I don’t remember the first time I heard about “Coronavirus,” now better known as COVID-19. It was probably over Christmas. We were traveling in Washington, and I’m pretty sure I caught a few snippets of news about some virus that was killing people in Wuhan, China.
Little did I know that the same virus would so greatly impact my life — all our lives — just a few months later.
The virus hit slightly closer to home when I received a voicemail from my mother-in-law one day after work in late January. We were a few days away from celebrating my sister-in-law’s 40th birthday. Micah’s entire family was flying down from Washington to rent a beach house for the weekend. Kayla had friends coming from various parts of the country to join the festivities.
Cheri works in the Communications Department at a large hospital up in Washington. Her voicemail went something like this:
“Oh hi, Jen, it’s been a crazy week. Did you hear that our hospital is treating the first U.S. citizen to test positive for Coronavirus? The media is flooding the hospital, and I’ve been working 12-hour days. It’s nuts. I am so excited for the beach trip, but I am just so, so busy that I don’t think I can help out with renting the linens or planning the groceries. Do you mind taking care of those logistics?”
Of course, I didn’t mind. A week later, Micah’s whole family and a bunch of Kayla’s friends congregated on the beach for four days. We got PERFECT weather – 75 degrees in January – and had a great time. We didn’t know that in a few months everyone else would have their family reunions and vacations canceled. We didn’t know what was about to hit us harder than the waves crashing against the beach during our happy, sunny weekend together…
