Parachute

As soon as the gate of the daycare clinks shut, my daughter runs to the platform. She clamors up in her little Velcroed-hiking boots. A loosened brick tumbles to the ground. She perches herself in the center, ready to jump.

Work email: Paid sick leave will not apply to any employee who has traveled to a hotspot and becomes infected.

The platform was built to access electrical transformers in the alleyway by our daycare. Bricks are missing from the edge. Moss sprouts from the cracks. Broken glass sprinkled on the ground. But where I see danger, my daughter sees possibility. 

Radio announcement: Retailers, restaurants, sports clubs, and leisure activities must close. Schools will go to distance learning. Contact must be limited to only one person from outside your household. However, a work from home order will not be put in place. 

I take my place below her. I’m out of breath after chasing her with my mask on. I yank it down and hold out my arms. My feet cement to the ground. I brace for impact. The arms that carried her as a baby, still strong.

My daughter bends her knees to increase velocity and launches herself into the air. She imagines thick wings where I see puffy coat sleeves. Every strand of her wispy, brown hair floats above her head as if she were on the space station. 

This is the fourth month of the second lockdown in Germany. I have nightmares where I am at the grocery store wearing the wrong kind of mask. Only medical masks are allowed now. On the phone, I hear illness in my mother’s voice when she’s fine. Most afternoons, after teaching online, I have nowhere to go and nothing to do except to pick up my kids from daycare, which is, thank God, still open. 

Airline website: Travelers age 2 and above must provide negative test results issued no more than three days prior to departure.

My daughter’s airborne. Her little body is on an arced trajectory ending with me. Our chests collide. My arms wrap around her and I smell the red peppers she had for snack. She holds me briefly then wiggles free to jump again. 

I want to yell, “Be careful! Don’t slip! The hospitals are overloaded right now. This virus kills at random and suffocates everyone We can’t take any chances. Stop having fun and hold my hand.”

But that would make no sense to her. 

Fear will not stop her from leaping for joy. She has a parachute, a bungee cord, a shield, and a soft landing pad: it’s me. I will always be there. I will catch her. 

But Lord, who will catch me? 

* * *

It’s You. It’s always been You. Even when I tried to leave, You stayed. You gave me the strength to write this. You showed me such great love and patience. You helped me to parent during a global pandemic.

I need You. My Rock. My Shield. My Parachute. My God.