Dear Eleanor,

Seven years ago today you made your appearance at 1:22 p.m. I was awake for your birth (that was not the case for your brother’s) and though by semi-emergent C-section, it was perfect. YOU were perfect

I’ve thought a lot over the years about that moment, about your squishy red face, about the immeasurable and complete euphoria I felt, about how no one but me knew just how profoundly the world had changed yet. There have been many moments since that one, and in ALL of them, I love you more deeply than the moment before, which was more than I ever knew was possible.

You arrived during winter storm, Walda – fear not, that name was never in contention for your name. Walda left a sheet of ice across the landscape so thick that roofs collapsed under the weight, strong trees snapped like toothpicks, power lines stretched beyond their elasticity severing connections to power state-wide, and the world outside seemed unrecognizable, like something from a war zone.

On some level, the ice was beautiful and the delightful spring, summer and fall that followed made the storm’s sharpness and destruction eventually fade from consciousness into distant memory.

On this, your seventh birthday, the world outside once again is unrecognizable. Except this time, it’s not confined to our city, state or even region. Our entire planet, most of us in some form of quarantine, lockdown or social distancing, is altered.

Trying to come up with the words to explain just how bizarre and unprecedented this global event is, is proving impossible. There aren’t words for globally-shared confusion, sorrow, encouragement, loss, annoyance, hope, aggravation, solidarity and desperation all rolled into one. But that’s ok. The important thing, the thing we’re going to come back to time and time again, is that “globally-shared” part.

Many choose to ignore or dismiss the COVID-19 virus as a hoax or governmental conspiracy. Others panicked and hoarded household necessities and food. Schools across the country are “out” for the year – several months early – leaving parents to scramble for childcare and homeschooling resources. The NBA and countless large events like the Olympics, just aren’t. Let me repeat – they postponed the Olympics. Families are spending time together and responding to heart-warming dance challenges. Restaurants serve delivery, drive-thru and carry-out only. People all over the world put colored hearts in their windows. Stores allow a small percentage of their capacity in at one time and have stickers on the floor to mark safe distances. People wear gloves and gowns and masks in public while also making masks to donate to anyone in need. Parks and communal spaces are roped off with caution tape. What seems like the entire population of New York City collectively claps from their windows at 7 p.m. to honor and support healthcare and other essential workers. Memes poke fun at the difference between essential and non-essential workers. Happy hour now occurs over Zoom.

Your birthday is happening amidst a pandemic unlike anything those alive today have ever experienced. It’s not unreasonable to believe this event will shape the future in both practice and policy. There have been pandemics before – ones that killed many more people – but the world lacked the global interconnectedness of economies and information now common.

In difficult times, humans naturally want to be with those they love. They crave connection and nothing but time together heals wounds. But we’re all hurting in some way and we’re being denied the touch necessary to restore us. This isolation isn’t all bad, however, we’re creatively finding new ways to connect and it is teaching us something important: We can no longer take for granted the extraordinary lives and experiences we have.

As I write you this letter, I believe on the other side we will see sweeping and important changes to our healthcare and education systems. I believe we will hug on and love our friends and families hard, harder. I believe we’ll do the right thing and start addressing the inequities in our system to better protect our brothers and sisters. I believe countries the world over will work together to develop better systems, plans and communication. I believe strangers will become fast friends. I believe we will support small businesses and that those lost will be encouraged to rebuild. I believe we put our money toward experiences with each other and exploring the world. I believe we will make the effort to show up for people, even when we’d rather stay in our pajamas. And I believe we’ll do this as shared-trauma citizens of Earth with a renewed sense of responsibility for ALL people.

I’m crushed that your seventh birthday party will be the party-that-isn’t. You’re a brilliant light – a joyful little girl who is growing into a remarkable, spunky, brave, strong, resilient person. You deserve a party that shows just how many people love you and how adored you truly are. Your dad, brother and I will do our best to make it special. But we’re stuck in our house with pretty much the items we have on hand. We all love you intensely, though, little one. And that’s what I hope to show you, what I pray you feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

And, it’s what’s most important.

All my love,

Mom