Day #98 Writing Through COVID-19: Countdown to August 1

On Sunday my parents again asked about over-staying their welcome. This time I did not second-guess my hospitality or comb through my every word and action of the past week.

I recognize now that this is an ongoing concern for them. My response was steady and honest: they are the easiest of houseguests. We are having many lovely times together. They will not be living with me forever.

It was this final point that deserved new attention Sunday. I told them that August 1 is the day we are looking at to either help them return to Friendship Haven or find another safe place for them to be. My school, in some form, will be re-starting. Even if I could hire someone to tend them during the day, I will no longer be able to isolate myself to a safe degree. I will be coming in contact with dozens if not hundreds of students, depending on what our school day looks like.

Having August 1 as a target date is simultaneously comforting and distressing. It is comforting to my parents when they are anxious about imposing on me. My mother especially fears igniting in me the resentment she felt while caring for my father's aging mother and her own elderly parents.

I assure her there are significant differences between her experience and mine. My parents do not demand physical care; they are cheerful and appreciative; their stay is ultimately temporary. Repeating these facts to my mom makes her laugh a little.

But the countdown to August 1 is also distressing. This virus is not contained. Every day I read about the coming of the second wave this winter, doubling down with flu season. If moving them back to their care center amounts to out of the frying pan and into the fire, we'll need to consider moving them to the care of other family members, which involves the stress and confusion of another move, new routines, new challenges.

I keep hoping a good solution magically appears within the next weeks. Or, as I heard a certain someone say in February: like a miracle, the virus will disappear.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison