To my only child, I write this today on the ten week anniversary of your last day of school. It has been ten weeks since you were in your classroom with your friends and singing songs with your teacher. You still remind us that "there is no school today" but you haven't forgotten the songs you sang or how to build a tower or string beads. You still ask to help pour the juice and like to work on writing letters and numbers. You share stories about what happened at school "yesterday" and refer to your friends by name.
The last social event you attended with your friends was your birthday party at All4Kids followed by mass. What a wild unusual time of your life these past two months have been. Has it really only been two months? Time has flown by yet stood still at the same time.
I am wrestling with all that has happened and all that seems to have been lost these last several weeks and am struggling. And I am the grown up here. My dear child, with no warning, your life as you knew it, too, seemed to disappear overnight. You turned four on Saturday and by Tuesday, the world was shutting down due to COVID-19. No more school. No more All4Kids. No more play dates. No more eating out at restaurants. No more going to church and giving fist bumps to Deacon Steve. No more seeing friends or playing at the playground.
What did all this seem like to you? You saw Daddy and Mommy staying home with you. You saw day after day of our being glued to the computers trying to stay on top of all the online learning. You spent time in the car traveling to Grammy and Pappy's house or to Uncle Pat's house.
You have been spending your time in your house and in the homes of your loved ones. Yet you always find something to play thanks to your incredible and active imagination.
You saw your uncles, aunts, and Mommy caring for Pappy with Grammy. You saw Daddy trying to revise his thesis amidst it all. You played with toys Mommy and her brothers played with when they were little. You were able to play with your cousins so many times during these last ten weeks.
Back in Ohio, you watched as your Grandma and Pa began to get settled in their new house!
We took walks and looked for teddy bears in the house windows. You saw siblings playing in their yards, riding bikes down the street, and heard their giggles and squeals. My heart broke a little more for you as I watched you go through this quarantine in isolation. But you didn't seem to notice as you asked for a piggy back ride or were too engrossed in putting more "rock presents" in your coat pockets or ran with reckless abandon chasing our two little pups as we continued walking.
Today was the first time I witnessed, in a tangible way, some of the struggles that are built in with living as an only child. You didn't know I was watching you from the window as I tried to do a lecture for work. You were happily swinging on the swingset one second then the next minute I saw you on the merry-go-round. You grew frustrated and began crying because try as you might you couldn't make yourself go around by yourself. You got off and dropped down to your knees crying aloud. My heart splintered off a little as I experienced your anguish over not being able to play the way you wanted or had when you had been out there another day with a cousin.
It's true you don’t have built in playmates in siblings like so many of your friends do. You only talk to kids your age, or close to it, these days when you see your cousins which I am so thankful has been happening a lot given all the time we have been spending in PA thanks to the virus. You have way more screen time than I care to admit right now due to teaching remotely and having virtual meetings. I often wonder if the adults in your life are enough for you right now - enough to replace the interactions with other children when you aren't around your cousins. How will you remember this time? How will you remember Pappy? I hope this time of hunkering down will not only bring up memories of our always working from our computers or of the profound loss we are reeling from in the loss of the patriarch of our family. I wonder what your friendships will be like after all this. What will re-entry to school be like? Will you be shy or excited to see everyone again? Will this time of only being with family affect your social skills?
When life picks back up again , will you be willing to separate from us? Will I?
How will you look back on this time in your life when you are older?
Are you spending too much time with adults and not enough with kids?
Yet, I can feel the healing of some of the broken pieces of my heart when I see you interacting with Grammy. You help us to forget some of the pain for a moment. You happily build a tower after creating an orange and blue pattern and watch as it topples over before building again. We retell the main parts of Peter Rabbit as we consider the reasons why he was in Mr. McGregor's garden. You squeal with delight as you race to the window to watch the groundhog look for his next meal in the backyard. We play finger people and make our shadows dance. "Yay! It's going to be so fun" you say when I oblige and say I can play with you in five minutes after I finish grading an assignment. You do come up to me and say a cousin won't play with you but those moments are rare and when they do happen, you often will find something you can play with alone. Over these last ten weeks, I have seen you handle not being able to do the things or go to the places you love and our schedule has gone out the window, but you seem to still enjoy being with your dad and me, and other adults you are close to, and happy. Praise God!
I’ve watched you handle the disappointment of not being able to go back to school or to the playground or making yourself spin on the merry-go-round and I have grieved in those moments with or for you. Yet you bounce back and are resilient. Oh, my darling, as you like to say when we play house or with your dolls, you bring such joy and light. You have watched me melt down when the grief of losing my Dad seems too much to bear and then comforted me with a sloppy four year old's kiss on the cheek and warm hug. "He's all better, Mama, and in Heaven with God!"
Thinking back on these last ten weeks, I hope that you are able to see the good. I hope you see the acts of service, the kindness, the love, and can appreciate all the time together we all have had due to the quarantine whether in the car as we wait for Grammy to come out from a doctor's office and you take unknown pictures or at home snuggling under the cozy blanket as we watch Peppa Pig.
I love you, Charlotte Annie, and always will. From, your grateful Mommy
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