Embracing My Inner Lawn Gnome
I pulled into Nana’s neighborhood as stealthily as I could in a bright red car, parking across the street and then hopping out into the sunshine. I crept up to her windows, where her blinds were closed, and called her on the phone.
“I heard you requested the granddaughter lawn gnome?”
She asked me what I was talking about, confusion clear in her voice.
“The granddaughter lawn gnome has been delivered,” I continued, and finally, she opened the blinds.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face when she saw me standing in the bushes in her yard, dodging large bees as I waved enthusiastically.
It was even happier, I think, than she was when I called to tell her I’d be coming home for Passover, back before “coronavirus” sounded more like something out of a sci-fi novel than real life.
And, surprisingly, I found that my visit made me happy, too, even though it wasn’t at all the reunion I’d hoped for. I stayed on the phone with her for almost half an hour standing on her lawn like a very oversized gnome, and the distance between us felt so small once I could see her face smiling so widely at me.
I didn’t think I’d be sad, exactly, to see her that way, but it’s been extremely hard for the both of us to accept that we can’t see each other, even after the two weeks of self-quarantining I’ve been doing in my parents’ house. It’s still too dangerous, she told me, and unlike most of the negative thoughts in my head, the thought that I could infect and potentially even kill her if I see her too soon is all too real.
The lawn gnome maneuver was my solution to hating the fact that she was alone, 20 minutes away, and accepting no visitors for her own health. It was my way of doing a little bit of what we both needed, especially because we couldn’t do what we actually need: a proper Seder, a warm hug, everything we’ve been missing since we last saw each other in December.
When I first heard that she was afraid of seeing me, it felt like another blow in a long string of everything getting taken away - everything from simple trips to the grocery store to conventions months away are getting messed up, and even being at home, it’s hard to stop myself from being scared. I’ve read enough disease-based apocalypse novels that my imagination has plenty of fodder, and the fact that I always think ten (if not more) steps down the line means I can already see how some of these scenarios might look.
This week has been an important balance of talking things out - airing out my thoughts and seeing what my family and friends think of them, and helping them in return - and coming up with things I can do right now, without waiting for the crisis to be over. Some sort of distraction even beyond work and video games, and hopefully, a way to help out along the way.
This mindset is how the lawn gnome idea came about, but it hasn’t been easy. I’m sure I’m far from the only person struggling with disappointment, fear, anger, and sadness during this time. It’s even harder without a deadline or an end in sight. But as my friends and family have counselled me, I’m trying to live one day at a time and find something that makes me - and hopefully others - smile, even if just for a short time. It might be silly, and it might involve hanging out in bushes for longer than I’ve ever done in my life, but this adventure - and the resulting smiles on both ends - was definitely worth it.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.