Back to School Vagaries

When I read the district-wide email that masks would not be mandated, I was incredulous, flummoxed, and downright enraged. I was about to send my eight-year-old daughter to third grade and my five-year-old son to kindergarten for the first time. At that moment, nothing felt more vulnerable than all children ages 4-12 without access to a vaccine going to an unprotected school in a COVID-19 surge.  

Now, after a few weeks in school, I have received frequent emails reading the same thing: “The numbers of COVID-19-positive students and teachers are rising.” If ever something felt preventable, it is this. At the time of this writing, an email was sent to inform us of a community outbreak of COVID-19; our school district is moving to stage 3, “Mitigation,” in the Health Mitigation Protocol.

My story rhymes with many others who worry for their children; so too with teachers fearing for their own health and the health of their students. We face not only a pandemic of a merciless virus but also of anxiety and loss. 

Regardless of political position, we all mourn the fact that children and teachers face particular, outsized hardships this year. We could stack our losses so high, they simply topple. Losses include changes in routines for the students, no public back-to-school activities, modified lunches, virtual “meet the teacher” events, and so much more.  

But the greatest loss I recognize as we send our children to school in this landscape is the loss of safety and health.

At PathLights, we talk about the power of coming together and naming our losses.  Sometimes pain is far greater when we suffer alone or in silence. Together, though, if we can name our losses, we can find strength in solidarity -- common threads bind us together through sharing our stories and knowing there is agency and power in the collective. 

Togetherness, naming these things aloud in community, has been my hope these days. If I stuff my fears and losses, it’s like bloodletting -- I lose energy and vitality. But when I call a friend, turn to a neighbor, or attend a school board meeting, I breathe deeper and find the losses are more manageable.  

So, instead of bracing for the next school email, I’m trying to cultivate healing through a network of supportive friends. When the next email comes, I can take a deep breath and know I’m grounded in part through this community.