Waiting For Superman: CV Stories, 23 March 2020
Throughout what is going to be an extended period of isolation for Americans, this newsletter will be a daily look at what it is like to actually live through this moment, until this moment is over. (And, uh … let’s not rush it?) It will feature brief opening remarks from me every day, but will mostly be stories from you about how this is affecting you, your family, your friends … your daily life. (The regular weekly newsletter will continue uninterrupted.) Email me your story at williamfleitch@yahoo.com.
I feel like today was the day a lot of people snapped. If we ever wondered what it would be like if you forced Americans to stay in their home for a full week, I think we’ve found out: They go nuts. While other countries have been under quarantine for months, we’ve been indoors for one week and everybody’s clawing their eyes out. You see this on the macro level—it feels like we went from “this is going to be a moment of extreme sacrifice for all Americans, but it is for a common good” to “what, 15 days? That can’t possibly be right. That is unacceptable. I’d like to speak to your manager”—but on a micro level as well. Today was the day everybody realized that this week was going to be just like last week, but worse, and harder, and more exhausting. Today might have been the worst case of the Mondays in recorded history.
One of the major societal regressions in this country in my lifetime has been the breakdown of community, the growing sense that many have that no one is looking out for us, that we are, in fact, on our own. I have seen such goodness in people over this last week, people banding together to help those in need, the heroism of our medical professionals, the different, creative ways we’ve seen people try to overcome their current restrictions and connect with one another. (I have watched so many streaming live music shows. Paul Simon! Ben Gibbard! Lucinda Williams!)
But you can already see the strain. And we’re just getting started. And the worst is coming. The most common bromide over the last month, one I’ve used myself, is that “we are all in this together.” We are about to find out, precisely, whether that is true.
Hang in, all. These stories are getting me through this. I hope they are helping you as well. They’re everybody’s stories.
Here are today’s stories. Send me yours at williamfleitch@yahoo.com.
From Ned in Atlanta:
In February 2019, I had the chance to do something I’d always wanted to do: attend the NBA dunk contest. (I was sure John Collins was going to win.) I was taking work clients and was beyond excited. I am 50 years old and have watched every dunk contest that I can remember. My three boys (age 16, twin 12-year-olds) were so thrilled as well, but they were mainly amused to see their dad so excited.
All that excitement came crashing down when I got a frantic call from one of the twins while I was at dinner before the event: Mom was not waking up from her nap. My wife of 18 years, Tavia, died suddenly and unexpectedly from heart failure that evening. Our lives were shattered beyond belief. She was our world, our everything … a loving, nurturing, encouraging and optimistic wife/mother/daughter/in-law/aunt/etc. She’d been diagnosed with a rare condition called pulmonary hypertension when our 16-year-old was born, but fought and managed it with as much courage as any human could for over 16 years. Her poor heart just gave out with no notice. The rest of 2019 was basically a blur of shock, grief and despair. Without the grace and compassion of family and close friends, I’m not sure where the boys and I would be. We’ve bonded and have lifted each other up while getting used to our new circumstance.
The virus has, of course, given us all added anxiety. Tavia would know exactly what to do and would give us the perfect words of comfort right when we needed it. I’ve told the boys dozens of times that with the way they’ve dealt with losing their mom, they can handle whatever life throws at them. I didn’t necessarily think they’d have to start dealing with such big things this soon, but you never know I guess. We are drawing on her strength, courage and determination during this time and will lean on those same family members and friends to be with us through this, just like they have been since February 2019. I think that’s what we all have to do – love each other and help each other and we will all make it.
From Shad Huddleston, a fellow graduate of Mattoon High School, Class of ‘93
My name is Shad Huddleston, and I am a first grade teacher from Will’s hometown of Mattoon, Illinois. First of all, I want to thank those that have shared their stories. The only silver lining I have found in all of this is that our country and our local communities seem more united than we’ve been in decades.
My story begins with a regular day at school on Thursday, March 12. I had a few students absent throughout the week with illness, but that is very common this time of year. After school we had a meeting to discuss the potential closure of our schools. I went home in a fog, still not really comprehending that this was all real. By 8pm I was watching TV with my wife and suddenly felt hot. I checked my temperature and it was 102. I was only mildly panicked, as I had students out recently with both strep and the flu. The next day I went to the walk-in clinic and was tested for flu. Negative. That night I developed a sore throat and the coughing began. I went back for a strep test, actually praying for a positive result. Negative. I did not qualify for a COVID-19 test at the time, so I was out of options other than: go home, rest, hydrate, read news updates on my phone, freak out. For the next couple of days the cough and throat continued and the fever lowered around 100. I had added some steps to my daily routine: rest, hydrate, read the Bible, call my grandma, watch some Hulu, read news updates, and try not to freak out.
Regardless of your stance on religion what I found was that reading an ancient text that has always said the same thing was calming. (The atheists in the crowd you could probably just substitute a good murder mystery novel.) I also found that reading the latest news updates was creating an increasing level of anxiety. My fear of the virus potentially growing in me was swelling, partially out of my own wish to survive, but even more so because my smokin’ hot wife of 22 years is asthmatic. I could not bear the thought that I had brought something so dangerous to our doorstep. My 19 year-old daughter had been flushed out of her cute little dorm room so that she could come share a home with a man with most of the symptoms of C19. My 15-year-old son was in the same boat. These three people are my family and my world and they mean everything to me.
Am I really OK? Is my family OK? How can we stay safe when we do go out for survival supplies in the future? Will this ever end? I’m still just a scared, bald, middle-aged man hiding in my room to try to protect my family. But the silver linings I have seen! Cable & phone companies hooking up free internet for school kids, professional athletes donating 100’s of thousands of dollars to stadium workers, school districts paying teachers and support staff even though they can’t go to work, neighbors picking up groceries for their elderly neighbors, families playing board games together, people responsibly canceling vacations they booked months in advance out of concern for others, and the heroes on the front lines: nurses, doctors, EMT’s, police, firefighters, truck drivers, parents-turned-teachers, Amazon/UPS/FedEx delivery people, and America’s newest heroes, all who work in the restaurant and grocery business, including all of the delivery drivers. Our country has been sitting in such a politically divided cesspool these past few years that I did not think that we were capable of rising up together anymore. I have never been so happy to be wrong.
From Neil from the UK:
I met my girlfriend when we both worked at a summer camp in Vermont in 2013 as part of some of my post-college traveling from the UK, we continued working there in the summers through to 2015 before starting to put the wheels in motion to take things more seriously. We've both been finishing off school since (her - medical, me - a Masters) and working towards a gradual plan of me finally (finally!) moving to the US in the summer of next year, once she polished off med school and began residency and once I had managed to save enough that it would be feasible, difficult but feasible, for me to afford the many fees and costs involved. However, COVID-19 has mucked it all up. Our plans to get together in the US at the end of April are now dashed, though a cruel bit of hope lives on in that until they actually say the flight is cancelled it can somehow still take place. And with those cancelled plans, likely go our timeline for proposals, marriage, moving, all of it.
So now we're faced with the prospect of not even seeing each other again until this blows over, is that autumn? Next year? Who knows. The starker reality of her hospital-based day-to-day also stares us in the face, what if she gets sick on the job when she returns to rotations? What if I do despite my lesser risk? Have we unwittingly spent our last moments together without even having known it? Without ever getting the opportunity to truly be together? Such morbid thoughts are easy to come by.
However, we continue to make the distance work as we always have, only this time without the relief of seeing each other on the horizon. We talk and text as we always do, we make plans to watch TV shows at the same time, we're trying to find ways to play board games online, we're sharing workouts. What it has thrown into stark clarity for the both of us is that despite all this our commitment, love for each other and determination to finally (finally!) eliminate the physical distance between us remains as strong as ever. When we, and by proxy all of us, come through this, I truly hope the joy in the closing of the distances between us, from those of social isolation to millions whose plans have been upturned, can provide us all with some much needed relief.
From Anonymous in Northern Illinois:
There’s a fascinating controversy brewing in my village. A local shop owner closed her high-end women’s clothing store due to coronavirus, but before she did so she changed the front window display to have the mannequins wearing Q Anon clothing and bracelets. I cannot imagine what possessed her to think this was a good idea; maybe this pandemic dovetails with Q Anon’s batshit crazy conspiracies? Well, someone noticed the display and now people in town are losing their shit, calling for a boycott, identifying her and her husband by name on Nextdoor, etc.
I think maybe the store owner felt emboldened by the general panic of the moment to drop the mask and make her Q beliefs public. In any event, it backfired. It’s possible by the time the pandemic is over and the store reopens that people will have forgotten, but I doubt it.
An update! Anonymous emails that the shop owner has released a statement. “I wanted to address the multiple social media posts relative to Neapolitan and the QAnon bracelets and sign in the window. I have been communicating directly with people I know who have reached out to me, but have been asked to respond to these posts. An acquaintance introduced me to someone, and they asked if I would put this “Remain Calm” sign in one of my windows the day we had to close our shop. They also left the bracelets. I trusted the simplicity of the statement “Remain Calm” during this unprecedented time. They told me QAnon is a military intelligence operation at the highest levels, connected to Admiral Mike Rogers - a graduate of New Trier HS and four-star admiral, who served as Director of the National Security Agency and Chief of US Cyber Command. I wanted to show my support for the military and our Winnetka community during this crisis. I truly apologize if I have offended anyone. God bless — Kelly Golden.”
My goodness. Please, stay safe, everyone … and please stay sane while you’re at it.
Send me your stories of this moment in history at williamfleitch@yahoo.com.
Best,
Will