Today, my parents' 98th day in my basement, began with three Emily Dickinson poems alongside toasted bagels with cream cheese. I noticed my mom had strapped on her fanny pack, which was odd, since she usually only wears it when she is traveling. Maybe she was prescient.
After breakfast as I cleared the table, my mother bent over precariously to pluck a dried grape stem from under the table pedestal. She held up what looked like a tiny Christmas tree tinseled in Vern's dog hair. I put "vacuum" on my to-do list.
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Moments later Dan called. He'd just hung up from the bank president who'd called to tell him that the clerk who had helped Dan with his safety-deposit box on Wednesday had been tested for COVID on Thursday and had this morning received a positive result.
Our tenuous Jenga tower toppled: keeping Dan isolated from my parents wasn't too hard, as long as we assumed he didn't have the virus himself. But after known exposure, our worries multiplied.
We jumped online but couldn't find a definitive answer to how safe it is to share air circulated through a COVID house. Housing Dan on one floor and my parents on another no longer felt safe enough if Dan has, in fact, actually contracted the illness.
We needed to alter our arrangements for the next two weeks at a minimum.
I called my sisters. I called my brother. We batted around options and scenarios, including isolating Dan down the road in the old house or isolating my parents in the old house. Every solution had drawbacks.
By noon Dan, my siblings, and I had settled on what we felt was the safest option. We would send my parents on a wee vacation to stay with my sister and her daughter in Newton for 12 days until two weeks past Dan's exposure. Meanwhile, Dan and I would stay here, with him upstairs and me...in the Vern-furred basement!
Yes, Dan and I will be sharing the recirculated air. But while I do not want to contract the virus, I'm not nearly as worried about myself getting it as I am my parents.
If Dan stays healthy and tests negative after July 9, we will move my parents back here for the last three weeks of July.
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By 2 p.m. I had my parents (and Vern) loaded into the Suburban, heading east. My mother was teary. "I hate to be a burden on you kids," she said.
"You are not a burden. COVID-19 is an inconvenience to everyone, but it's not something we can't handle."
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As we drove to Newton, my parents were at first uncharacteristically quiet. I asked my mom to recite "Kentucky Belle" with me, and she did. We laughed with delight at the line: "On came the Michigan Calvary!" My mother is from Michigan and always takes personal ownership of that line.
When we stopped at the DeSoto exit, I helped my parents get out of the car for a stretch and to walk Vern on a grassy area next to Casey's while I filled the gas tank, using plenty of hand-sanitizer and wearing my mask.
My dad had lain down under the shade of a tree while I was gassing the car, and when I returned it took both my mother and me together to hoist him back up on his feet. Again, we laughed.
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When we arrived at my sister's, we were greeted with a lawn overflowing with flowers and fruit trees. My mother will love this flora over the next two weeks. My niece said she is eager to use Grandma's recipe to bake bread while they are there.
I did not go inside. The protocols for passing off elderly parents from one close-contact to another rely less on clear directives than on a wish and a prayer.
I hugged my mom on the doorstep.
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On the drive back to Atlantic I called Adrienne. I told her I felt sad, like I was handing off my children to a babysitter. I kept thinking of my parents' idiosyncratic preferences. There was a small part of me that harkened back to sibling rivalry and wondered if my parents would find my wide farm yard boring after two weeks in my sister's Eden.
Adrienne reminded me that my parents have, in a way, been my children for these past 14 weeks. It's okay to feel blue as I send them to "summer camp."
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Once I got home, I went to the basement to start the Roomba (still on my list) and gather any leftovers from my parents' small refrigerator. I saw Vern's carton of boiled eggs and realized they'd forgotten to take them along.
I needed to call them immediately!
My dad said they were settling in. He assured me that even without the eggs, Vern would be fine.
I asked to talk to my mom.
It was when I heard her voice that the day's tears at last brimmed over.
I told her that as evening approached, I realized I would not be bringing her medicine in a tiny teacup. I missed her.
She said she missed me too.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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