Hugging in the Time of COVID

I hugged my mother-in-law yesterday. It had been three weeks since her second vaccination. It was quick like they said to do. I held my breath.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday," I whispered through my mask. The words caught in my throat.

"Yes," she laughed, through hers.

I'm not really a hugger, but I have to say I've missed them. As of last year, though, a hug could kill you. Pre-2020, that statement would've gotten eye rolls. Now, though, yes, it actually can.

Last Easter we passed containers of food to my in-laws through their front door, refusing the invitation to come inside. For Mother's Day we ate takeout grits and eggs on tailgate chairs in their front yard.

It was inconvenient but novel. We'll get through this, we thought. We felt we were doing the right thing and took comfort in that. Our motto became WWFD (What Would Fauci Do).

But we're human and it got old. We weren't always perfect with the precautions and dodged a few bullets. Then things got scarier; people kept getting sick and sometimes dying. We tightened up again.

Then the vaccine offered a flicker of hope. The in-laws and a few others in the family are vaccinated and "safe from hospitalization and death" as of this writing. I'll take it, too, when it's my turn.

But then what?

Over the last year, many of us were able to migrate to a work-from-home situation, thanks to technology. (I'm looking at you, Zoom.) But some lost their jobs. Others risk their lives at the jobs they thankfully still have. What will workplaces even look like a year from now?

Before all this, I never touched a public doorknob if I could help it. Hand sanitizer is placed strategically in my car, desk drawer, and purse. That won't change. But what will? 

We know a few people who have gotten COVID but, thankfully, none of them passed away--until last night. One of John's college buddies. They weren't close anymore, but they'd see each other occasionally at football games. They'd shake hands, hug, pull up a picture or two of the family on their phones, and that would be it until next season. But now there won't be a next season. We grieve with his family and those around the world who have lost so much. 

As if that weren't enough, many studies point to increases in loneliness, anxiety, and depression over the last year. Isolation does a number on people, and any decline in mental health impacts our physical health, and so it goes. I'll sum it up with the phrase we've all heard and said many times this year: it's a lot.

If you're like me, you're sick of this one, though: new normal. What else will we call post-pandemic life?

Will we ever again stand among a few thousand people at a concert, singing at the top of our lungs? My husband is one of six. Will we all cram into the same room to open Christmas gifts or sing "Happy Birthday," maskless? Gosh, I hope so. (Forget about the hour it takes to get all the goodbye hugs in. How precious are they in hindsight.) 

Moving forward, I don't know how we'll safely participate in those close-range activities. I'll leave the figuring out to the scientists and physicians. If we don't, we'll live. That's the thing. We'll survive without family get togethers or concerts or hugs. But life sure won't be as much fun. 

Until then, I keep reminding myself to make the most of this strange time. I'm easily distracted, so I might need it tattooed on my forehead. But I want to be ready for whatever the rest of 2021 holds. Hope it includes some of those old-school hugs, the life-giving kind.

Thanks for reading.