One year ago today, I was in England, nervously finishing up a standards meeting and hoping that I could make safely home without either getting infected with Covid or getting stuck on the wrong side of the border.
On March 13th, 2020, I flew home via Chicago, on the last day before the border closed. My wife and I embraced, and we put our household into lockdown. We waited nervously for a week of potential incubation time, but I had apparently escaped infection. Spring break began, and we wondered if there would still be school at the end of it.
We were fortunate. I had noticed the potential trouble building and we had at least a month's supplies laid in our basement for our household. My wife and I could both keep doing our jobs online, and despite some friction with the kids and cats, we settled into an enclosed routine. I miss being able to get together with friends in person, but between my work and family, my life is full and over-full with social interactions, and in the evenings I usually just want a quiet place of solace.
Some things, I am surprised that I do not miss, like restaurants. We've gotten much better at cooking, and the food we eat is healthier. I've lost fifteen pounds or so, thanks to my healthier lifestyle. More time with the kids is a silver lining too. But what a world of change we've been through, all of us, and it's not over yet.
Tomorrow will be the anniversary, one full year since the last time our house was open to the world. One full year of living our pandemic lives.
There's a light at the end of the tunnel now, I think, but we're a long way yet from done. Our indoor cats perch on the windowsill, looking at the world outside denied to them to roam, and I think I can identify.
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