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,

“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). 

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.”

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.” 

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.) 

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. 

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!”

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.”

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. 

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.”

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.) 

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?” 

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.)

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. 

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.)

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.)

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.” 

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

Things are getting crazy. Now how do I parent this critical situation? While I eagerly await more news, I will update you.

6:19AM Mountain Standard Time, March 3, 2020:

Kyle: “Hey mom I know it is early but just in case I really need you right now. I just forwarded you an email that you also should have gotten on your own.”

Then Kyle screen-shotted the following message regarding the Coronavirus outbreak and sent it to me me:

“Hello everyone

I’ve just learned about the email you received from NYU. As this has come as a surprise I think it would be really helpful for us to meet in the morning as a group. We can begin a conversation and members of the NYU Sydney team can respond to your questions…”

Next, here is a bit from the email Kyle forwarded me: 

“Dear NYU Study Away Students in Accra, Berlin, Buenos Aires, London, Madrid, Paris, Prague, Sydney, and Tel Aviv,

…We appreciate that there are a wide range of views — and comfort levels — with your continuing to study away this semester.  However, we are mindful of new advice from the CDC concerning study abroad, and accordingly, we have developed new guidelines that aim to provide you with as much flexibility as possible in order to make the decisions that feel best to you and your families. Of course, given this is a rapidly evolving situation, we must all remain open to further adjustments should events require us to make them.

Each of you studying outside of the United States has the option either to continue your studies in-person at your current location, or to return home and complete your semester coursework remotely utilizing distance-learning resources, including Zoom…We will be sharing this email with your parents and guardians, and strongly encourage you to speak with them regarding your individual planning…”

A few minutes later, Kyle sent me another message: 

Kyle: “Mom this is so hard.
I need advice and help.
This is not helping my mental health.”

Kyle is currently in Sydney, Australia studying abroad. Sydney, Australia is fourteen hours ahead of Utah’s Mountain Time Zone. When he messaged, I was out cold. I never heard my alerts. A while later, I rolled over, sleepily reached out and grabbed my phone. As I picked it up, I could see all of the alerts. I was stunned. I saw Kyle’s messages. I saw other messages. How could I miss all of them? 

Of course my heart sank as I read Kyle’s words. I was not there when he needed me. I was asleep. How I deal with having my baby so far away is letting go a bit and deep breathing a lot. I have learned that I need to be present and live life here in Utah. Thank goodness for the internet, for Facetime and Messenger. Yet, in these moments, when I literally cannot give him a hug, are the moments he feels so completely far away. 

In these moments there is really nothing I can do, except to offer comfort, or apparently sleep through it. [insert hand-over-the-face emoji here]

Earlier, in an attempt to offer comfort to someone who is awake, I spent a little while messaging with Kyle’s girlfriend. She is studying away in Paris, France. She is also trying to navigate all the Coronavirus concerns.

It is now 2:30PM MST. Kyle is awake. Yay! He and I just video chatted. Deep breath. He seemed ok. No. Actually he seemed better. I met some of his Sydney friends. They are about to leave for the Sydney campus meeting, you know the meeting which will discuss the coronavirus situation. As I think about them meeting to make a plan, in my mind I picture the zombies in the movie “World War Z. ” I cannot stop imagining those manic zombies as they feverishly climb the Jerusalem Wall and throw themselves over the wall and onto the other side, the side where the humans were sheltering. I remember seeing the panic people felt as they watched the zombies penetrate their safe space.

The realization was clear: there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. There are no safe places. 

Ok. Perhaps my analogy is a bit dramatic. Nevertheless, this is how this moment feels: the zombies could get my son and it is completely out of my control.

Let me back up and give you the build up. Earlier this week we received a very low key email from NYU outlining their concerns regarding the Coronavirus. As I mentioned, earlier today, we received another email from NYU. Both Sydney and Paris are included as NYU “Coronavirus-concern” campuses. Oh, and I believe the NYU Florence, Italy campus is now closed for the semester. Kyle is completely overwhelmed. So are his fellow students. So are we. In fact, Eli and I got our flu shots this morning.

True story. First we went to Walgreens. They were out of flu vaccines. Then we went to Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart only had the egg-free vaccines remaining. I am sensitive to eggs, which meant the egg-free vaccine was actually a double bonus. The Wal-Mart pharmacist asked Eli and I a bunch of questions like, “have you ever had Guillain-Barré Syndrome?” Of course I thought of my friend’s brother who had Guillain-Barré Syndrome. It is awful.

“No. We are good.” I told her.

She gave us our shots. Then she and I chatted long after my shot was administered. As we both side-eyed the lady wearing the designer plaid face mask, we talked about the importance of washing your hands — like all of the time. We talked about real ways to stay healthy, which led us to a conversation regarding the uncertainty of our world. As Eli and I walked away, he looked at me and said, 

“Mom, do you know her? It seems like you and she are friends.”
“No. No, Eli. I don’t know her.” I responded.

We laughed and then I thought about how these are the moments that make us feel like we all know each other. 

The plot thickens: As Eli and I walked to the farthest parking spot in the parking lot, a fact that Eli finds completely annoying. (“Mom, why do you always park so far away?”) Well, as we got our steps in, Eli asked me about our upcoming trip. See, we have tickets to meet Kyle in New Zealand in less than two weeks. Eli is scheduled to fly out a few days later. He is taking his first solo-travel international flight and is supposed to meet us in Sydney. As we got into our car, he asked me if we should still go. Then, as we drove to Costa Vida, a local fresh-mex restaurant, I assured him that it will be obvious what we should do when the time comes. I know. Kind of a lame, non-reassuring answer. Nevertheless, a true answer. Finally everything seemed to shift back to normal as the man, who Eli says looks like someone who would not be working at a fast food restaurant, explained that he would really give Eli more Nacho cheese sauce without charging us. Then he asked us to watch him as he showed us how. 

As he ladled cheese, the Nacho Cheese Sauce Man proclaimed, 

“See, I make sure I get cheese on every chip. And because I do, I always give you more cheese.”

We all agreed the Nacho Cheese Man was indeed generous, we paid and took Eli’s chips to go. While he ate his Nacho Chips, I began writing. (Sorry Dave for buying our son such an unhealthy lunch). While typing, my sweet friend Maria, who works at the University of Utah, sent me information on how the University of Utah is dealing with the Coronavirus. Included in this email are travel restricted countries. New Zealand and Australia were not listed. I am still hopeful. Nevertheless, I think Dave is correct when he suggests that the Coronavirus is having a ripple effect. It reminds me of the impact waves of 9/11. It seemed whether directly, financially, or emotionally impacted, everyone was affected. And now concerning today’s Coronavirus, I imagine the ripple includes Nacho Cheese Man. 

It is now 3:31PM. I couldn’t stand it. At 3:10PM MST I messaged Kyle (again).

Beth: Any news?
Kyle: Still in meeting. They are hoping we stay.
Beth: Oh good. Are they asking you to take it a day at a time?
Kyle: Kind of. NYU Sydney is pretty flustered.
Beth: I am sure they are flustered.

At 3:31 PM Sydney, Australia time (Australian Eastern Daylight Time):

Kyle’s meeting (finally) ended. It looks like for today he is going to remain in Sydney. Sydney feels and seems remote. Maybe he is safer there. We are still planning on our visit. Even though all of the hand sanitizer, even the crappy off brands, are literally sold out all over the world, I managed to find some hand sanitizing wipes and some antibacterial Wet-Ones brand wipes. I will send a packet of each with Eli. I will urge him not to touch anyone. I will urge him to wipe down the seats. Dave and I will do the same. In the meantime, I will keep washing my hands. I will keep Clorox wiping our handles. I will try to sleep. I will take a  deep breath. 

Ultimately, I realize all we can do is take it one day at a time. If everything changes tomorrow, we will deal with it then. Like I just told Kyle (we talked for a long time after his meeting), no matter what, everything will be ok.