Written February 28, 2021

March has loomed for awhile now, and with it comes the mixed emotions of entering into a very different situation from a year ago while knowing there is a fog from March 2020 that hasn’t gone away.

I’ve been thinking about how surreal this year has felt. Thinking about how we were seeing pictures of Italians singing from their balconies around this time last year, hearing their warnings and thinking that would never be us. And then it was.

My therapist said one day we should dig into what last March was really like when I made a joking but not fully joking reference to the PTSD I felt like I was experiencing when flashing back to March 2020 at one point. I think she’s right. I find myself feeling familiar anxiousness like I felt then, when I was terrified of what we would do with our girls if T and I both got sick and had to be hospitalized. I remember wishing I did not have to be the adult and manage everyone’s emotions while barely being able to manage my own.

I remember the ghost town my city became, the fog we were walking in, and then, the signs of hope. The clap that happened every evening at 7 p.m. for the essential workers. Winter fading into spring and seeing signs of spring’s rebirth to break up the sirens. There were so many sirens.

As we turn the page to a new month- I just can’t get into the electronic calendars- I am doing my best to move forward with hope, with appreciation for my fellow New Yorkers who sacrificed on so many levels and to get out of the fog that was March 2020. If you’re walking through that fog as well, I can promise you you’re not alone. You may not see me, but know you are in the company of others.

March 2021- I plan to usher you out like the lamb I know you are meant to be. Your lion has been here long enough; it’s time for us to go our separate ways.