Ohio COVID-19 Journal Day 8

Feeling a little more somber today. Heard from another friend of mine, a doctor. She read yesterday’s blog post but stopped when she got to the part about the joys of working from home. She admitted it was because she felt a little jealous.

This news gave me pause. I felt sheepish, ashamed, because let’s face it: she doesn’t have that luxury. No one in the medical industry has that luxury today or in the foreseeable future. This particular friend of mine has gone through two separate instances of chemo from ovarian cancer, and yet here she is on the front lines of the pandemic, selflessly serving others.

She shared how she sees many older patients in her practice, some of whom look forward to their doctor appointment because it’s the only social interaction they get all day, or even most days.

If you’re struggling with these new restrictions, think of the elderly people in your life. Think of the doctors, nurses, laboratory technicians, other hospital, hospice, and elder care workers.  Think of the daycare workers who are working with kids while juggling the risks and restrictions placed on them, every day let alone today. There are all kinds of people to think about, to thank.

We need to support one another, however we can.


In another one of those incredible, perspective-inducing memes:

Your grandparents were called to war. You’re being asked to sit on your couch. You can do this.


Ohio Governor Mike DeWine asked people to hang the American flag as a sign of solidarity, presumably because many of us might not have an Ohio flag, cool as it is with its pennant shape. The previous owners of our home had a flag pole in the yard but it was broken and became rusty so we pitched it several years ago. I will have to make an effort to hang our US flag somewhere on our house this weekend.

In today’s press conference Lt. Governor John Husted reminded us that tough times reveal our character. He spoke of a grocery store fight that broke out between two customers over toilet paper. Toilet paper. As much as I’ve joked about it, it’s not worth fighting with a fellow citizen.

Contrast that story with the one about a state employee, a technical guy who worked tirelessly to launch the state’s coronavirus unemployment benefits web page even while a close family member was dying. He chose a selfless act of service for his fellow citizens in a time of crisis over personal tragedy.


I sit in my house today wondering if my throat feels funny, like my glands are starting to swell. Maybe my imagination is running wild. It worries me. I realize I’ve been in a happy little bubble, but I really need to brace myself in case it bursts in the coming days.

This last week, my coworkers have all reliably shown up for work on conference calls like I confidently assumed they would, but it hit me: we will start hearing stories about people who are falling ill. People we know. The rumor mill is running with the name of an infected high school student in our community of roughly 27,000 people. Will it get more real when we hear that news first-hand from someone?

Is it more real now that the first Ohioan has passed from this virus? The numbers in Ohio and the US are really starting to jump. I’m not surprised at the numbers as we’ve been warned they would, and warned that we are just beginning this upward slope.

What if yesterday was Week One of Eight? What if it is Week One of much longer?


We are hearing reports that China and South Korea are slowly beginning to return to normal, but their societies are quite different than ours. I’m not an economist but I know America increasingly runs a small business and gig economy. How resilient are those to a pandemic? A few of my learned business friends are quite concerned about the long-term economic devastation about to hit America if this drags on longer-term.

One of those people is my best friend from college, Greg. I dreamt about him the night before, so I took it as a sign to Facetime him last night. We caught up for the first time after several months and I didn’t care that my face was sans make-up. He is hunkered down in his Manhattan apartment with his new fiancé and their two cats.

They pretty much can’t leave, and they haven’t for two weeks now. It’s impossible to step outside in New York and be six feet apart from people. He shared how the EMTs came the day before to take away his neighbor who couldn’t breathe.

He’s thinking through the logistics of packing up their lives and cats and traveling to Ohio to live with his elderly mom in the country for a few months until New Yorkers get the all clear. He figures he’ll be there to help his mom should she have a medical emergency, fix things around her house, and step out for fresh air by walking in the woods. He has the financial luxury to take a couple of months off from his work.

We talked daily in college, mostly to get through honors accounting homework and deal with our tough, formidable professor together, but just as often our talks turned to life and the future. Greg always called me “dear” and could finish my sentences for me, but despite all that, we always agreed to politely disagree about money.

Greg thinks we’re headed to a great depression of monumental proportions. I know exactly what kind of dominos need to fall for that to happen, and part of me knows he’s right about that, but for now I’m still hanging onto hope. If China and South Korea can emerge from this, maybe we can too. There will be casualties of the real and metaphoric kind, but I won’t mourn that yet. That time will come but not now.


Speaking of being hunkered down, I see many references to people reflecting on the dignity of Anne Frank, hiding in a 450 square foot space with her four other family members for two entire years, trying to avoid being heard and captured.

Perspective. We can do hard things.


Ryun and I need to do a better job of explaining that to our kids. Believe it or not, we finally sat down for family dinner last night and it wasn’t quite the Norman Rockwell moment we would have liked. Our kids had nearly a full week of free-for-all without curfews or much in the way of chores so the mere thought of gathering at the same time daily for – egads – a meal together was a crimp on their freedom.

I wanted to use the backside of my hand on each of them. I didn’t. I whipped out the old, “in my day we didn’t have the luxuries you did…” diatribe but it rang hollow. Eye rolls in every direction.

It was time to appeal to a higher good within them.

In between bites of spaghetti, they learned that for the rest of their lives, they will be asked, “What did you do during the pandemic?” and we explained we wanted them to be proud of their answer. Ryun and I suggested enrichment activities that – get this – each of them enjoys.

I may as well have told them the internet was dead. Or asked them to amputate an arm and return their electronic devices to owner. Not a proud parent moment. We have some work to do at Louie Lodge.

In closing, I leave you with this today, author unknown but full of grace.


Photo by Luis Melendez on Unsplash

Author: silonda

I'm not your average Midwestern American woman: an older mom to three kids and married to a musician, hiding out in a small town. I’ve worked as a serious business professional my entire adult life but my soul is really an artist. Wonderlust (i.e., insatiable curiosity) and wanderlust lead me to read voraciously and travel often. The introvert in me likes to quietly observe and share what I discover through writing but buried inside is a pretty funny chick full of spunk and verve who is eager to come out and play. Deep thinking and feeling (all the feels) is my default mode and then I'll crack a joke about it. I’m constantly striving to cultivate whatever makes for beautiful and to love UP.

4 thoughts on “Ohio COVID-19 Journal Day 8”

  1. Wow Denise. Wow. Thank you for your honesty and your candor. We to need to reel it in. Although the college student has a gig at C.C. here in Medina working on the Corona rule-out floor…. She is doing her part. But I also fear that she will contract it. That is the last thing I want to happen. She, just this year, was living with wonderful people and was well on her way to being almost done with her nursing degree. She is an adult… Now moved back home… Those freedoms taken…. Friendships missing… Lonely. This is happening all over the world. I am devastated for so many… But so much for these kids who are on the precipice of their launch into their own lives. My heart hurts.

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    1. I know what you mean. So many lives disrupted. I think of HS seniors who start to feel some serious “senioritis” around February, and suddenly they got their wish: no more school, those final rites of passage, like Prom, quite possibly snatched away. I have at least one child not too happy that I’m honest about what is going on in Louie Lodge, but I’ve learned a lesson from Glennon Doyle to tell it like it is. No family life is perfect. I have people who seem to think we are (say wha?) and while I’m not one to air dirty laundry per se, I want to be real, authentic. It’s a tough balance. I want to honor the privacy of my kids so I have generally stopped telling their stories, but I don’t want people to feel alone in whatever they are going through, either. I have often worried that maybe I’m a pessimist. Ryun has assured me that I am a realist. Maybe a bit too serious for some. And then I crack jokes to stay sane, and others think I’m inappropriately funny, so you can’t win. What was it that Mr. Rogers’ mom said to do? Look for the helpers in times like this. Look for the good. That’s a great way to focus.

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  2. I love your stories, the person that died in Ohio my sister and her boss knew them well. Good friend. So sad. Hits so close to home. This is something that is going to last so a while. Carlos plant got shut down. I will not be shutting down ever! Stay safe. You have given me more things to talk about with the kids.

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