My son tested positive for Covid-19. Thankfully, his mild symptoms would have gone undetected had it not been for the call from a county nurse, informing us he’d been exposed at summer school, and needed to be tested.
Call me naïve, but this was a call I never expected. As the nurse gave instructions, and matter-of-factly reported she’d been making these calls since March, the shock and disbelief quickly turned to a knot in my stomach.
But his class only had four students. And they all wore masks. And they stayed six feet apart.
When we shared the news with my son, his 10-year-old eyes filled with tears, as even he knew getting Covid means you did something wrong. You took off your mask. You played with your friends. You didn’t do all the things.
While I calculated who we’d seen in the past 48 hours and who we needed to tell, my son was consumed with fear for his grandparents, his friends, his teacher.
It didn’t matter that he was the one whose little head hurt and whose nose was stuffed. Even he knew, once you get Covid-19, its no longer about you, its about the mess your diagnosis has created.
So, we made calls. We informed those who needed to know and told neighbors, bosses, and friends we were now in quarantine.
Everyone asked how long we would quarantine. Immediately, they worried for their own safety, mentally calculating the last time they’d seen us. And with crushing guilt, I realized I have done the same.
I’ve felt the twang of fear hearing of other positive cases. I’ve worried more about myself and my family’s potential exposure, than others’ physical symptoms or emotional state. I have avoided contact, maybe even judged.
But now, my family has crossed over to the other side. Now we are the ones causing the fear. We are the ones whose contacts are being scrutinized. We are the ones to blame.
I betray the nurse’s instructions and allow my son out of his bedroom. I put on a mask to hug my own child. His shoulders slump watching his friends play outside and quietly he asks, “Will they stay away from me after 14 days?”
Anger bubbles up, but quickly turns to sadness. My 10-year-old now bears a weight of guilt and shame. I try to reassure him it is not his fault, but I know he is not convinced.
He knows this was why his school was canceled. This is why his baseball team couldn’t play. He knows this is the very scenario we’ve spent months trying to avoid. I never imagined having Covid would feel so sad.
But then—just as hope was slipping away—kindness arrived.
It arrived first in a colorful bag filled with treats and a big helium Get Well Soon balloon tied to the handle. The tiny, 5-year-old boy standing at our door beamed as he delivered the gift. He didn’t look afraid.
Later that day, my mom and step-dad—despite their elevated risk status—drove an hour just to deliver Dairy Queen treats, activity books, and a reassuring wave to my son through the screen door before driving all the way back home.
In the days that followed, we were showered with more kindness. Donut delivery, texts, encouraging emails, homemade cards and socially distanced outdoor conversations. Each one, restored and renewed my hope and gratitude for the people in our lives who care about us—even when it is scary.
For us, the physical symptoms of Covid-19 have fortunately been minimal, but I was not prepared for the tsunami of emotions my son’s diagnosis would cause. Fear, grief, isolation, and guilt are all very real—but so is the kindness. And kindness is healing.
Before my son was diagnosed with Covid-19, I believed the virus was separating our society. I believed it was dividing us more than anything had before. But now, I realize Covid is the one thing we truly all have in common.
If I’ve learned anything through this, it’s that Covid isn’t a choice, but kindness is. It’s scary to know someone who has Covid-19—we are scared too. But it is brave—and so very appreciated—to show them kindness.
While we all continue doing the things to prevent Covid-19 from spreading, I hope we all also remember how healing it is to be kind.
For my family, it has made all the difference.
Jill, I am so very sorry to hear this news. I’m praying for healing for your whole family. You continue to write amazing blog posts! Please take care.