded. Sweet relief! So, instead of logging in, I close my laptop, pour myself a glass of wine, my husband pours a glass of a bourbon, and we meet on the couch to watch Jeopardy. I sit back, sipping wine while marveling at the amount of random information my husband is able to retain. After Jeopardy we catch up on a digestible amount of news for the day, just enough to stay informed.
By 9:00 p.m. I’m starting to doze off and decide to grab a book, head upstairs and call it a night. As I lay in bed attempting to read, I take inventory of what I’ve learned over the last few months, what I want to leave behind and what I want to keep with me. I fall asleep listening to a meditation on kindness and empathy, and hope I can carry that perspective with me into a new day.