Dear Harrison,

Do you remember when you turned 5?

I do.  I remember it well.

It was the year that the entire world stood still.

The year that time, seemingly, stood still.  The streets were eerily quiet, the stores were closed, the school was closed.  We could not go to the park to run around.  We could not visit your friends.  We could not have playdates or parties.  We could not go anywhere.   No plane rides, no car rides, no trips, no plans.  For weeks on end, our world was held within the four walls of our home.

As I write this, we are on week #6 of isolation here in Toronto due to COVID-19.  This virus took over the world, and you are turning 5.

I will remember the highs and lows.

I will remember getting “suited up” to go grocery shopping, feeling as though I were heading into battle, constantly fretting about what germs I might be bringing home with me.

I will remember you bursting into my Zoom virtual meeting for work (while I was leading a group of about 15 people in a discussion) when you yelled “SURPRISE!!” just to show me your latest craft project.

I will remember hearing your laughter and squeals of delight from the back lane as you played for hours with your dad.  Learning to ride your two-wheeled bike was the ultimate highlight for you.

I will remember the seemingly endless “groundhog days” of wash, rinse, repeat.  The same things day after day after day after day.  Nothing much different, nothing much new.

I will remember struggling to keep up with work, to lead our team, to develop new offers in this virtual world, to feel the weight of bringing in revenue on my shoulders as we all fight for our new “normal” in the business world.

I will remember your daddy working until midnight most nights, trying so desperately to juggle full time parenting and full time work.

I will remember you asking us why we hadn’t moved yet.  “Why isn’t daddy building our new house?”, you asked.  “But I thought we were supposed to start in May?”, you wondered.  You didn’t miss a beat.

I will remember you crying for seemingly hours during the first week of isolation, ultimately crawling into our bed and clutching ‘brown bear’ for comfort.  We were all confused, scared, sad, frustrated.  The spectrum of emotions covered in the span of short hours.

I will remember taking you for morning walks, badgering you about keeping away from people, crossing the street to adhere to the 6 foot social distancing rules, fretting about what you might be touching, unsure of what was no longer safe.

I will remember you asking about the police patrolling Withrow park, and if you were breaking the law by eating your snack outside.

I will remember feeling completely in control, and completely lost, all within one day.

I will remember FaceTiming with your brave Auntie Sarah, always in her face mask, protecting those she loved at home as she returned to the front lines of the emergency room day and after day.

I will remember your Uncle Brennan, deployed with the army to go and help those most critically in need.  Those at the long term care facilitates who have been hit so, so hard with the terror that is COVID-19.

I will remember wondering what kind of emotional or psychological damage this might causing you.

I will remember losing loved ones, knowing that we cannot be there to celebrate their amazing lives, and knowing that we cannot be there to hold those who mourn.

I will remember feeling helpless and heartbroken about the excessive loss and sadness that has spread throughout the world.

I will remember the sun streaming through our windows in the morning, and wondering when the last time I went outside might have been.

I will remember doing nothing, but doing everything, all at once.

While the world stood still.

But the memories I will guard closely? Those that I will hold most near and dear to my heart?

Those, my love, are the special moments I spent with you.

Reading for hours.  Building LEGO creations over and over again.  Ploughing through your “learn to read” app and feeling SO proud of you.  Building a heck of a lot of couch-cushion forts in the living room.  Stuffie parties.  Zoom calls with Mr. Recke and all your friends from your Kindergarten class.  Snacks….oh, the endless snacks.  PJ’s until noon.  Baking.  Pancakes.  Painting.  Our morning walks. Creating “Nespresso Castle” and a paper bag puppet show.  Chalk art.  Drawing lessons on You Tube.  Listening to the Frozen II soundtrack ON REPEAT.  Every.  Single.  Day.

Soccer drills, baseball, football, kickball, tennis, hockey, timed sprint runs…any and all sports.

Following our schedule, and throwing the schedule out the window.

Laughing and crying. Yelling, hitting, pushing, kicking.  Anger, frustration, joy, despair, sadness, love.  It’s all been here.  Within these four old walls that we currently call home.

You are turning 5.  The world stands still.  We are in the middle of a global pandemic, and you, my love are 5.

One day, you’ll ask me about this time.  I’ll try really hard to explain it to you.  You’ll read this, and try to remember.

But I’ll remember.  I’ll remember that this was the time that I truly realized what a precious gift you are.

Because you, my love, you are the future.

Lots of love,

Mom.