Editor’s Note: This is the fifth installment of “Our Stories,” a new WOW Dems series dedicated to telling personal stories related to the critical issues of our time – beginning with the COVID-19 crisis. This story comes from WOW Dems President Debbie O’Reilly. Share your personal story at communications@wowdems.org.
The past few weeks have been some of the most challenging, yet rewarding two weeks in my life.
On the last night of Spring Break, it dawned on me: I may never teach my students face-to-face for the rest of the school year. My fellow teachers and dear friends won’t pop into my classroom to say hello. No final pep rally or locking pinkies as we sing our Alma Mater. All of the final moments that students worked for all year in music, dance, theatre, and sports may vanish, unwritten pages in the yearbook.
My daughter, a senior who has worked so hard in school for 12 years, will likely lose the last two months of her senior year. She won’t get to hear that final bell on that last day of school and walk into the sunshine, prepared to take on the next phase of her life. She won’t perform on the stage of her high school again. She has spent hours searching for the perfect prom dress: a deep blue that matches her eyes. The dazzling shoes she picked out online arrive on the second day of her online learning from home. Such an anticlimactic and sad moment. Senior Prom, an expected rite of passage, seems to be fading from her fingertips. Graduation seems unlikely as well. These milestones belong to the student, the family, and the entire community.
I cried so hard that night before school was supposed to start again. But I follow a rule I have made for myself: I get one day to cry. One night to mourn. To wallow in misery. Get it all out. And the next morning, take a deep breath, wash the sadness down the drain, make a pot of coffee, and move forward.
The first week back to school, I learned more about new technological platforms than I had in my 26 years of teaching combined: Zoom, Google Hangouts and Meets, Microsoft Teams, Screencastify. I teach Dual Credit English to juniors, and of the 55 students I have, 53 signed up to video conference with me to discuss their research paper. One student even held the conference in the backseat of her car, using her cell phone hotspot for her laptop. Holding that many conferences in a week and a half just about killed me, but the students’ dedication to their education amazes and inspires me.
These two weeks have also provided me with a stillness, a sense of peace. With the time I save not getting ready in the morning and driving, I have taken longer walks that restore me. No rushing home from work to check off more tasks from my to-do list. No meetings to race to. Just time to read, to sit in the backyard I worked so hard on but never seemed to have time for – before now. Sipping coffee slowly in the morning instead of gulping it down. A glass of wine while watching nothing in particular.
I refuse to watch press briefings from the White House anymore. They disrupt my calm. They agitate me – like they’re intended to. I have drawn a circle around my mind, my heart, and my soul because they need to stay clear and strong.
Sometimes we get so used to the madness of our schedules that we forget to reconnect – or stay connected – to who we are. This found time has always been there, but I have buried many unnecessary chores on top of it. Errands. To dos. Shopping for useless or redundant objects.
Even this morning of classical music and a lengthy visit with my garden is a stolen treasure of moments strung together. Why must something so simple and easy seem so inaccessible?
I’m worried about returning to the madness when we finally emerge from the cloud of this virus. But then I remember that all there is this day. This morning. This moment dropping from the sky like the raindrops outside. Nothing more, nothing less.
– Debbie O’Reilly, WOW Dems President