Cake à la carport. Photo (and baking) by Anna Traverse Fogle.
On a chill-damp Sunday in April, after waking up too early from strange dreams (as usual, lately), I put the finishing touches on a chocolate cake and gathered my little family for a car ride from Midtown to Arlington. The cake on the cake plate rode on my lap, arriving to its destination intact and not, as I briefly imagined, vaulted in one delicious SPLAT against the inside of the windshield. It was my father’s birthday.
When we arrived at his and my stepmother’s house, we deposited the cake and a simple gift onto a small table waiting in the carport, just out of the rain. My dad — always practical, always looking out — had found extra sanitizing wipes and hand sanitizer for us, which he’d left in a box, along with a few favorite mementoes from my childhood. We didn’t interact in person that day. He was upstairs recording a video for his high school students, whom he won’t see again this academic year, now that local schools have been closed for the balance of the semester.
None of this would have made an ounce of sense even a few months ago. Not the contact-free birthday celebration for a parent whose house is only 35 minutes from mine. Not the fact of him recording class on a Sunday morning, from his study. Not even the cake itself, whose ingredients I sourced through online delivery orders, realizing only at the very last minute that we had only one birthday candle in the house. But now, it seemed the most sensible, loving way to celebrate a birthday.
We can be heroes of our own small stories, too, including the heroism of not doing. If you are spending more time at home (or all of your time at home), you’re helping. If you have found yourself suddenly transformed — however roughly — into a home-school teacher, you’re a hero in our eyes, and will be a hero in your kids’ eyes, too, one day.
We do our best, most of us, most of the time. People’s capacity for courage and compassion will knock away the cobwebs of cynicism. But of course, not all are quick to put aside self-interest and act to preserve collective safety. I am no scientist, but the scientists I respect agree that we cannot rush recovery from COVID-19. If we relax too soon back into comfortable, familiar patterns, believing that we can regain a normal that no longer exists, we risk inviting a larger, deeper crisis. We must each shelve our desires just to feel normal again in order to access a shared, sustainable recovery.
We must do all we can, individually, to make bearable the weighty work of the heroes among us. And there are so many heroes among us. We spotlight a few such human-scale giants in this issue. The med-school students who are volunteering their time and expertise at Tiger Lane, administering COVID-19 tests at the drive-through testing facility there. The mechanical-engineering professor whose lab is 3D-printing components for medical face shields. The grocery-store manager working to be sure shoppers are supplied with essentials — and that store employees stay as safe as possible. The local paramedic who’s traveled to New Orleans and is working in a convention center reconfigured into a hospital by a Memphis-based tent company. Perhaps most humbling of all, the nurses working in area hospitals, adapting with grace and courage.
We can be heroes of our own small stories, too, including the heroism of not doing. If you are spending more time at home (or all of your time at home), you’re helping. If you have found yourself suddenly transformed — however roughly — into a home-school teacher, you’re a hero in our eyes, and will be a hero in your kids’ eyes, too, one day.
Whatever shape your story takes, I hope you’re holding up okay. I also hope that if you’re shaking or stumbling, you’ll reach out to someone who can help, whether that’s a friend, family member, or counselor. Persistence and strength are admirable — but so is asking for support. If you live alone, stay connected to others; isolation tends to compound anxiety and fear. If you struggle with substance-use disorders, know that many support groups are continuing to meet remotely. And if you or someone you know is in a mental-health crisis, the National Association on Mental Illness offers a free hotline (800-950-6264), as does the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (800-273-8255). Counselors at the latter can also be reached by texting 741741.
I said it last month in this space, and I’ll say it again here: No one knows exactly when, but we will emerge from this moment — this long string of moments. We simply must do our parts, and in so doing, make sure the heroes among us have the time and resources to do theirs. Please stay safe, everyone. You are each essential.
— Anna Traverse Fogle, CEO and Editor-in-Chief
