Just when I think I’ve sufficiently suppressed my Covid anger, resentment, and hurt, something pops up to bring the memories all back. Today it was the simple act of doing laundry. I washed my daughter’s “Covid hoodie.”
In the fall of 2020, my daughter was beginning her freshman at the University of Tennessee. I remember being thrilled that after months of what was essentially a “canceled” senior year, she would be embarking on a new adventure. We drove her down to Tennessee, got her settled into her new dorm, cried through our goodbyes, and hoped for the best semester ever.
Then she got Covid.
The students in the dorms were made to test a few times a week and someone on her floor popped positive. Each student had to test again a day later, and at that stage my daughter’s test came back positive for Covid-19. She didn’t have symptoms, but the school insisted she be quarantined from the dorm for at least two weeks. Housing told her they would be moving her within the hour to a hotel a few miles away and suggested she pack her things quickly.
My daughter is not a crier. She was stoic and easy going most of her high school year, taking the “it is what it is” approach to all of the Covid lockdowns and cancellations. But on this day, with the news that she had to pack up after only being at school for a month and move to a hotel alone for 14 days, she cried.
I got the call, saw the tears, and was helpless. We live 14 hours away from her college.
As I took her Covid hoodie out of the dryer today, I remembered my heart breaking when she got to the hotel and called me saying, “the cab just dropped me off, and I’m in my room, but no one is around, and I’m scared.” I remembered her saying she didn’t know what she was going to eat for dinner and wasn’t sure if she packed enough clothing. I remembered my husband calling the hotel to complain about the heat not working and our daughter being cold. I remembered looking at flights to get to her and not seeing one available for days. I remembered crying, not sleeping, being so furious that this was all happening to my kid so many states away, alone.
I looked to Amazon for help, and with a few clicks of my mouse, I got to be a Mom again. I researched the warmest, coziest, Sherpa hoodie and put it in my cart. I bought warm socks and cozy sleep pants. I added soup, crackers, drinks, candy, popcorn, shampoo, magazines, arts and crafts, cookies, and anything else I could think of to give some comfort to my baby girl. She received it all within 24 hours.
When I hung up the Covid hoodie today, at first, I felt a deep, deep anger, but after a few minutes, I found myself feeling grateful. Grateful that a few clicks of my mouse allowed me to send some warmth to my kid when she was cold and some food when she was hungry. I felt grateful my daughter is now spending her junior year in Tennessee with friends and football games, in-person classes and events. I felt grateful, of course, that we are all healthy and made it out of the pandemic unscathed when so many did not.
The hoodie was a good reminder that some of life’s toughest moments make us appreciate life’s simple moments even more.
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