As New York State and many others grapple with the decision to halt in-person schooling, a wave of mixed emotions washes over us. How do we make sense of this situation, especially for our children? This unprecedented fear, uncertainty, and disappointment is something many of us have never faced before. To my fellow New Yorkers—and anyone else feeling adrift amid this emotional turmoil—I want to share a few thoughts.
To all students, educators, and parents who are ending this academic year without resolution: I understand your pain.
I empathize with the parents who are questioning their own capabilities, wondering if they are managing to balance homeschooling, work, and household chores without losing their minds. I feel for the little preschoolers who don’t grasp the full scope of what’s happening, only wanting to perform in their year-end play. I think of the fifth graders missing their last dance and moving-up ceremonies, and the eighth graders who won’t be able to sign their yearbooks or enjoy the sunshine on half days. I grieve for all the children longing to reconnect with friends and teachers.
I also think of the teachers who are retiring this year, robbed of the chance to say goodbye to the students and colleagues who have become like family. For high school educators, the heartache lies in not being able to celebrate their seniors as they transition into adulthood. My heart goes out to these seniors who will miss out on the excitement of announcing their college plans or the joy of prom night. I mourn the loss of those moments—proms, graduation ceremonies, and the final walk across the football field.
I genuinely weep for you, because twenty years ago, I experienced something similar. In April 2000, just as I bought my prom dress, I became a passenger in a life-altering car accident that left me an incomplete quadriplegic. I remember the deep sadness of a 17-year-old unable to take AP exams after months of preparation. I missed out on my senior awards night, never getting to wear that pale yellow dress or accept accolades for French and Track/Cross Country. I still have vivid dreams about those final months of high school—a closure that I never truly received.
As a mother of three, I witness the confusion and sadness that children are feeling during this time. I offer my hugs, kisses, and a listening ear, hoping it’s enough. Not achieving your goals as you envisioned can be disheartening, and it’s vital not to invalidate those feelings.
Yet, children are remarkably resilient and will emerge from this experience stronger than we can imagine. They will learn patience and come to cherish the simple joys of life—like car rides and collecting rocks and flowers. High school seniors, while they may not get the graduation they dreamed of, will grow up with a deeper understanding of hardship. They will learn to value life’s lessons about gratitude and living in the moment.
Indeed, this situation is unfair, frustrating, and heartbreaking. However, life will continue. For some, closure may be elusive this year, but there are those whose families are facing far graver losses.
When life presents challenges, we must rise to meet them. Twenty years ago, I found myself thrust into adulthood, forced to make decisions about my rehabilitation rather than choosing a college. I faced life-threatening surgeries that shaped who I am today.
I’m taking this pandemic one day at a time, well-acquainted with the feelings of isolation. As parents and educators, we can guide our children to understand that overcoming this obstacle prepares them for any future challenges.
Nothing lasts forever. Let this serve as a teachable moment.
To my young friends, embrace optimism even during the bleakest times. Life will throw unexpected challenges your way—some minor, others monumental. Remember that your first job or dream pursuit won’t seem as daunting because you are resilient.
Know that you have our love and support every step of the way. If all we have is now, let’s cherish this moment and be grateful for what we can experience today.
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Summary
Twenty years ago, I faced a life-altering car accident that robbed me of my senior year. Today, as students confront unprecedented challenges due to the pandemic, I offer empathy and encouragement. Although this year may lack closure, children will emerge stronger and more resilient. Embrace the moment, cherish the little things, and remember that you have our unwavering support.