To be honest, it was the first time I had allowed myself to yield to the emotions bubbling beneath the surface these past few months as the world came to a screeching halt due to the coronavirus. I never cried when my daughter’s high school prom or graduation was canceled; I didn’t weep when all of our family vacation plans for the summer evaporated. I never shed a tear when I couldn’t celebrate with my 83-year-old mom on Mother’s Day for fear of making her ill. Nothing got to me—it was as if I had somehow hit the pause button on my heart, keeping it on hold from any harm. I would weather this global health crisis stoically; I wouldn’t crumble or cave or show a single sign of weakness. After all, I’m a mom—wasn’t it my job to be strong?

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