Sleeplessness While Trying to Move Beyond My Own Selfishness

It is 2:37AM and I cannot sleep. Now it is 2:38AM and by the time I read the sentence through, it is 2:39AM. The clock ticks, ticks on and I feel sad. My mind races. It has been racing for hours. I wish I was a better person. I wish I was not centered on me and all the things that have slipped away. I wish so many things. I wish it was not so easy for me to step aside. I wish my dad did not abandon me all those years ago. I wish someone had fought harder for me. I wish my husband was interested in me more of the time. I wish he could talk to me without looking at his phone. I wish I could talk to him without uttering the phrase, “are you listening?” I am sure it is annoying. I wish Eli was not so abrupt tonight. It hurt my feelings. I wish Kyle could talk to me like he used to. I miss him. I wish his girlfriend liked me. I do not think she does. I wish my mom’s hearing was better. I wish she and I could see eye to eye on faith and religion. I wish my mother-in-law were not “marinating” (Dave’s word) in Fox News and right wing conspiracy theories. I wish we could find a way to bridge. As the years move forward, the river only seems wider. I wish I saw my family more. I wish when I saw my family that we actually knew how to talk to one another. I wish Dave’s family reached out to him more. I wish it mattered.

My problem: I am insecure. Even when people just want me to go away, I am intensely determined to make it right. It is annoying. I am annoying. I do not know my father. His cruel rejection haunts my every cell. I am sure his severe neglect lies at the core of my need to NOT let you down. I hate it. I hate being canceled. It hurts. That is why I hate hurting you, and then I do. I hurt you. Just the other day Eli said,

“You know it is not just you. It is not all your fault. We also have to do our part to make things right.”

He is not wrong.

I love Dave deeply. He is a wonderful husband and father. He is my best friend. I love Kyle and Eli fiercely. They are kind. They think so big. They are invested and interested in the world around them. I love that both boys are dating women they really care about. I want to have great relationships with the women my boys love. Of course these women are important to me, no matter what their future holds. I like them. I hope they like me. I love my family. I love my mom. I love that she always is trying to be better and work through issues, even when they are uncomfortable. I love my brothers and sisters. I love that my sister vents to me. I love that my other sister appreciates my lengthy words and what she calls, “my big heart.” I love that my brother sends me pictures of his long Covid hair. My family is trying. I know our relationship is clunky. I have definitely complained about it being clunky. I want it better. I love Dave’s family. I love that Dave’s sister laughs at my jokes. I love how his mom fantasizes then makes her imaginings a reality, like her cruises and her home on the coast. I love that she raised such a beautiful son.

Instead of worrying about being judged for the color of my skin, I get to spend this sleepless night indulging my hopes, sorrows and fears.

I am white. I’m at a high socio-economic status. I am privileged.

I wonder about these past months. I wonder if the disruption of a global virus outbreak has destabilized us enough to wake up. Am I awake? I pause. I am stopped in my tracks. I see it as clear as the new day coming. Am I having a sleepless night because I am worried about my sons making it home safely, or getting hassled because of the color of their skin? No. I breathe it in. If I had been having insomnia last month, I do not believe the thought about systemic racism or privilege would have entered my mind. I would just be irritated at the sleeplessness. I am certain I would have been wondering if I had washed my hands sufficiently or when I would get to see my friends again.

Tonight feels different. I am completely wound up as I begin my fifth day of oral steroids. I have bad asthma and yes, I had to take a Covid test to receive treatment. The Covid test was negative. So steroid-spun-out me gets to sit at my desk in my safe upscale neighborhood and indulge these thoughts. Then I get to go back to bed. At this moment, I am only worried about the things I cannot control, but can totally indulge.

You know what? It is uncomfortable; the pain, that is. I sense my thoughts shift. I am a little embarrassed by all of this indulging. I want to move past me. I want to move past the things I cannot control and the things I need to let be. What I can do is be honest. I can speak what is true:

“I do not know what it is like to be a person of color. I never will.”

As I vomit out and embrace my own pain, I am able to make space for the pain beyond me. I recognize that it is only a starting point. I feel selfish, self absorbed and neglectful. It is oddly refreshing. This pain stings. Feeling this discomfort slaps me into the present. I think about this week. I think about our world. I think about Minneapolis, my home. I think about George Floyd. I cannot erase the sight of seeing a police officer kneeling on George Floyd’s neck. I am haunted. I think about Minneapolis’s Sanford Middle School and the bags of food people gathered during the riots. I feel community. I feel peace. I feel love. Does that make sense? Or make me seem more selfish?

Wether I make sense or not, hold me to my words. Hold me to my hopes. Use me.

I am sorry I have been so wrapped up in my own pain, rejection and sorrow that I neglected the pain around me. I am grateful for those who are saying, “no more.” I am grateful for those who are asking me to listen. I am in awe with the protests. Really? The protests move me. Did you see the protest in Los Angeles? All those people marching. It blew my mind. Each day people show up to say, “enough.” It is working. I am grateful for the people who so easily forgive. I am grateful for those who listen. I am grateful for those who give me the courage to speak up and then promise me I will probably get it wrong. They tell me to keep trying. And I promise it will probably be uncomfortable. I can stop worrying about being liked and accepted. I can speak up. I can hold your hand. I can listen. I can push back. I can try to make the world a better place. I can make eye contact. I will say hello. I will not look away. I will stand with you and stand up for you. You are not alone. I want to get it right.

I don’t want my thoughts to slip away into the emptiness of the night. I hope they don’t.

It is now 3:44AM. Covid is back on the rise and people are working through the next moment.

Moe, Makeda & Me, Minnesota

I will end with this: (Words Much better than my own)

Tiffany Haddish on George Floyd.

Trevor Noah on Connection.

Writer, Amber Ruffin’s, encounters with the police.

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o – Colonialism as a Process of Alienation

Last week tonight – John Oliver – Police

The 14th Amendment to the United States Constitution, Section 1:

“All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Covid-19/Coronavirus Thoughts: Senior Year Abruptly Ends & High School Graduation is Canceled

I feel like I need to start this post with a bunch of disclaimers. 

I very much comprehend that people are enduring suffering much greater than I am. As a result, out of an abundance of caution, I often start any conversation, written or spoken, acknowledging how much I get it! I hate that people are dying of Covid19. I hate that people who should not be dying are dying, period. I hate that my cousin & my friend are currently undergoing cancer treatment. I hate that my brother-in-law is on oxygen (100% of the time). I hate that people everywhere are going hungry, even some students who attend school with my own children. I very sincerely recognize that many are losing their livelihoods and that small businesses are going out of business. I also realize that many people are antsy and are so done staying home. I definitely think we need to find a way to remain patient while supporting each other through all of this. My guess is I am not alone. 

If it helps, I hear you. I see you. I am sorry you are suffering. I am grateful for you.  

In truth, I began writing this post yesterday, I mean, last week. In between my seventy-five daily “calm down” walks (maybe a slight exaggeration) and trying to encourage my extremely downtrodden children, I recognize that I am sad, like really, really sad. I am struggling. I cannot get my sleep cycle in the right place. It did not help that Eli began texting me at 3:26AM:

“Mom, I cannot sleep.”

After many back-and-forths, I was awake. In fairness, I asked Eli the night before to let me know if he could not sleep (again). I decided to “keep it simple,” (my new mantra), let him know I loved him and told him that I wished I could make it easier for him. Then I put my phone on “Do not Disturb.”  Now awake, I wrote a middle-of-the-night frustration letter. (I did not send to the frustrated party, and no, it was not writing to Eli about texting me in the middle of the night.) Then I listened to the beginning of a book on Mosquitoes, called, “Mosquito.” (It is actually really good.) Again I tried to will myself to sleep.  Instead, I touched Dave’s face every time his breathing became as loud as a snore. By 7:00AM, or thereabouts, I was back to sleep. 

Now awake, I find myself in an erratic haze of self isolation, homemade masks, and dashed plans. I often feel like the words I need to express are floating right outside of my grasp. I spend way too much time watching YouTube videos, considering making cinnamon rolls & scrolling social media sites. I feel like I should learn how to play either Minecraft or Animal Crossing and by the end of episode two, I became bored with “Tiger King.” I know. I hear your voice in my head (because we cannot speak face to face),

 “How could you get bored with “Tiger King?” 

I do not have the energy to explain. I just did. I got bored with “Tiger King.” I am beyond certain that I am not alone. Where I may be more unique is that I am also a person who can easily take twenty minutes to answer a yes/no or “how am I feeling” question, or wander my way through an opening thought. 

Here is the deal: Our youngest son, Eli, is a high school senior. He is a wonderful human, albeit a teenage human. He is wise, empathetic, sensitive, confident and kind. He is the first to consider other people and their feelings. He stands up for his friends (and even people he is not so fond of). He always stands up for me, especially when Kyle and or Dave are being dumb. Is he perfect? Absolutely not. Can he be moody? Absolutely! Nevertheless, does he recognize that other people are more profoundly impacted by the adverse effects of Covid19 (the Coronavirus)? Most definitely! In fact, Eli is the first one to vocalize the manipulative racism he saw when someone called Covid19, “The Chinese Flu.” One of the reasons Eli opted not to meet us in New Zealand was his worry for his grandma and grandpa here in Utah.

“Wawa and Harvey are old. They should not be exposed to this. I want to stay home to make sure they are ok.” Did Eli also want to stay home from our trip because of his girlfriend? Of course he did (and that is also ok).

The other night was intense. After getting into it with our eldest son, Kyle, I walked into the kitchen. Eli was standing there when I burst into tears. He asked what was wrong. After listening to my weepy response, he suggested I “Dap him up*,” (a special handshake), which I did. (He graded my performance and gave my “Dap” a mercy A+.) As a result of his tender compassion, I was now sobbing. That is when my very disappointed high school senior cradled me in his arms and gave me a great big and very long hug. 

The other day Eli and I were talking. Reflectively he said, 

“Mom, my last day of high school was Friday, March 13. Yes! Friday, the 13th. I did not know it then, but it was my last day of high school. I wish I had known. I wish I had time to say goodbye to all of my friends. This is high school. This is the end of a long run. I was in a bad mood that day. I even sat out of my PE class. And now it is over.”

I felt the weight of his words. I knew my words would not make any difference, but I said them anyway. 

“Eli, that just sucks. I am so sorry.”

It has been no surprise for me to hear that Eli is struggling to keep up with his homework. It was no surprise that he slept in until almost noon (remember he was texting me at 3:26AM). And has been sleeping past noon regularly. Last night he told me that day and night have become meaningless and that when he can see his friends again, they will have an all nighter to reset their sleep cycles. It was also not surprising when I asked him if he needed anything to help him get out of bed the other day, he said, “Bacon.” So I made him some bacon. He came into the kitchen and asked for a hug.

“Mom, I am not doing ok.” He said.

Then he ate his bacon and made a B.L.T. with the rest.

My heart hurts for Eli. My heart hurts for all high school seniors. I keep thinking about them. I keep thinking about the abruptness of this moment. I do not think any of us really understood this would be our moment. When Eli was born (in Northern Virginia), and the anesthesiologist was on the phone buying his 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics tickets, I never thought,

“Hey kid. I bet your senior year of high school will be hijacked by a global pandemic. Pro Tip: Make sure to go to a few extra proms.”

No. That is not what I was thinking or advising. Instead, at Eli’s birth I was in awe. When the doctor first held him up for me to see, I thought Eli looked a lot like Dave’s brother. I said as much. I also thought, 

“why is this dude on the phone during a cesarean section? Like seriously, hang up the phone. Why isn’t anyone telling him to hang up the phone?” 

Mostly, however, I was blown away. Eli was beautiful! (He still is.) He was breathing. This tiny, adorable human had such a powerful scream. He had ten fingers and ten toes, (still does, thank God). I was elated. This is is what I was thinking: 

“I get to be his mom.”

And for the past eighteen plus years, being Eli’s mom has been awesome (for real). Sure, are there moments I want to throttle him? Yes. There are so many more moments I can’t believe this amazing human is my son. It blows my mind that he is eighteen. The time when a wonderful two year old Eli used to climb out of bed, locate Dave & me, then make up jokes so he did not have to go back to bed, and all the years since, went way too fast. I mean, come on. Wasn’t Eli just demanding to wear the dinosaur costume in the nativity play? And wasn’t I just neurotically making sure Kyle & Eli’s outfits matched? Wasn’t my neighbor just telling me after a playdate, that Eli would like to be referred to by the name, “Raymundo?” Didn’t Eli just fall asleep on the chairlift and in two different snow banks during ski school? Weren’t Eli and I just racing from the biting flies? Wasn’t Eli just learning a pogo stick routine for the 4th grade talent show? Didn’t we just eat gelato at Eli’s favorite gelato place, which just happens to be in Rome? Wasn’t it just yesterday that Eli broke his jaw and had it wired shut for two months? 

Yes. It went way too fast. In reality, I cannot believe we are here. In fact, even with a proper traditional high school graduation, I am certain I would feel like this time rushed right on by. 

Nevertheless, this year is different. Traditional is not what the class of 2020 will get and is currently receiving. Their end is abrupt. It caught us all off guard, including the school district. (They want the seniors to tell them what they want to do for graduation.) Every time I mention this to Eli, he says, 

“What we want is a normal high school graduation.”

The class of 2020 will not have a normal high school graduation. Maybe someday it will make a good story about the time senior year was canceled. Right now it just sucks.

In the end, I have these two children. They are my gift. When they hurt. I hurt. Right now they are both hurting —  a lot. The best I can do is listen, support and help them grieve. I know it will be ok. I also know it is ok to be disappointed and sad. I keep hearing people say, “The way to understand other peoples’ suffering is to process your own.” I agree.  

We will get there. 


Covid-19: Comparative Suffering, Or Would it be, Competitive Suffering?

I think we’ve already established that our son acutely comprehends that having his Sydney study abroad canceled is indeed a “first world problem.” Further, I thought we’ve made it painfully clear that we recognize that much worse things can happen to a person than having their senior year of high school abruptly come to an end. Yes. We know that our sons’ losses are a privileged disappointment. Nevertheless, I am curious, if you do not want to hear our truth, why do you keep asking us? Is it a set up? A test? Are you trying to gauge our narcissism?

Here is the truth: They are sad. They are disappointed. They are lonely. They miss their friends. They are depressed. They sleep a lot. They struggle to get their homework done. Most days our older son says he is at a 3 – 4.5 out of a 1-10 happiness scale. Today he is a 6.5 — a gift. Our younger son told me earlier,

“Mom, if I cannot go back to school and finish my senior year, I am afraid I will always struggle with completion issues.”

Consequently, your “instructional” question actually feels like a trap, especially when you respond with a smirk and proclaim,

“well, you know, first world problems,” [insert your eye-roll here] and then follow with, “people are losing their homes, their jobs and their lives.” 

Here is the deal: I think you are missing the point. If we cannot feel and process our own pain, how can we relate to someone else’s? And if we are not allowed to process pain, then how will we be able to understand and comprehend other people’s suffering?

Ok. Let me back up. Somewhere in this socially distant world we now live in, also lives my dad. He will be eighty in September. Because he convinced himself that he is not my biological father (and told me so), he bailed on me many years ago. (It is true. He did tell me I am not his. Unfortunately for both of us, I am.) As a result of our is-she-or-isn’t-she-your-child conundrum, I have never ever had much of a relationship with him. It has been so long since I have seen him that I probably could not pick him out in a crowd or a Zoom chat screen. Regardless of our dysfunction, there was this time he reached out to me specifically. I was fifteen years old. He asked me if he could take me to lunch. He picked me up. Then we drove to a restaurant in Minnetonka, Minnesota called the Good Earth. (It is now a Champ’s Sports Bar). As we sat there, uncomfortably eating, he said that he wanted to have this lunch with me because he needed to tell me some things that he was not sure anyone else would tell me:


(1.) He told me about sex. Yes. He gave me the big sex talk, which my mom, the school, and this one girl on the school activity bus had already given me. I know you know how the sex talk goes so I will move on to his second topic. Wait! Before I do, don’t you think it is odd that my stranger-dad thought it was his job to explain intercourse? Anyway, moving on.

(2.) My Bio-dad said the following (or at least, this is what I heard.):

“Pain is pain. I hate it when people talk about starving kids in Africa and how you should know exactly how they are feeling and that you are somehow a bad person if you complain that you are hungry.” Then he paused, cleared his throat and continued, “You should not feel bad. You don’t know how they feel. You don’t know what it is like to be a starving kid in Africa. You do not know what it is like to live their life. The best you can do is to feel badly for them and to try and be a better person.” He paused one more time and then sternly admonished, “Beth, your pain is just as important. It is not less. And because you say out loud that you are sad, or that you are hungry, does not imply that you think you are better than anyone else. It is your story. Your framework. Your world. It is ok to feel sad when you are sad. It is ok to feel that pain. No one should tell you how to feel, or tell you you are less than. No one.”

I am grateful he felt compelled to share that with me. If I asked him now, which would mean I would have to find him, I am not sure he would remember his words or why he needed to share them with me. But I remember. My dad’s advice was brilliant. I am grateful. I always have been. 

Marianne & I

And here is where the story comes together: my best friend Marianne is a single mom with three kids at home. She makes her living as a hairstylist and does not receive child support. Due to the rules of essential businesses and social isolation during the Covid-19 pandemic, overnight she lost her livelihood. She has not been able to work. She is definitely not experiencing first world or privileged issues. I have cried for her. I have listened as she has shared her frustrations and fears. I have spoken about her before. In the next month or two, she could get evicted. She and her children could become homeless. She could be completely devastated. She is suffering more than I can imagine. 

The other morning I was super depressed. I turned my phone off. I slept really late. I did not want to get out of bed. I saw my phone light up. I saw that it was Marianne. She was trying to FaceTime. I hit the “decline” button and rolled over. Eventually I got out of bed, teary-eyed. I took extra long brushing my teeth, cleaning my retainers, and washing my hands. I went into the kitchen to start breakfast. I decided I should call her back so I FaceTimed her. She answered on the first ring. I could see that she was sitting outside. 


“Hello Chica.” I said.

With that, Marianne burst into tears. As she held a tissue to her face, she sobbed. I assumed she was stressing about money. I started to ask her about her job. I wanted to ask her about her rent, or if she had enough to eat.

Marianne & I

Instead, I decided to pause and just ask her why she was so sad.

Here is what she told me:


“I just took my five year old to a birthday party. Because of the quarantine, we had to do a drive-by parade and just wave to the girl in his class. I put some streamers on the car to make it more festive. As we drove away, he burst into tears. He is so sad about not being able to see his friends. He is so sad he is not in school. He asked me if we will ever be ok. He asked me if I was going to die. I feel so sad that he could not have a normal birthday party.”


Then I wondered. If you did not know her and only heard Marianne’s story about the birthday party, would we say, 

“Oh, first world problems. Get over it.” 

Marianne giving Eli the birthday cake she made for his 4th birthday

Or would we see that these pain-filled moments are actually what are bringing us together. They are relatable moments. See, here is a person whose whole world is falling apart. What really made her sad was how sad her son was that it was not a traditional birthday party. Obviously Marianne does not know when the rules of self isolation will end. She doesn’t know what will happen to her career or livelihood. But today, she can do something to cheer up her son or to let him know things will be OK. And in this disruptive mess of a world, these are also the moments we may be able to address or even control. Instead of deciding whose pain is valid, how about we use these hard moments to connect? How about we recognize that we are intelligent beings. It is obvious to me that my friend who just had chemotherapy is most likely suffering more than I am. It doesn’t mean I am less-than for feeling sad and not wanting to get out of bed. It does not mean my boys are selfish because they are let down.

Isolating

Ultimately, I believe we can hold space for all of it.

Covid-19 Juxtapositions and Thoughts From My Shower:

Me, Home, Salt Lake City, Utah

I believe it is healthy to process this moment. I usually process in the shower. Then I finish my shower and always a fair amount of surprise, I say to myself,

“Wow, Beth, you sure have a lot on your mind.”

I am sure you are processing too. 

As the drip, drip drip, of the warm water fell, or as Dave calls my shower temperature, “scalding hot,” here is what I thought: I am confused. I avoid my neighbors on the street while waving hello. I feel lonely while knowing I am not alone. I feel sad. I am happy we eat dinner as a family each night. I wonder if my runny nose is just seasonal allergies. I have really bad allergies. My body does not ache. I don’t have a fever. Every single day I insist Dave put his hand on my head and then my cheeks. He insists that I am so cold that after touching my face, he may just need to warm his hands. He teasingly calls me the Ice Queen. I am relieved. I am paranoid. I do not feel special. I feel grateful. I know I am depressed. Our therapist also noticed. Then she said, 

“Beth, Dave, you seem down.”

I assured her it was the pixel-y connection. She said,

That time Dave & I were traveling home during a pandemic, Auckland, New Zealand

“Actually, I can tell you are down, even with the fuzzy screen.”

Dave & I met with her on a knock-off version of Zoom. It was funny watching our mouths move and then like ½ a second later, the sound came out. Soon it was apparent that we had nothing else to say (even our therapist was done speaking). 

That time Kyle came close to death and survived, Primary Children’s Medical Center, Salt Lake City, Utah

It is weird. I think I should journal. That is why I am blogging. I hope we people of Earth record our Covid-19 stories. I recognize that everyone is experiencing this moment and experiencing it differently. I hope we all find a way to remember the breaths we are taking. Honestly, I breathe deeply each hour. I take ten deep breaths, making sure not to spit my air onto anyone. Years ago when Kyle was near death my friend M.B. instructed Kyle to do the same. I hear M.B.’s words now:

“Kyle, you need to keep your lungs strong. Take ten deep breaths each hour Breather. Breathe. Breathe..” 

I took my ten deep breaths. I did not hear a crackle or a wheeze. I do not feel strong. I feel relief. Selfishly, I want to make sure my lungs do not fill with fluid. In the shower, I took ten deep breaths again. As I exhaled on breath eight, my head was light. I grabbed the shower wall. Now steadied, my thoughts drifted. I thought of my mom. She is seventy-nine and has asthma. I brought her groceries the other day. She stood in the doorway of her garage as I carried the groceries in. When she got too close, alarmed, I shouted,

“Mom, step back! Please. I don’t want to risk getting you sick.”

Me dropping groceries off to my mom and Harvey, Salt Lake City, Utah

It was so weird. Maybe because I was a little lightheaded (or not), I was consumed. I could not stop thinking about the consequences, the realities, the intersections, the sorrow, the heartbreaks, and the confusion. I thought of my best friend, Marianne. She is a single mom and a hair stylist. She needs the money. Yet, she risks getting in legal trouble if she does anyone’s hair. Instead, she has to file for unemployment. I thought of my sister Brenda. She is an essential worker. Her husband has lung cancer and end stage COPD. Everyday I take a deep breath and hope they are ok. I thought of my friend Lisa. She is a midwife and works in St. Paul, Minnesota. She is journaling and photo journaling this moment. I am horrified and heartened as I watch how her clinic engages this virus. I thought of my friend, Mardie, who had chemotherapy earlier this week. I wonder if she is scared. I wonder if she is safe. I hope she does not die. I really like her. Then I think of my other friend, Cam, and his kidneys. He is always engaging and encouraging the rest of us. I am sad both of my friends had to go to the hospital. They asked for prayers, thoughts, vibes, happy energy, chants and all good things. I hope they are safe. I hope they don’t get Covid-19. I hope they heal well. Then, because they are always on my mind, I thought of Kyle and Eli. I wondered if there is a way I could help them through the day while still respecting their autonomy. I know they are sad. I know they are frustrated and lonely. In fact, moments ago Eli wanted to go longboarding. I just asked him when he was leaving. He said,

“That burst only lasted so long. I am staying home.” 

The boys, Socially Isolating, Salt Lake City, Utah

As I neared the end of my shower: the shaving my legs part (I really did shave my legs today), I realized that this moment seems to be breaking us down and bringing us together. I have seen anger. I have seen selfishness. I have seen hope. I have made unexpected connections. I wonder why the one lady, the one who always asks (demands) we be considerate of her son and his needs, was so insensitive regarding Eli missing the last part of his senior year. Maybe she has not had time to process. Maybe she needs a long, hot shower. Maybe if she did, she would know that no one is competing. But then I think of my t-shirt. What one will I put on today for my brother Bill’s daily photo challenge? I don’t usually talk to my family much. Thank you, Covid-19. You are bringing us together. (By the way, I went with my Atari t-shirt.

Doing one of my brother, Bill’s daily Covid-19 photo challenges: Hat Day

Now as I stand in the warm, humid bathroom drying off, I pause. I also recognize that many are suffering more than we are. Yet, it is still ok to be sad. 

Kyle doing his Sydney, Australia Study Abroad at home via Zoom

In fact, the other night Dave and I went on a walk-talk. It was late. We did not see a soul. On the walk we talked about our boys and their sorrow. I suggested we talk to Kyle & Eli once we got home. Because I am traditionally a long-winded speaker, I assured Dave my conversation would be brief. I wanted to offer my boys a lesson in empathy; a lesson I definitely could use a brush up on. Once home, I asked the boys to come into the TV room. Once we were all together, I promised the conversation would be short (it was). Then I said something like, 

“Kyle, do you love being home? Do you like being so far away from your girlfriend? Do you like having your Sydney, Australia study abroad canceled? Do you like that all of your stuff is still in Sydney and do you like the fact that you do not know if you will ever get it back?”

Kyle quickly said,

“No. I hate it. I hate being home. I am lonely. I miss my girlfriend! I have lost my independence. I hate it here.”

To which I said, 

“Eli, do you like that you are missing the last part of your senior year of high school? Do you like that you are stuck at home with us? Do you like that you cannot see your friends?”

To which Eli quickly responded,

“No. I don’t like any of it. I wish you guys would go back to New Zealand. I would rather be here alone. This sucks!”

The boys enjoying family dinner during the Covid-19 Pandemic, Salt Lake City, Utah

Then I made two fists. I held both hands side by side in the air and said,

“Kyle, Eli, you are both suffering. I think we can hold space for both of you. I think we can hold space for everyone.” I said a few more things. I asked them to have regard for each other. I finished by saying,  “I am very sorry you are suffering.”

Us Exactly One Year Ago, The Rocks Neighborhood, Sydney, Australia, April, 2019

Eli wisely responded, saying something profound about instead of his efforts landing into a black hole, everyone needs to reciprocate and make an effort. The young man is wise and correct.

We ended the conversation. I am glad the boys could unload. They are amazing. They are good humans. I know they will be ok.

The next day I took my deep breaths. I took another shower and I contemplated this moment — again. 

Covid-19 Update: We are Home.

Us, Before Covid-19, Sweet Lake Biscuits & Limeade, Salt Lake City, Utah

After having many flights canceled, redirected, or partially booked, and making a wistful drive to Milford Sound, we began our journey home.

While in Queenstown, we received the same text from the airline that stated and I quote:

Due to Presidential Proclamation, non-U.S. citizens who have visited the countries listed on united.com/importantnotices in the 14 days before their flight will be denied entry into the U.S. Citizens, their immediate family members, and permanent residents are exempt from this rule; however, they will be subject to additional health screenings and may be required to self-quarantine for 14 days.”

Us, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

After reading this text every time I received it, I became low-key freaked out and completely paranoid that we would not be able to enter the United States. Of course, because I knew we were traveling, I also felt a huge responsibility. I did not want to inadvertently get anyone sick. In case someone sneezed on me, I wanted to wear a hazmat suit. I also felt like we were somehow diseased and had done something wrong. (Thank you innate religious guilt.) Of course, Dave, knowing my neurotic-over-sense-of-responsibility, repeatedly assured me,

“Beth, we have not traveled to any of the listed countries. We are OK. In fact, there are fewer cases of Covid-19 in the entire country of New Zealand than there are in the State of Utah.” (Guess what? There are still fewer cases of Covid-19 in New Zealand than there are in Utah.) 

Dave & I, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

Eventually, because I would not ramp my neurotic self down, Dave opened the CDC website, showing me we were ok, that unlike the United States, as of our date of travel, New Zealand was not a country with a Level 3 travel advisory. We also had not traveled to any of the restricted countries. Further, I was relieved we actually would be able to travel home and that we were not required to self-isolate. OH, HOLD UP!  We are self-isolating. Please know we are strident advocates for flattening the curve. I am certain we all know several vulnerable people. While in New Zealand, we actively socially distanced ourselves and washed our hands until they were raw. We continue self-isolating and social distancing. (Note* And I may write another post regarding wearing the Scarlet Letter of Quarantine.)  For now, I will say is this:

“Before you get all judge-y, check yourself and make sure you are doing your part. Please consider the literal steps you have taken. Are you projecting your stuff onto me? Do you have some unchecked anxiety that needs looking after? Do you wash your hands (often)? Are you gathering with 100s of others at the SLC airport to see your returned LDS missionary? Are you touching your face or your eyes? Are you hugging? Have you been to the grocery store? Are you quarantining your food? Are you disinfecting your purchases? Do you wash your hands after you pump gas? If you are working, how safe are you? How many people do you really include in your socially distancing circle?” 

Me, Queenstown Hill, Queenstown, South Island, New Zealand

So, instead of being passive and confusing, and before pointing a finger, or making me prove to you that I am safe, how about trying a more direct approach. How about saying something like, 

“Beth, I am not comfortable seeing you until you have quarantine for 14 days.” 

I can get behind that. Hey and if all it took to wipe Covid-19 from Earth was to avoid me and my family, then sign us up. Ultimately, In truth, we all can do better. As much as I respect your ability to be responsible, I expect you to show us the same respect. (*This prudent sidetrack is a result of some personal interactions — obviously.)

Kyle & I, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

Back to our story: As we moved through the Auckland New Zealand airport security,  we were asked to step aside. Next, we were questioned (by a woman wearing gloves and a mask) about our health and our travels. Security was also very clean and socially distanced, including barriers, agents wearing latex gloves, masks, and hand sanitizer (everywhere). Our actual flight was quiet, safe and well orchestrated. I managed to calmly watch, “Ford Vs. Ferrari,” listen to a podcast and get some sleep. Kyle tells me he was not able to sleep. Consequently, he spent his time playing Minecraft. Dave used a carry on suitcase to elevate his long legs. Even though the airlines assured us the plane had been deep cleaned and disinfected, everyone on our flight sanitized their seats, trays and arm rests. People actively worked not to make physical contact. All flight attendants wore gloves and worked not to make physical contact. In fact, I have never seen so many people sanitize their hands before and after a meal and remain in their seats for an entire 12 hour flight. 

Kyle & I, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

We made it home. We made it without fanfare (as it should be). I told my mom we cannot see her for 14 days or more. Yesterday I tried to help her set up a Target home delivery order. (We are still working on placing the order.) Dave is telecommuting (rather successfully I might add). Kyle’s belongings remain in Sydney. Eli tells me his back hurts from all the sleeping. I stopped wearing makeup days ago. Tuesday I had this fabulous idea that each day we would do yard work as a family. Wednesday we took the day off and today it snowed. Earlier, after he was outside, I insisted Dave take off his clothes and leave them in the garage (and this was not for sexy time 😉). He obliged. (His clothes remain in between the cars.)

Dave & I, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

As we plod along, Eli tells me I am getting too panicked watching Covid-19 prevention videos. I remind him that people like his grandma(s) are vulnerable. He totally gets it. He is just processing and I am certain trying to find a space to put all of this. I am also heartbroken that he, with so many other kids, is missing the end of his senior year. (I am still annoyed with the woman who suggested Eli get over it because she also missed her senior year and she is fine.) Eli has been such a good sport. I can feel his disappointment. And guess what people? Pain is not a competition? He forces himself to do homework. Yesterday, I said he needed to start his paper edits by 6:00PM. He started at 5:41PM. (It’s the little things.)

Kyle, Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

Finally, as I sit here typing, Kyle sits next to me. Having him here is a comfort. I am also sad his study abroad was cut in half. He (still) does not know if he will ever see his belongings again. He is emailing every administrator he can think of as he tries to navigate how to get his things sent back here and figure out insurance and refund issues. I am certain it is a lot. Oh, and because we were in New Zealand on his spring break, Kyle is also trying to buy new textbooks before his Zoom classes begin next week. Dave is back on a conference call. I have been doing laundry all week and took a break today. We have eaten dinner every night as a family, something we rarely do. It is nice. And of course, we are grateful for the distracting tender mercies such as Netflix’s show, “Tiger King.” 

Me & Easy E, life here at home, Salt Lake City, Utah

PS. In the past few weeks I started vlogging our Covid-19 & Coronavirus experience (and life). I will start posting them here. It is a work in progress and I hope to get better at it. Enjoy!

Coronavirus, SLC Earthquakes, Canceled Flights and Long, Therapeutic Hikes

Somewhere west of Glenorchy, South Island, New Zealand

Hey there world. I hope you are all hanging in there. We know this is a lot. We hope you are staying healthy. We hope you are finding a way to enjoy social distancing. We hope you have enough to eat. Here is a little, rambly update. Since my post, a lot more has happened. Obviously, you know a lot more has happened, because you are living all of this craziness.

SO, yesterday I awoke to the following text. (It was from my mom):

“I’m sure you heard about the earthquake here in Utah. We are good. It was in Magna. We felt it, but that is all. Just talked with Dominique. Ted is in Macedonia.”

I will be honest. Until I cut and pasted my mom’s text into this post, I missed the part about my stepdad, her ex-husband, being in Macedonia. WHAT? I hope he is ok. I imagine he will be there for a while. Knowing him, maybe he bought one of those 1€ European village houses for sale, and moved there. I’ll have to find out.

West of Glenorchy, South Island, New Zealand

As I was writing this update, I was also texting my girlfriend. She is a single mother of three. Two of her kids still live at home. She also has custody of her oldest son’s child. She is a hairdresser. As a result of Coronavirus self isolation and social distancing requirements, her livelihood vanished overnight. We were chatting about stimulus packages. Sure, they will help, but only so much. I am very worried about her. Beyond stimulus packages, I keep wondering how we can rally together to make sure people stay afloat.

Now back to the Salt Lake City earthquake of 2020. Again, WHAT? It was a 5.7 magnitude earthquake. HOLY WOW! I started texting my Utah friends to make sure they were ok. My mom was so shaken that she did not connect the dots when I asked her if she was shook. Eli said he slept through it. My neighbor-friend’s text sums it up well:

“Everything is ok. The earthquake was nuts!! But Eli apparently slept through it😂😂 teenagers😂😂. SLC airport is closed, soooo…..Also, the trumpet fell out of Moroni’s hands at the SLC temple. Seriously. 😂😂.”

A few hours later the Salt Lake City, Utah, airport reopened. The rest of yesterday was filled with way too many memes regarding the earthquake knocking down the Trumpet from the statue of Angel Moroni atop the spire of the Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City.

Here is how I responded to the news of the trumpet’s fall: I suggested that Angel Moroni’s trumpet fell to punish all the Utah toilet paper hoarders. Alas, I could tell my mom was sad about Angel Moroni and his trumpet so I let it be. There are much more important things going on, yet I must admit the Angel Moroni gave me a moment of levity.

Us, Bob’s Cove, West of Queenstown, New Zealand

OK, now back to us here in New Zealand:

I think it was two days ago that we were booked on flights that flew direct from Queenstown, New Zealand to Sydney, Australia. Then one night in Sydney, Australia. Then we would fly from Sydney to San Francisco and San Francisco to Salt Lake City.

Then Salt Lake City had an earthquake and shut its airport (only for a few hours). New Zealand moved from requiring incoming foreigners to self isolate for 14 days to shutting its borders to all foreigners completely. (*By the way, we arrived in New Zealand before the 14 day self quarantine requirement went into effect.) Nevertheless, like the rest of the world, we are actively social distancing. Australia followed suit and closed its borders to all foreigners.

Us, Bob’s Cove, Queenstown, South Island, New Zeland

While these new regulations went into effect, our flights were CANCELED. Somehow the airlines managed to book me on a flight that went from Queenstown to Auckland, Auckland to Sydney. The airlines managed to get Dave on a flight from Queenstown to Auckland and then they said there was no space on the plane for Dave. So we suggested Dave swim the rest of the way. Kyle’s ticket was canceled and supposedly they were working on new flights. During that time we bought and canceled various airline tickets. After a trip to the airport, where we received no help, because everyone is in the same situation, and after hours on the phone and several calls with the airlines, we have booked tickets to leave this Sunday, March 22. Of course we had to buy Kyle an overpriced replacement ticket, since his flight from Sydney isn’t actually cancelled. We just can’t get him to where he needs to be to be on it. The worst thing is that the day before, the ticket was 1/2 the price. This is all so chaotic, right? The plane we are flying on is booked. We are not sitting near each other. I am totally freaked out and have considered traveling in a plastic bubble. (Oh, did I mention I have asthma and its allergy season? Probably not. I did not want to hear any wrath.) We fly from Queenstown to Auckland, Auckland to San Francisco, and San Francisco to Salt Lake City.

Us, Bob’s Cove, Queenstown, South Island, New Zealand

My hope is that because this flight is leaving New Zealand that no one will have Coronavirus. My other prayer is that we can find a way to sit by each other. (We are currently on two different itineraries, which is better than the original three.)

While all of this flight stuff was going on, the people at NYU Sydney and Kyle continued to work out a plan to get Kyle his things. At one point they were like,

“Um, you’ve got to figure out how to find someone who lives near you to bring your stuff to you.” Kyle was like, “They are all flying home. No one else lives in Utah.”

Kyle, Wye Creek Hike, Queenstown, South Island, New Zeland

Oddly, (or is it SHOCK), Dave and I still feel like we needed to be here. I cannot explain it. I will not try. I am sure you all would have done things differently. We are grateful we are able to help Kyle during this time. Last night my heart grew 17 sizes (and not because I was having a heart attack), but because Dave stayed up last night supporting Kyle as Kyle pushed through his stress, worked on and finished his last midterm assignment: a giant anthropology paper. Now that Kyle is done with all of his midterm coursework, he says his mind is full of other stress. Yes. We are worried about our boy. That’s what parents do. In spite of this crazy moment, we have also found ways to connect and heal. Each day we have found a very isolated area to go hiking. Yesterday we found the steepest of the steep hikes. We forgot to bring water. I almost passed out and it felt so good. You know when you are climbing how all your focus is on the route, that is how this hike was. I was mad at times. Then I had to explain to Dave and Kyle that I was not mad at them. The hike was hard and it was therapeutic. For a couple of hours I was able to set aside my worry — which was a gift. Then the day before we drove and drove west. We hiked to a point. We took a million jumping pictures. We met and fed more horses and I found two bathrooms full of toilet paper (in the backcountry). Through it all, I still feel calm.

Kyle, Wye Creek Hike, Queenstown, South Island, New Zeland

Anyway, I am sure there will be more before our journey ends. In the meantime, our heart goes out to Kyle and Eli and all of you. I hope NYU Sydney will safely deliver Kyle his things. It is sort of nuts. He barely has anything here. I hope Eli will feel less isolated and find interesting things to fill his time. I hope my girlfriend’s financial burden will be lifted. I hope all of you will get exactly what you need. I know this experience is different for everyone. Please know we are thinking of you.