Today marks the first anniversary of our first public health emergency declared as a result of COVID-19.
Four days earlier, on March 14, 2020, we recorded our first case. Schools closed; restaurants and stores closed (drive-through, pick-up or delivery allowed); gyms and dance studios closed; and gatherings for any purpose, including funerals, were not allowed.
We saw people scramble to get work gear home; to repurpose kitchen tables and chairs and corners for work, school and even church/gym/yoga at home.
We watched case numbers go up; we followed the rules about physical distancing; we obeyed the shelter-in-place guidelines. We washed our hands like surgeons and our doorknobs were never brighter.
We had no toilet paper, sanitizer was like gold, and personal protective equipment of any sort was scandalously scarce. We raided Nanny’s sewing box for elastic and we watched online tutorials on mask making.
Streets and parks were empty, while playground equipment fluttered with yellow tape, eerily reminiscent of crime scene tape seen on TV and at Halloween.
Grocery shopping was a no-contact sport, where your goal was to get in and out with all your supplies and minimal contact. We shared stories of finds: yeast, flour, chicken; and of gifts: wipes, cupcakes, books, puzzles.
The air was redolent with the scent of bleach, hand sanitizer or alcohol-based wipes. Streets and parks were empty, while playground equipment fluttered with yellow tape, eerily reminiscent of crime scene tape seen on TV and at Halloween.
We marked milestones: first birthdays/weddings/anniversaries/births in lockdown; first bubble partners; first double bubbles; first social-distanced porch visits, first hugs. April evenings rang with pot banging and lid clanging to celebrate our frontline workers while windows bloomed with rainbows, hearts and teddy bears.
Everywhere we looked, we saw life through panes of glass. We Zoomed and Teamed and hung out at all hours. We dealt with Zoom fatigue, coped with Zoom bombing, and managed online dropouts, fades, crackles and ejections with finesse.
School, work and community met through online portals, and Easter, Passover, Ramadan and Thanksgiving meals were boxed and delivered, while Mother’s Day and Father’s Day featured calls and hands touching through glass.
We learned new things, coined new phrases and used old words in new ways. We muted and pivoted; innovated and flattened; baked, sewed, painted and knit. We acquired dogs and bikes, planted vegetable seeds and flowers, cleaned attics and basements. We sang, we danced, we hiked and rambled, we read books and listened to yarns.
And yet.
Behind the rainbows lurked clouds. We stressed, we fretted, we worried. The economy tanked, jobs took a hit, and so did women, literally and figuratively. Statistics Canada reported that police calls for domestic disturbances went up eight per cent.
Mental health eroded, especially among health-care workers and people ages 15 to 24.
Infections and deaths took their highest toll on seniors in long-term care (70 per cent), while Black and Indigenous communities faced increased risk post-pandemic due to job losses, unemployment, under-employment and income precarity.
While the vaccine rollout presaged an increase in optimism late last fall, Statistics Canada reported this week that fewer than 50 per cent of Canadians will get the vaccine and less than a quarter of Blacks in Canada will. Vaccine hesitancy is an issue for Indigenous communities, as well, in rural and remote parts of Canada.
We know more about COVID-19 now than we did last year. We know more about our strengths and the capacity we have. We can clearly see the positive impact practising stringent public health precautions has on managing infections, including bringing us closer to the eventual re-opening of our communities.
Last year was hard and parts of the year ahead might be harder. But we can stay the course and maintain the strength of our convictions and values. Now is the time to think about rebuilding our new normal with compassion, inclusivity and understanding.
Martha Muzychka is a writer and consultant living in St. John’s.
