For me March 15 is the day the Covid lockdown began. It’s the day the New York City Public Schools closed. We’d seen it coming for weeks as we watched the CNN reporting from Italy and Washington state. My office had already gone remote. Most people we know with preexisting conditions were shuttered in their homes. Friends working on the frontlines in hospitals and groceries stores were never far from my mind. We’d already stocked up on “the good toilet paper,” pasta, cleaning products, chocolate chips, pet food, and over a year’s worth of doggy pooper scooper bags. Even though my bathroom shelves were bursting with make-up and skin care, I ordered a stash of my must-have’s. So if you go by my Amazon order history, the things I feared most during the lockdown were dry skin and picking up dog poop with newspapers.
When the schools closed, I had no idea that “middle school” for my daughter would mean wading through an endless of Zoom calls, FaceTiming with her friends, and discovering John Oliver. I didn’t know that I’d start every email with phrases like “I hope you and your family/staff are safe and healthy.” I certainly didn’t know that in March 2021, we’d all be going through Covid lockdown anniversary stress.
An astrologer once told me the reason that birthdays are so stressful is that they are the anniversary of the first traumatic event we experience. Each year as we go through the same light and seasonal changes, the trauma is triggered. Regardless of if we remember our birth or not, dates and seasons do bring back memories and I have always found it important to acknowledge. I celebrate my cancer-versy every year and on certain days I post memories on Facebook of friends who aren’t here anymore. Every February 2, I play Rod Stewart’s “You Wear It Well.” We mark September 11 as a day of national tragedy, but it’s also a personal one. We all know where we were that day and life has never been the same.
Even though the exact date varies, the Covid lockdown started for most Americans in March 2020. Every conversation I’ve had lately includes the phrase “the last time, I…” hugged someone outside my household, ate in a restaurant, saw a play, listened to live music, went to the office. I have to keep reminding myself it’s not really the “last time,” we will ever do those things.
We all know normal life will return and that it is not going to be the life we had in 2019. My Facebook page is full of photos of recently vaccinated arms. It’s even possible that my daughter will be back in her school building before she graduates from middle school. Someday this pandemic will be something that happened.
Still a year is a long time. It’s the difference between 7th and 8th grade. It’s 365 days of surviving whatever personal battles we fight. It’s another round of turning forward the clocks, to exchange an hour of sleep for an hour of sunlight.
Every anniversary is an opportunity to let go the no-longer-useful and embrace change, both literally and metaphorically. In that spirit, I am taking the advice of every women’s magazine that says make-up and skincare products expire after a year. I’m throwing away everything in my bathroom that I did not buy during the Covid lockdown.
Luckily, the bags don’t have an expiration date.
