A Glimpse of Resurrection

The happy Easter Sunday I was starting to enjoy became a wisp of a dream when the phone rang suddenly. 

It was Toronto Public Health calling to inform us of my husband’s Covid-19 swab results.

We had gone through this once before. About two weeks earlier, Ben had been experiencing some mild cold-like symptoms and diligently went to get tested, which was required for his work in the medical field. They called us then and said he tested negative.

This time, Ben was on the phone for what seemed like “bad” news, the kind just like I had been bracing myself against for the past month. Both our families lived in New York City, the epicentre of the outbreak in the US. News of more and more diagnoses of family members and friends had been creeping into our lives. We were now a part of that story.

“Are you sitting for this?” he asked. He had tested positive this time.

Ben quickly put on a mask and in a forced dance which kept us six feet away from each other, we packed up what we thought we would need to function completely separately for up to two weeks, Ben isolated in the master bedroom and I, sleeping in the office on the old red pull-out couch.

I barely waved good-bye and we left restrained I love you’s hanging in the air before I closed the bedroom door, only to hear the piercing click of the lock behind me a few seconds later.

In the hollowness of the empty hallway, a burst of happy squeals came from my kids’ room, the ever-thrilling game of peek-a-boo ensuing, a welcome hint of lightness to the tasks and thoughts before me.

As I started sanitizing what I could of our home, worry thawed in my mind like the chicken soup I set on the counter, which I'd made weeks ago for a circumstance like this. The “what if’s” barrelled ahead, only to be stopped short by Chloe, my four-year-old, tugging at me.  “Mommy, I’m hungry,” she sleepily uttered, having just gotten up from her nap.

In the days that followed, I missed Ben the most around dinner time. He would usually help feed the kids, which included catching the bite-sized foods our one-year-old hurled in the air, and put the kids to bed, who cackled wildly when he kissed them with his stubbly face. Normally, once the house had finally grown quiet, he would then recount the day with me. After his diagnosis, dinner time reminded us why he was not around, especially when Chloe would ask, “Where’s Dada?” As I answered, my face held the composure that my mind was desperately trying to find. 

That first evening, after the kids were asleep and everything was cleaned twice over, I dropped onto that old red couch and cried.

I thought of the video call I had had with my parents earlier in the day, after they learned the news of Ben’s positive diagnosis. After my mom grew incapable of stringing together coherent words, her voice trembling and her eyes welling up with tears, I could see I had failed to reassure them that everything would be OK. My dad graciously took over and solemnly asked what I suspected they wanted to know: had Ben and I considered who would be designated to care for the kids if we were not to make it through this virus?

The thought that my parents were considering the implications of my death and the ramifications for their grandchildren was sad enough. Were they also wondering what happens to all of us after we inevitably die? I remember how scary and unsettling it was when I wrestled with how to face the idea of death, the seemingly permanent form of isolation, before I believed in Jesus Christ.

What my parents thought about life after death had rarely been at the top of my concerns, especially when life is moving ahead. But the sudden pause on life as I knew it and the reality of how the pandemic could dramatically change my circumstances reminded me that my time on earth is limited and so are my prayers. I began to more earnestly pray for my parents to know the God who created us and made us to live with Him forever. It is the only sure thing I can offer in these times of uncertainty, even for myself.

After testing negative two days in a row, Ben was given the green light to come out of isolation. It had only been a week that he was sequestered from us and his symptoms were mild enough that life hadn’t drastically changed aside from his isolation. But our reunion was no less heartwarming. It was like he had come back to full life, beaming with joy at seeing his family in person again. It was a small glimpse of resurrection, the permanent reunion.

Text: R.L.