COVID is a devastating disease that has impacted our society on a global level. As vaccines have been distributed nationally, we seemed to be emerging from crisis into some form of recovery and stabilization, with rates of COVID infections and deaths precipitously dropping. However, with the arrival of the Delta variant and a high number of unvaccinated Americans still at risk for illness, there is still significant cause for concern. In addition, the pandemic is still raging internationally, as many developing nations are suffering immense losses with less vaccine relief and poor healthcare. And so many are grieving the loved ones they have lost.
I am hoping, that amidst loss, exhaustion, and discomfort, we can learn important, if hard-won lessons from COVID. As we continue to try to regain equilibrium while weathering the pandemic, It may be a moment to reflect on resiliency and what we require to sustain us.
During most of this time, we haven’t had the same rituals and routines with our children and families that typically nurture family life, the daily rhythms that typically shape our day and give us comfort, purpose and pleasure, without us even knowing it—the in-person school day (something our children often bemoan as boring and horrible but over this school year, they’ve often admitted they desperately miss and need), sports practices, play dates, vacations, outings at restaurants, etc.
When reflecting on this, I am reminded of my great grandmother, the amazing stalwart of our family who lived until 93 years young. To most people, she lived “an ordinary” life but I view her as the extraordinary example of resiliency existing within the everyday experience. During this time, I have often conjured her image as both a guide and inspiration to help me remain calm and steady.
My great grandmother was born in Ireland but immigrated to the United States as a very young child. Her family actually resided in Brooklyn already but her mother was visiting Ireland when she realized she was pregnant and remained there until my great grandmother was born. She joined her family in Brooklyn as an infant and was raised there the daughter of a fireman with her 4 siblings. Although she had her sights set on marrying an American, she fell in love with an Irish man who was 10 years her senior and already sporting male pattern baldness, to boot. He died before I was born, but by all accounts from family members, they married for love and remained in love for life. My great grandfather was actually a talented athlete, the youngest to ever win to play on a national championship. This is akin to being on a winning Superbowl team, or as close to this as you can come in Ireland just after the turn of 20th century. They married and raised 4 children, 2 girls and 2 boys, living in Brooklyn, a very Irish American story.
My great grandmother was a study in resilience, the embodiment of tenderness sheathed in strength. Her life spanned almost the entirety of the 20th century (1905-1996), and with that enormous societal change and upheaval. She lived through the Spanish Flu, the Great Depression, two World Wars, and witnessed the arrival of the computer age and the internet. Her husband went to and returned from war. She endured personal tragedy. Her youngest son developed a brain tumor and died on the operating table at age 24. He was described as the bright, jovial star in the family who illuminated every room he walked into. Her younger daughter, my great aunt, exhibited intense anxiety after his death, becoming agoraphobic and housebound. She lived with my great grandmother for the rest of her life. She also outlived her other son who developed liver cancer in his fifties as well as her husband, who passed in his 70s. This may sound like an ill-fated, defeated life. However, I assure you, it was the opposite.
My great grandmother was the matriarch of our collective, extended family. She never had a lot of money but no one felt that they went without. She knew how to “rub two pennies together to make a nickel.” She hosted all of the holiday dinners and was ever ready to host us for a cup of tea or make dinner for my nuclear family of 5 when we pulled up to her house unannounced for some TLC well into her 80s. Her meals were always simple (in an Irish meat and potatoes way), but we always left her house feeling nurtured, full and calm. Not many material gifts were given in her home but there was so much abundance of comfort, warmth, humor, and care. She was playful and knew how to delight in small pleasures. She had an adult size tricycle she rode at 85 with a large basket in the back. When my brother and sister were under 5, they would pile in and she would tow them around.
I can still remember the smile on her face as they rode by. I can’t remember her directly saying to me or my siblings that she loved us but she didn’t have to—it was evident in every patient and tender gesture. She loved to be teased and would fake indignation poorly, clearly delighting in the attention. Her mouth easily formed into a smile because it was such a common, familiar gesture. I am sure that my great grandmother felt intense sadness many times over in her life given the scope of her experiences. But this never changed her capacity for experiencing joy and optimism.
When she turned 80, my family threw a big party for her. Someone asked her what her favorite decade of life was. She replied her “70s.” This is truly a life well-lived, in my opinion. Rather than feeling spent and attenuated toward the end of her life, she delighted in the gifts she reaped and the experiences she had. My great grandmother was humble and did not ask for much. Once, she actually demanded that the FM radio be removed from the new car she was buying. This may seem austere and punitive but I think it was just that she did not see the need for it. I think her great strength came from knowing how to thoroughly enjoy the simple pleasures she had. Watching the sunset at the beach, an occasional glass of scotch, her fine china, (mostly) faked exasperation at her unruly great grandchildren, memories of her one trip to Europe with her husband, the constant companionship of my great aunt, one of the most wonderful women I have ever known.
Having been raised with the model of my great grandmother’s life, I believe that an important lesson we can learn from COVID is to take pleasure in the smallest of gestures and moments, and in each other. Such moments are not about “things” (i.e., toys, gifts, trips). They are the small ways we can tell our children that they are loved, they are precious to us, and that they are of great value. I would call this the small yet most essential parenting currency —shared meals, opportunities for conversation en route to doing an errand, time spent in play with our children, a small note written to them and left in their room for them to find). I like thinking of small moments and gestures because they make me slow the hurried pace of our family life, and reach for the deeper values and connections that bind us, stripping away the noise of the non-essential. I remind myself that some of the best moments of my childhood were spent at my great grandmother unassuming kitchen table, playing cards, having tea, and laughing with my brother and sister. Such moments can nurture us as parents and our family life. I believe this is true at all times–in our brightest, happiest moments as well as when stewarding our families through a global pandemic.
I would imagine that COVID is impacting all families, in different ways and many are struggling as we all ride the constant wave of positive and negative news about the disease. When it becomes overwhelming and my mind begins to whirl with so much worry, I try to go back to simplicity.
Today, or in this moment, I will delight in a simple pleasure with my family. I will show them that they are loved, they are precious to me, and they have great value.