Through the Looking Glass

By Barbara Raymond

Until this week, I thought my dad’s most surreal birthday was eight years ago.  My mother was lying in her hospice bed, surrounded by my dad, their four children, two college-age granddaughters, one grandson, two Dobermans and a cat.  We ate birthday cake and played music.  Through the bedroom window, we could see snowflakes and pear blossoms.  Mom passed shortly after midnight, taking care not to die on Dad's birthday. 

A few days ago, Dad turned 82, and once again there are snowflakes and pear blossoms.  But this year, I'm on the other side of the window, outside in my boots and hat, looking at him and pasting a smile on my face.  Dad is alone, in isolation, as our family protects him from the coronavirus.  This may be his strangest birthday of all. 

Over the past few years, I’ve made a number of decisions that prioritize being close to both my dad and my 6-year-old nephew, who share the name William.  My brother, my dad and I live next door to each other on adjoining properties.  In this way, I can help to raise the kid and also help out Dad.  It’s a beautiful place and almost always fun to have three generations of our family so close together.

My sister-in-law is an emergency room nurse in the largest ER in Northern California.  She is, as the Marines would say, the tip of the spear.  While before I had a sneaking suspicion she had superpowers, today I know for sure she is a hero. Early this week she worked a long shift in the hospital's COVID pod under battlefield conditions, with reused masks and subpar (read nonexistent) personal protective equipment.

Given her work, we face a new and different calculus.  We agree that my brother and sister-in-law need to keep their distance from my dad.  And we have to keep me in shape to make the food runs for dad, and possibly for them if they become ill, so they will stay away from me too.  But the 6 year-old?  I usually shower him with affection.  Now I peer at him and wonder if he is carrying the virus as he plows down the hill in the fresh snow.   After being denied access to my house, he asks, “I’m not sick, am I?”  He doesn’t understand the rules of a quarantine.  Nor do I.

Every year since the little guy was born, we've taken a picture of the two Williams on my dad's birthday.  Not this year.  Instead, we take turns at Dad's window, making our solitary pilgrimages to smile, wave and then return to living next door to each other, in isolation.

Photo by Alicia Berardi/Ivy Photography