A Pandemic of Life Lessons

Whenever I attempted to open my eyes, my eyelids felt as if they were the lip of a wave pitching
from above, preparing to break. Like a wave that cannot contest the force of gravity, my eyelids
couldn’t either.
Believing my eyes were glued shut, my ears searched for sounds that could give me a clue of
where I was. Before finding an answer, I passed out once more. As brain waves transitioned me
from wakefulness into sleep, I hoped whatever was going within my fatigued body would wind
up soon.
“A common cold and allergies,” the doctor said with a slight grin when I finally dragged myself
to his office. “Spring is coming to Miami! I’m going to prescribe you Flonase and Zyrtec. Return
if the symptoms persist after a week. Stay safe!” He walked away. But, Doctor... I tried to say,
slightly raising my hand with no real intent of calling him back.
At the pharmacy, I stood in line to pick up my prescriptions. I patiently waited for my turn and,
unlike other occasions, observed my surroundings like a curious child visiting a place the very
first time. My enthusiasm had to do with knowing I wasn’t contaminating anyone with the
coronavirus. After all, even a single sneeze during the pandemic made it nearly impossible not to
fear having contracted the virus.
The pharmacist gazed in my direction and asked about getting the COVID-19 vaccine. Given
that only individuals over sixty years of age qualified at the moment, I glanced over my shoulder
to see what the person behind me was going to respond, but I saw no one.
I chuckled. Do I look like someone who qualifies to take the vaccine?! There was I, a
thirty-eight-year-old woman being mistaken as a senior citizen. Does he believe I have an
autoimmune disease, which would qualify me? Despite feeling unwell these past few days, I don’t
think I look that bad. Or do I?
I straightened my back and cleared my throat. Suddenly, the question was no longer that funny. A
tight smile under my mask became evident by my narrow-eyed frown and he immediately
explained himself.
“Forgive me. Today only, we are offering the COVID-19 vaccine to anyone who might want it.
These vaccines are made to order and we don’t want them to go to waste. Since our system is
down today, we are offering them to the general public.”
While still staring at him, now with a startled look, my eyebrows found a new and more
comfortable position hanging in the middle of my forehead. I immediately stuck my hand inside
my handbag and reached for my phone. Attentive to the pharmacist's explanation of how to
proceed, I began to type without glancing at my phone, sharing the information about the
unprecedented opportunity with my friends. Despite a few typos, in a couple of minutes I was
able to register fifteen of them, including some family members.
As I blithely walked out to the parking lot, part of me felt like it sounded too good to be true. But
I was proved wrong—anyone from age sixteen to eighty-two got the COVID-19 vaccine if they
wanted that day, a full year after the pandemic began to affect Miami.
The declaration of a local state of emergency by the Miami-Dade mayor and an effective
quarantine that followed was established on March 12, 2020.
I vividly recall rumors of the public school system going virtual at the time. Even though my
daughter was attending private school, the principal most definitely would pursue the idea, as she
did during hurricane season. I never thought that Friday afternoon would be the last time I would
pick up my daughter from school in 2020.
Hanging around the entrance of the school with other parents who were equally confused, I was
appalled to get a partial answer; along with her classmates, my first-grader carried a large paper
bag containing the books needed for the rest of the school year.
Later that day, an email followed informing that starting Monday, school would resume virtually.
A return date wasn’t yet in sight and further actions would be decided on a day-to-day basis.
Furthermore, tuition would remain the same. That decision stood until the end of the school year
despite the appeal of some parents who got pay cuts or even lost their jobs due to the pandemic.
From then on, the school schedule consisted of a one-hour daily Zoom meeting with the room
teacher. Parents were granted access to a homeschool program with video lessons in most
subjects. Other than that, all daily assignments were to be found on Google Classroom and
turned in by the end of the day. Failure to submit assignments would result in points lost.
Simply put, the children were subject to seven hours of school per day at home. Nonetheless,
given the extraordinary circumstances, despite the pressure and how exhausting it was to spend
the day homeschooling (add thirty minutes on top of that taking pictures of all assignments and
uploading them), still, I would not dare complain about it.
Again, I was glad about the decision I made a few years prior to the pandemic. By liquidating my
business—due to the grueling hours required—to dedicate more time to my family, I was able to
assist my daughter and make sure her education wouldn’t suffer.
As a parent, part of my job is to provide a safe environment for her to feel secure, especially
when the world around us seems to be nearing collapse. It goes without saying that children live
by example.
As I walked toward my car that last Friday afternoon at school, I refused to give in to fear. While
observing my daughter playing with a classmate at a nearby park, I tuned in to what ended up a
seventy-two minute press conference on the coronavirus by President Trump declaring a national
emergency. He was accompanied by Dr. Birx and Dr. Fauci, two names that became well known
by the American people in 2020.
As the other parent and I listened, we repeatedly shared perplexed looks, trying to make sense of
the information being dumped on us. Noticing her distress due to her daughter’s upcoming
birthday, I reassured her that we would still be attending the party Sunday.
The CDC hadn't yet recommended the use of masks. At a small candy store, when my daughter
was blissfully in close proximity to her friends, my chest tightened. I wondered if I had made the
right choice. The last thing I wanted was for her to become ill because of my decision. Even if
my intention was to please her, I knew that wouldn’t relieve my guilt if she got sick.
Soon after the children were finished with their projects, the guests met at a park where the kids
were able to run freely and play with frisbees and hula hoops; I hadn’t seen a birthday party like
that since I became a mother.
At that moment, I was experiencing the end of an epoch and a new era of kids’ birthday parties
that would reign for over a year, at least. In the months that followed, parties consisted of
distanced, outdoor celebrations—in most cases, drive-bys consisting of three basic elements:
means of transport, celebrants, and a residence on the road (preferably on a street with an exit).
To attend such a drive-by party, we were tasked with driving slowly by the celebrating home as
the birthday child stood out front with their family, and we honked repeatedly as my daughter
waved and displayed a homemade birthday sign.
After going around the block a few times, in most cases, guests were invited to park their cars
and congregate on the driveway wearing masks and maintaining a distance of six feet. The
attractions consisted mostly of actors hired to perform as Disney characters and sing songs,
entertaining the children who, to the dismay of their moms, couldn’t keep themselves distanced.
The birthday parties also included the distribution of individual snack kits, drinks, and party
favors for the children. Boxed cupcakes to take home were given out in lieu of a cake, and also
as an indication that it was about time to decamp.
Nevertheless, my daughter’s and my favorite birthday party didn’t involve a drive-by at all.
Instead, an outdoor movie theater was set on the front lawn of the house. The ground was
marked with several circles to make sure families kept to social distancing guidelines.
My daughter, as well as most kids, didn’t want to leave after the movie. Not because she wanted
to watch another movie; the heartbreaking reason was to play with her friends. As I spoke to
another mom by my car before we left, her three-year-old son asked, “Mom, can’t I get close to
other kids?” giving us both teary eyes.
Unquestionably, parents went out of their way to be creative and not put aside important dates. In
my case, that moment was Halloween. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that, as most put
it, Halloween was canceled. Although I wasn’t willing to allow my daughter to go
trick-or-treating as if under normal conditions, a thought came to mind.
On Halloween, my family and I dressed in our costumes and headed out on that cloudy late
afternoon. The sky was grey and the streets silent. It was hot and so humid I was sweating like a
leaky garden hose, making my cow costume completely wet after only a few minutes of standing
outside.
While I waited for my husband to lock the front door, our daughter, who was glancing inside her
empty basket with a mixture of anxiety and excitement, asked me what we were going to do,
before realizing I was standing on her scooter. She giggled.
The five of us took a picture: a pizza dad, a super taco daughter, a furry hot dog, and two cows: a
human kind and a canine bovine. Then our journey began. I rushed ahead of them on the purple
scooter decorated with an orange spider web taped to its front. Hanging from one side of the
handle was a milk jug cut opened displaying a “spoiled milk” hazard sign, and filled with candy.
On the other handle hung a bag with dog treats. Over my shoulder, I carried a trick-or-treat yard
sign which kept falling, making my husband and daughter crack up every time I had to stop to
compose myself after nearly losing my balance.

Once I placed the sign in front of robust trees, neighbors cars, and bushes along the path, I
hunched down as small as I could behind it. Shortly after, my daughter approached. “I see a
trick-or-treat sign here!” she called out, playing along. My husband also requested treats, thanks
to the dogs who were quick to give up my position, sniffing the bag hanging from the scooter.
On the first stop, I saw my daughter’s ocean blue eyes fill with excitement as she grew closer,
placing her orange pumpkin-shaped basket right on my face, and making my heart swell. “Trick
or treat?”
Her broad smile and the energetic tone in her voice made my eyes water. I just wanted to pull the
little taco shell toward me and give it a tight hug, but I knew better; she wanted candy, not
melodrama. So I went on and dropped a handful of candy inside her basket.
All I can say is the joy that filled me every time she approached that evening was unceasing. Our
night ended under a rain shower. On our way home—a damp walking pizza, a soggy cow, and a
wet hot dog chased after a soft taco and myself, a steamy cow, trying to get hold of some extra
candy. I went to sleep proud of being able to make the best out of a day that could’ve simply
been another “normal” day during the pandemic.
Overall, my family and I couldn’t feel more blessed for having jobs and good health. Moreover,
living in a house allowed us plenty of personal outdoor space, and having a pool helped keep us
busy and made all the difference when there simply was no other place to go.
I was also very grateful that my husband was working from home. This not only allowed me and
my daughter to spend more time with him, but his constant presence enabled me to dedicate a
little bit of time for myself.
Since I didn’t have free time during the day, I was able to run while my daughter was still asleep.
At dawn, however, I didn't feel safe running by myself. But given the pandemic and its new
routine, running was no longer a want; it was a need.
Under normal conditions, the streets would be nearly packed during rush hour, but throughout
the quarantine, a sense of loneliness was inevitable. At times, I felt like I was living in a ghost
town.
Nevertheless, I felt I had no choice other than to make it work. So, I began to run with one of my
dogs. Peanut wasn’t really built for runs, hence I chose Oreo, a black and white highly energetic
terrier.
With a hands-free leash strapped to my waist, we ran twice a week. Her pace, however, was way
faster than mine. An outsider wouldn’t think she was running with me, but rather dragging me.
My lower back, where the leash was strapped, faced forward making my belly meet the wind
before my face did. My legs were moving so fast I felt like an ostrich chasing after a cyclist.
Luckily, before reaching a half mile, she would begin to run next to me. In fact, I was thrilled to
have her by my side; she was more than a guardian, she was a company. There was just
something about her energy that captivated me and, despite all the hassle, I simply couldn’t stop
bringing her along with me.
Our runs were thrilling. Over time, she figured out where all the squirrels were. As we
approached each area, she would speed up and charge after them with me strapped to her, trying
to not trip and tumble through the trees while I worked hard not to laugh and command her to sit.
The truth is, she couldn’t take me seriously and I couldn’t blame her for that, so we went back to
running.
Funny enough, thanks to her, my pace considerably improved. A positive factor in opposition to
our other pit stops—the doggie doo ones, for example. Despite the run breaks I was forced to
take for her to go potty, I also had the pleasure of carrying loaded bags throughout the course of
three miles (yes, she had a preference for going at the beginning of the runs). Worst of all was the
stinky green bags dangling from my hand, swinging back and forth with each stride.
At least that made other runners smile while shaking their heads as they glanced at us, probably
sympathetic to my cause. What else could I do but laugh at my own comic tragedies? Those are
some of the great memories Oreo and I built. Moments that, while they might never recur, still
make me crack a smile.
More than giving me the opportunity to create unimaginable memories, the pandemic also taught
me lessons for life. One of the most significant was the importance of taking care of my mind
and body, so when unprecedented times come, I can have peace of mind, knowing I’ve done
what I should.
But that is just one of a plethora of lessons I learned—a pandemic should move us all when it
comes to life and living—here are just a few of the lessons I learned.
Don’t take life for granted.
Be appreciative of your good health.
Find joy in the simplest things in life.
Give thanks for waking up every day.
Take care of your body before it’s too late.
Your mind deserves love, too.
Make better decisions when it comes to your body;
you can’t get a new one like you do with clothes when they get old.
Be wise, but do not live in fear.
Find your own happiness before worrying about making someone else happy.
Be a good friend.
Care for others.
Love your pets;
they might be around for only a portion of our lives, but we are all they know their entire life.
Allow your child to express their creativity;
pay attention to what they have to say.
Take your child’s feelings into consideration;
their feelings and thoughts are not less important because they are young.
Don’t get upset too easily.
Learn to laugh at yourself.
Always seek the positive.
Use adverse times to create opportunities.
Fight sadness with humor.
If you feel it, good or bad, say it.
Smile more.
Complain less.
Hug even more.
Learn from others’ mistakes.
The only time we have guaranteed is right now.
Don’t wait until it’s too late to regret;
make changes while you still can.
Time is a temporary asset.
Life is here.
Life is happening now.
Live life to the fullest.