The Relieved Countdown

I was so glad to leave this particular year in the rearview mirror. If only I knew how the next would be!

Let’s play a game of the Guess the Year in Nashville?

This particular year started out well enough. The Tennessee Titans had made it to the playoffs. My husband, Andrew, and I travelled to Kansas City to watch them face off against the Chiefs. We’d lived in Kansas City before moving to Nashville so I, at least, was content with either team winning. It was frigid cold, but it was worth it to see some old friends and feel the excitement of a live game. While in KC we also visited one of our old hang out spots, O’Malley’s Irish Pub, and sang along to Irish tunes while alternating between drinking our beer and banging our mugs on the table.

February came along and you could go for early voting. But we were on the road again to Pensacola to be in a Mardi Gras Parade with my in-laws and some of their friends. The whole family was decked out in camo and throwing beads at children and fully clothed adults alike as we were paraded down the street on a float. Mobile, where Andrew and I met, is close by to Pensacola so we stopped over and took a peek downtown to see what happened to Graffiti’s, the dance club where we met. Honestly, I’m not even sure we found the building.

March was swell, right up until the third, when I was awoken by Andrew in the wee hours of the morning. He told me with urgency a tornado was in the area, and we needed to go to the basement-now. I was thankful for my amateur weatherman who had stayed up through the night in case there was a warning. We scooped up our daughters from their bedrooms and made our way down. I remember as I was descending the stairs to the basement I could feel and hear the house flexing. And close by, too close, I could hear the signature train sound of the tornado as it passed by. And shortly after, an eerie silence.

The text messages from my neighborhood mom friends started coming in at 12:56am. Is everyone okay?!?! OMG What the F. Is everyone in their safe spots? We were all emotionally shaken, but physically okay. I texted an employee, who lived close by. She told me her building was largely destroyed, but she was not hurt.

At least one of my friends made it to our voting location and voted in the primary that day. I should have taken advantage of early voting because I was too busy driving around to our rental houses checking for damage and then helping with cleanup at other homes since ours were unscathed.

Just at the edge of our neighborhood was where most of the devastation began: Power lines and trees down, roofs detached from houses, vehicles crushed, busted church windows, buildings collapsed.

There were several downed trees and powerlines in our neighborhood. I recall driving down one street on the opposite side of my neighborhood and it looked like giants had played a game of tug of war with the power lines. Our power was out, amazingly, for only one day. Our internet service, Xfinity, was down for several days. My AT&T friends bragged that their internet was up and running.

I went ahead and switched to AT&T for our Airbnbs just in case Xfinity wasn’t up by the weekend. Because, after I’d assured our incoming guests that the tornado had not destroyed the entirety of Nashville like the national news made it sound, they planned to still come for the weekend.

Still reeling from that close call, we moved into the main act-COVID restrictions. Or in more accurate terms, the third circle of Hell. And my 40^th birthday was coming up in April. Not good. I had grand plans to fly to New York City with Andrew to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway for my milestone year. Luckily, I am a procrastinator and had yet to purchase any tickets.

In normal times, I am one cool, calm and collected chic. And I am happy as a clam around my birthday. It’s like a holiday. Ask anybody that knows me. Turns out, in the third circle of Hell, contemplating turning 40 years old, I am not any of those things. I felt panicked, emotional, anxious, dare I say-on the cusp of a depression.

On a zoom call, I confided in my friends how I was feeling. Those neighborhood mom friends who’d been texting back and forth in the aftermath of a tornado. We tried to get together now and then for a mommy wine night, had been for years. And now mommy wine night had been reduced to a zoom call. I ugly-cried on their computer screens, “This is going to be the worst birthday ever!” Or something to that effect.

Clearly, I needed help. My friends and family conspired behind my back to give me the best birthday in a pandemic. And if there were an award for such a thing, they would be a shoe in for first prize. Listen to what they did.

On the morning of April 18, my friend Virginia called me and instructed me to go out on my porch-now. Rolling down my street was a parade of mini-vans, station wagons and SUVs. They were honking their horns and yelling “Happy Birthday!” out their windows. Some friends were walking pushing a stroller or wagon and a birthday banner held between them. I happy cried straight to their faces.

The rest of the day Andrew and my kids were busy decorating the backyard. My youngest daughter declared it was going to be a six feet-a-party. Yellow caution tape was draped over the fence and across the cozy patio that didn’t meet social distancing requirements. Hoops, that Andrew had made by hand to be six feet in diameter, were positioned in a larger circle in the grass, with a chair placed inside each one. In the center of the yard, they placed a pile of essentials: masks, a first aid kit, bottles of water, snacks & a Fire Extinguisher (?). Signs were hung on the fence and pillars. Some read Happy Birthday while others had warnings about safety protocols and healthy practices. My favorite sign read “My 40^th Birthday, the One Where I was Quarantined”.

That night my friends came over, took their places inside a designated hoop and we sipped wine and chatted for hours solving the world’s problems. It was chilly out. But it was so worth it to see my friends in person and feel the excitement of a live event. I returned to homeostasis.

May through November is a blur of homeschooling my kids, keeping our businesses afloat, enduring a contentious election. Then there was December.

December went out with a bang. Quite literally. I was lying in bed asleep on Christmas morning when I was awoken by a distant sound and a feeling of...it was just for a few seconds, but it felt like I was in one of those beds in a hotel room in the ‘80s where you stick a quarter in and it vibrates.

The bomb that went off on 2^nd Ave near the AT&T building was less than two miles from my house. A little too close for comfort if you ask me. No one lost their lives, except the bomber himself. Buildings were destroyed, including a colleague’s condo. And of course, the AT&T internet was down. We’d still had Xfinity at our personal home. We could brag to our AT&T friends that our internet was up and running great. Now there’s a statement you can’t often say.

Ah, the year 2020. It was one wild ride. We were all impatiently counting down those last ten seconds so that it would finally be over. 2021 had to be better, right? In my world, the year 2021 looked over at the year 2020 and said, “Hold my beer.” 2021 was the year my husband died unexpectedly.