Pandemic Anniversary Reflections
In the Absence of People and Plans, I Found Me
March, which used to Spring us forward, now marks the end and the beginning.
This time last year, my daughter’s school closed for a two-week Spring Break (back when we thought 14 days would solve all problems) and has yet to re-open. Her last day also happened to be my brother’s birthday. Even more depressing than turning the anti-climactic age of 39 on Friday the 13th was doing so at the onset of a pandemic.
The night out with friends turned into a dinner-in with family, which meant three cranky toddlers, three stressed-out parents, and two conflicted grandparents awkwardly posing for a picture, half-masked, half-smiling, and half-social distancing. What made it ok was the epic party we’d have next year for his big 4–0.
My family has moved around a lot, so we don’t really have traditions that transcend the various cultures, continents, and countries.
But one thing that has always crossed all language barriers is our love for being “en famille.”
Yes, there was a backyard, more space, and childcare, but to be with family was the main reason why my parents, my husband, our then 3-and-1 year-olds, and two lab mixes gathered under the same roof to quarantine in the NYC suburbs. My parent’s house has served as a refuge no matter what shape I’m in. It is where my friends and I fled on 9/11, where my husband and I went when we miscarried, and now, it was where we all found ourselves, disheveled and disoriented.
Since my father was of the highest risk, we adopted a zero-tolerance approach of not seeing anyone, doing anything, or going anywhere. Instead, we discovered the kids, each other, and every stage of grief. To make things even more unpredictable, we went through the various stages at different times and often re-visited them.
So, at any given moment, you could find at least one in-denial adult or an out-grown pair of kids’ shoes in the house.
There are a lot of images that come to mind when I think about the lockdown: some heartwarming and some horrifying. A recurrent flashback is from August 4, 2020, when, in a cruel act of serendipity and solidarity, a massive explosion wiped out most of Beirut’s main port on the same day as Hurricane Isais came through the tri-state area, cutting off our electricity.
I was born in Lebanon but never got to live there, so I have a deep connection and many unanswered questions about this country of contradictions. The injustice and the beauty. It was crumbling and taking my heritage down with it.
As both my birth and home cities were in the dark, I was struck by a thought: “What was I worried about before I had so much to worry about?”
Survival mode felt familiar to my parents. They had lived through many years of religious conflict, culminating in a traumatic escape during the 1982 Lebanon war with me, a newborn, and my brother, a toddler, in stow.
But me? I’ve had a blessed life. We immigrated to France, Canada, and eventually the U.S., so my brother and I would have all the opportunities. So why then, long before humanity went into a state of emergency, had I already been living in survival mode?
Survival mode is a fear-based way of being when your fight, flight, or freeze response is triggered in order to effectively deal with a threat. I had young kids, but they were healthy, and there was no tiger trying to eat them.
Yet, each action occurred for me as a life-or-death decision. I had spent so much energy stuck in a pattern of catastrophic thinking and worst-case scenario planning — like a horror movie on repeat in my head all the while smiling and engaging with my then baby and toddler — that in the face of an actual real-life global threat, I had nothing left.
And a lot was needed of me.
That dark night in quarantine, I began a new inquiry on my self-discovery journey. I started to see anxiety can be a trait that can sneakily get passed down unless you intentionally eradicate it out of the gene pool.
Because I was born in wartime and am raising kids in a pandemic, I am standing on a bridge between two generations connected by hereditary anxiety.
It is time to cut that thread so my kids, and future generations, will have a chance to live thoughtfully with purpose and peace.
My parents have experienced their country get ruined and seen it be restored. They have experienced hardships and turned them into catalysts for success. Even though we’re still in the trenches, I need to believe that we, too, will come out on the other side and be just fine.
There are plenty of real-life tragedies in this world without adding our mind’s made-up catastrophes. I decided to only deal with what is directly in front of me.
There are plenty of examples for whatever we’re looking for — whether the villains or the heroes, the despair or the hope, the hate or the love. I decided to search for the light.
My brother’s milestone birthday celebration didn’t end up looking that different from last year, with the addition of a few grey hairs, extra pounds, and another event indefinitely postponed.
But as we sat around reflecting on this past year, there was quiet gratitude for having all of us here — in the picture.
I will always remember this past year as one of great loss, but if I look at what 2020 has taught me, I can also see how much I gained.
In the absence of people and plans, I found me.
Perhaps the same is true for you, or perhaps you’ve never been more lost. Maybe you, too, have gone through every stage of grief and are now feeling some survivor’s guilt and post-traumatic stress. Wherever you are, I promise you this — in time — you too will heal.
And finally, then, we can have an epic party.
