I awake from an Anxious dream, in it my children are young and are in danger of drowning at the beach. Before I’ve even opened my eyes, I know I am afraid. The fear feels like a weight on my chest but I’m not aware of the cause of that fear. Then I remember, the virus.
I wonder about others who have experienced extraordinary times. Is this how they felt? They did not know if they would survive. They did not know what the future held or how the world would change. The history hadn’t been written yet.
It is one thing for us to learn about these events when they are in the past, it is another to live through them. I have never been as aware of that as I am now. It helps to get lost in writing my historical fiction. But then I remember.
Perhaps if my children were younger and at home, that would help me feel some measure of control over the dangers. But as it is, I have no way to protect them. I have no way to make the future brighter for them. A mother should be able to alleviate her children’s fears. But, this time, I can’t. And I now have a kinship with those mothers from the past, the ones I write about, a kinship that I never imagined I would come to know.
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