It was bound to happen. For four years I have managed to avoid contracting Covid, but that changed last week.
When Tony first passed in 2021, I worried about it a lot. How would I manage taking care of the boys while taking care of myself? Where would it be best to quarantine? Could someone else come and get them and take them for me? What if they started getting sick too?
As time passed, I worried less about what positive Covid test would do to our household. It helps that the boys are older and more self-sufficient.
Then it happened, I started feeling sick late Tuesday evening. Wednesday, I was tired but okay. Thursday, I was worse. I finally took a test and watched the lines appear. I threw the blankets from the couch into the wash and moved myself to my bedroom.
My oldest came home and I let him know. He decided to skip his Robotics club meeting that evening to be there for his brothers and help them get dinner. I never want him to feel like he’s the ‘man of the house’ but listening to him be there for his siblings was heart melting.
The middle schooler arrived home next. He and I were supposed to leave Friday for his soccer teams out of town tournament. With tears in my eyes, I apologize to him that we can’t go anymore because I am sick. He starts crying, because he was looking forward to spending the weekend with his soccer team and just me. The worst part of this whole conversation is that I can’t even give him a hug. I have to keep my distance and watch him. Thankfully, his older brother is there to offer him a hug.
These are the kind of moments I wish I could turn to Tony and say, do you see what you’ve done? You’ve left me here without a backup plan. There is no second parent to step in and rescue this situation. I can’t drive 3 hours while I’m sick and you’re not here do it for me. This isn’t fair to any of us.
Instead, I watch our almost 13-year-old quickly dry his eyes and attempt to shrug it off. It’s fine, he says. But I know it’s not fine, I know that he is bummed. I know that when he goes to practice on Monday the rest of the team is going to be talking about the weekend. The weekend that he didn’t get to participate in because he only has one living parent.
The boys have been good all weekend. Fixing themselves food, sort of cleaning up after themselves, tucking themselves into bed, and giving me air hugs from afar. I have ordered whatever they want for dinner via delivery services to squash some guilt.
There has been disappointment, but we’ve gotten through it. I’ll do my best to make up for this weekend, next weekend when the middle boy officially turns 13 and becomes a full-fledged teenager.
