Dear Bird and Deal,
I usually write you a letter before the beginning of the school year to tell you what I hope the year ahead holds for you. My feelings are more complex and jumbled this year. Even as a writer, I struggle to put words to my emotions. I can’t quite name what I am feeling and wonder if there are foreign words that better capture the state I am in. You know, the way the German Gemütlichkeit sums up a cozy friendliness in a way nothing in English can. When we rang in 2020, I likely had identified a word of the year. I don’t even remember what it was, so that should tell you everything you need to know about how great I am with resolutions. I recently wrote in my daily journal that my word of the pandemic is EXHAUSTED.
It’s been a tiring few months, no? My exhaustion is more emotional than physical, and there’s no sleeping it off. We’ve been on this hamster wheel of lots of together time, nowhere to go, and no end in sight. We followed the rules and now sit back watching Americans ruin everything for the rest of us. It’s charming to think about how naive and hopeful we were in March when North Carolina essentially shut down. We thought we’d lick this thing in time for a glorious start to the school year. We’ll hunker down this summer, we said. August will be fine. It’s downright comical in retrospect.
And here we are on the eve of Senior year for you, Bird, and Sophomore year for you, Deal. A shroud of uncertainty looms over us, sobering what should be a joyous time. These are bittersweet milestones that have been nagging at me for a long time. As your mom, I have always had a love/hate relationship with Time. During these days of COVID, I have consciously not wished away time because I’ve known that our time together is waning. Bird, you will soon take flight. Am I awful for being secretly happy to have had this extra time with you, even when we made each other’s nerves fray and blood boil? During these last several months, time was a gift. Paradoxically, you’ve also been robbed of time.
I’m sad you are starting your school year virtually. I know you miss your friends and are pretty damn tired seeing us all the time. This whole experience defies your very development and has further exposed that your dad and I don’t really know what the hell we are doing. It’s true we could only fake it for so long. Your whole cohort of friends are experiencing this frustration and pain and sadness alongside you, and I know that we as a nation have let down an entire generation in immeasurable ways. Immeasurable but not insurmountable.
Tomorrow morning, we’ll still take the traditional first day of school photos, the last for my Bird. You’ll complain about it but still be good sports. School will be two-dimensional, marked by a series of login codes, buffering videos, unmuted microphones, muted microphones, and ill-timed jokes and responses. You even said it seems anticlimactic because it doesn’t feel like you’re really going back to school. I guess you’ll eat breakfast and just go back to your bedrooms. We’ll all be in four different rooms, plugged in yet disconnected.
No lunches to pack. No new sneakers to wear. No battery packs to charge. No eager excitement to hold a girl’s hand, high five your buddies, or hug your friends. Have we forgotten the delicious warmth of anticipation? We’ve struggled not having something to look forward to. Time simultaneously ticks painfully slowly yet the months whiz past, and we are becoming dulled by the day. How can we shine our spirits and buff our souls?
I’ll admit that I have been teary for different reasons than the usual passage of time. I took an extra long shower this morning to weep alone, awash in emotion, salty tears and strong peppermint soap that stung my eyes to add physical pain to my heartache. Bird, I hate that your senior year won’t be what you imagined. I’m trying not to focus on what’s been lost and think about new milestones and opportunities instead. You know that I am very bad at practicing the art of seeing a glass half full.
Mostly I hate that it could have been different had we had better leadership and trusted science instead of conspiracies. I’m sorry that 170,000 dead Americans doesn’t inspire our president to save us rather than launch partisan, political grenades at his own constituents. I hope that all your friends who are voting for the first time vote against this awful parasite on the planet, for so many reasons, chief among them, what he stole from you.
While I am sad and angry and worried. I am also hopeful. I continue to have faith in you to rise above what you’ve been dealt. In fact, the way you shoulder this pandemic has been an example to me. Above all else, I want you to see what extraordinary role models your teachers are. Educators have worked tirelessly, with even more heart than usual, to ensure you will be cared for, nurtured, and challenged. Their burden is especially heavy, so let’s give them grace and continue to champion teachers and public education. We are nothing without teachers, and I am confident you will see shining examples in the men and women who grace your screens everyday.
I wish I had words of wisdom to share right now, but truly, what I say to you today would be relevant whether you were walking the halls of your high school or logging in to Google Meet.
Be patient. With yourselves, your teachers, your friends, each other, and us.
Be kind. Nothing is easy for anyone right now.
Find joy. Embrace the good in this new normal.
Help. Volunteer, offer yourself, step in to support a friend (or your mom).
Honor your feelings. Some days will suck. Let yourself wallow once in a while.
Laugh. You’re still teenagers, and reasons to laugh abound.
Rest. Take a break when you need one. This journey is hard.
Know that I am so proud of the young men you are becoming. Mixed with this pride is a tish of sadness as it gets harder and harder to see remnants of the little boys you once were. Sometimes, almost by surprise in unexpected moments, I see those chubby cheeked children. I catch it in the way your chin tilts when you fall asleep or the spontaneous snicker when you try to squash laughter at inopportune times. You are both bright, caring young men who will not be hindered by a pandemic, a slightly dorky over-emotional mom, or a fascist in chief. I see your own acts of dissent, civil disobedience, and kindness that tell me you’ll be OK. I hear you share words of encouragement with your own friends and I realize how much stronger you are than I. Every day is a lesson, and I guess it’s now that you as the student become my teacher.
Find happiness and create it for others. You are so loved.
Mom
You are an amazing, awesome, audacious Mom!!!