Aftershocks: Stories and Discoveries from My COVID Year
By Suzanne Morgan Williams
About a month ago, coyotes broke into my goat pen and killed my little goat. They didn’t hurt the big one. That pen had held just fine through 19 years and multiple goats, so the attack was an unexpected, hideous shock. But I had to respond quickly.
Knowing the nature of hungry coyotes, I was sure they’d be back for my big goat possibly the next night. He couldn’t stay here. And knowing the nature of goats, I either had to fix the fence, build a more secure shed, and buy more goats so he could have goat buddies – or rehome Hawkeye. The decision was hard but obvious. Hawkeye is now living outside of Virginia City with a secure barn and a new flock of goats. For the first time in years, I don’t have animals to care for. I’m sad. But this is best for the goat, and my husband and I will have less responsibilities. That’s not entirely bad.
Hawkeye (upper left) in his new home. Photo/Reed Williams.
I imagine this is how many changes come to pass. There is an unexpected event (COVID-19). We have an immediate, protective reaction (isolation), then a longer-term decision (continued isolation, cancelling travel, getting vaccinated). Following the decisions there are mixed emotions – excitement at getting back to old routines, or concern for what new changes will happen. Abrupt change can force us into self-discovery. This is an idea that authors know well. Stories start with the “old normal” that is interrupted by the point of change; continues through a series of difficulties, decisions, and self-discoveries; and ends with the character’s new reality.
COVID-19 has reshaped all our stories – but each in a different way.
In my pre-COVID life, I considered myself a social person. I’d rather meet you for a coffee than call on the phone. I was never very keen on texting – since first I’d have to find my phone and then I’d have to see those tiny keys. I traveled around the United States and Canada, meeting new people and speaking to school groups about writing and the creative process. I gave writers’ workshops for kids and adults. My research had taken me, most recently, to New England and Denmark. COVID-19 stopped it all.
More than a year ago we said goodbye to our daughters and grandchildren and hurried home from Oregon, knowing that Nevada, California, and Oregon were shutting down. Last March I was healthy, active, engaged in our community and my writing career. But with the pandemic, our children were deathly worried about me. Would I catch COVID-19 and die? “Please stay home – we’ll do your shopping and errands.” What a blessing that was, but it required a difficult change in perspective. I remembered the years I’d done errands and grocery shopping for my mother following her stroke. Was that me, already? I hadn’t had a stroke. I began to feel old for the first time.
I felt helpless. I’d always been on call for our kids, or at least told myself I was. But when I was desperately needed, I said “no.” It seemed my first job was to survive the pandemic and be here this year, next year, and many more. This made me cry.
And as the isolation wore on, I discovered a darker side to my personality – one that still hoped but was not at all secure that everything would turn out well. I knew things would change, that I’d change, but how? The uncertainty felt something like waiting for the aftershock of an earthquake. We’ve had lots of small ones near my house in the past few months. When I feel an earthquake, I turn to my left brain and report the quake on “Did You Feel It” at the USGS website. That gives me something I can control during a totally uncontrollable situation. Instead of waiting for the next shock, I’m contributing to science.
So when I began thinking about this post, I asked myself “What have I discovered during the COVID-19 year that I can control?” Did I need a “pros” and “cons” list? Could I shape my new reality? A very smart creative coach, Dan Blank, recently wrote this in his newsletter.
“Too often, when we look at a creative reset, we ask, ‘What else should I be doing.’ We assume that growth can only come from adding new things to the mix, and that if you could just figure out what you aren't yet doing, that is the secret to a massive breakthrough. But I have been asking the opposite, instead questioning how can I do the same exact things, but better? Instead of spinning my wheels with "bold new ideas," I'm investing in the people I love working with, and the processes that help them share their message. This has added new layers to the work that feel incredibly meaningful, and effective.” Used with permission from Dan Blank, Wegrowmedia.com May 21, 2021
What if, post-COVID-19, I invested in fewer things but those that bring me more joy and satisfaction? What if I allocated my time more wisely? Would that mean giving up a career that has enriched me in so many ways – and yet is cruelly difficult and competitive? Would it mean offering more time to my family – who have many needs? What about me? When is the last time I took a vacation for fun and not to see extended family, help someone, or do research for a book? Is that even a problem? Discovery is not easy. It requires exploration.
I set out to discover my best path. Before COVID-19, I had learned from native people and Quaker worship that discovery often starts with listening. What tied COVID-19 and “discovery” together? I decided to listen more and try to understand others’ experiences with COVID-19. Perhaps that would inform and help shape this piece.
But instead of having leisurely time to think and write, I ended up in the hospital. Like an earthquake or a coyote attack, this was completely unexpected. First change – I couldn’t eat without unbearable pain. Complication – no one was sure what was wrong although there were several possibilities. I went for five days without eating. When I was admitted to the hospital, I was gnawingly hungry and I couldn’t, didn’t want to eat. I’m not sharing this because you are interested in my health, but to bring you into my mental space. I was scared for the procedure that was planned although it seemed simple enough. I was hungry. And after my husband left for dinner, I was alone, waiting for something – like howling or an aftershock. But it was quiet and there were nurses on night duty. I decided to ask about their COVID-19 experiences. I wanted to listen.
One nurse recalled the heartbreak of watching a patient pass away without family at her side. That was her worst day. One had contracted COVID-19, and now she’s a long-hauler. She’d just gotten back to work after months of recuperation. I shared the story of my niece, a doctor, who is still on disability after more than a year. She’s facing a lot of unwelcome decisions. The long-haul nurse worried about yet unknown complications and disabilities from the virus. We’ll have to wait to discover those.
And then there was the nurse with the lion and plumeria tattoo. I don’t usually love tattoos, but this one was stunning. I asked if it meant anything. She said it was her strength. That beautifully executed lion on her forearm represented her – a single mom raising three children. Now married again with a fourth child, she was finishing her nursing training when COVID-19 hit. She couldn’t get all the clinic hours she needed (a story I’ve heard from others) and ZOOM classes weren’t the same. But she carried on, did an internship, and there she was taking care of me, making sure I was safe and comfortable. The plumerias represented her children. I’d say she could add an entire lei of them – for all of the people she is now supporting as a nurse – her new reality.
That night I had trouble getting to sleep, but morning would come soon. It didn’t help to fret. I discovered that during COVID-19 I’d had to learn to better manage stress. I turned to techniques that had helped me. First was Quaker silence. Friends Meetings are generally quiet. The Friends Meeting House, where I’d been an erratic but satisfied attender, was closed. Now take a minute to imagine a ZOOM Quaker meeting. You click on the link, sign in with your video, mute your mic and close your eyes in prayer or meditation. For an hour. I found this weird, almost comical. I was waiting for the “real thing” to return.
But in the hospital, I imagined the circle of chairs in the meeting house. I saw each person’s face, felt the shared silence. I sent Light their way. I floated. I had already discovered that the Light is not limited to a physical space. I carried it with me to my hospital room.
Zoom has been an amazing tool. Throughout the pandemic I met every Monday with a small group of people to help each other stay optimistic and resilient. That night, I used a trick I’d learned: WWW. What went well? I recalled all the things that were going well. I was hungry, but I didn’t hurt anymore. A doctor had been found to perform my procedure and hopefully fix my problem. My husband had been allowed to stay with me most of the day – a luxury so many patients didn’t have during the height of COVID-19. I had no roommate, since the hospital wasn’t full, so I could do what I wanted without bothering anyone else. The nurses were nice.
Finally, I concentrated on something I’d perfected during the most stressful times: treasure every moment that is calm, pain free, sunny (fill in the blanks yourselves). At that moment, hunger and apprehension were my only real concerns and I could get rid of the apprehension. I would experience the moment – the soft bed, the security that I was being cared for, the love of my family. Not to worry about the aftershocks that might be coming. I couldn’t control those. I only had this moment, and soon I was asleep.
Now I’m healing and hoping to create the next chapter of my own story. As we look forward to an end to this isolation, I’ve made that left-brain list of my personal discoveries.
I was old enough to be at high risk for COVID-19, so I took greater control of my health. I walked more, caught up on medical appointments, and lost weight – which is not easy for me. Although I couldn’t get rid of the virus, I could become as healthy as possible. I’d give it no advantages.
I grew more comfortable with depending on our children. I’ll need them someday in a much more supportive role. This was a preview. And I’ve, grudgingly, forgiven myself for not being that mom who shows up whenever needed. Sometimes that just isn’t possible. Our adult children will need to rely more on their own networks as my husband and I age.
What a surprise Zoom was! Early in the pandemic we began weekly meetings with my husband’s and my siblings – there are many. And I reached out to friends around the world to check on them, ask for encouragement, and connect. We kept up in ways we haven’t for a long time.
We took off once a week last summer looking for the quietest, most out of the way places to relax. These “safe” outings connected us to the comfort and consistency of nature. We finally saw the Bristlecone pines east of Bishop, the Calavera Big Trees (not at all quiet), and found isolated spots to hang out along Highway 4, Highway 70, and the Little Truckee. This is a habit we intend to keep. Score one for the shutdown.
I value the quiet. I’m cutting back on activities that are more “I should” than “I really want to.” I find I enjoy staring out the window.
Finally, after being vaccinated, we drove back to Oregon and held our new grandson for the first time.
Honestly, the shutdown was relatively easy on us. We have a secure fixed income – once seen as a problem during times of inflation – but lately it’s wonderful. I have flexible work and make my own schedule, including saying ”yes” or “no” to projects. I had a large network of friends to call on during the shutdown. And perhaps most importantly, my husband and I like each other.
But just as the same virus changed each nurse in unique ways, it has affected each person, generation, and community differently. I feel for teens who lost contact with their friends when schools closed – although time with their families might turn out as an unexpected blessing. I worried for parents juggling home/Zoom school with full time jobs. I worried about single folks isolated, alone, for long periods of time. We just aren’t made for that. And there are the single parents, fighting everyday to provide for themselves and their kids, who were left without the support of family, school, daycare, or faith communities. Caring for your family is hard if you’ve lost your job. . . and then there’s the grief.
So discovery, for me, hasn’t been so much about Netflix series (I highly recommend Borgen from Denmark), or new ways to use technology. It’s become about questioning what is most important to me – to each of us. What do we value? How will we change as our lives get more complex? Will we earn our own lion tattoos? How will this year of isolation, frustration, and caution change our stories? We’ve yet to define our new reality. It seems overwhelming.
But this morning my husband, granddaughter, and I watched as a mama mallard took her ducklings – hatched yesterday near our pond –for their first swim. Then they waddled away, off to unknown, perhaps safer places. COVID-19 hasn’t affected them. Some stories are comfortably consistent. We don’t always have to know the ending. It’s simply a moment to treasure.
Photo/Reed Williams.
Photo/Suzanne Morgan Williams.
Suzanne Morgan Williams lives outside of Reno. She writes fiction and nonfiction for children and young adults. Her novel, Bull Rider, for ages 10 and up, won a Western Heritage Award from the National Western Heritage and Cowboy Museum in Oklahoma City; was on multiple state award lists, including the Nevada Young Writers Award List; and represented Nevada at the National Book Festival in Washington D.C. She is a Nevada Arts Council Artist in Residence, a founder of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), Nevada Region’s Mentorship Program, a past Regional Advisor for SCBWI Nevada, and SCBWI Member of the Year, 2012. Learn more at: www.suzannemorganwilliams.com.
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