My light has turned off. I shuffle it around, shake it, smack it a few times to try to turn it back on. It’s useless. The world inside this underwater cavern has now gone dark, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot see a thing. Even though I am wearing a wetsuit, I feel the 72-degree water pierce right through me, into my soul. My teeth begin to chatter, and a little water breaks into my regulator. My hands are trembling, and I wrap myself in a hug to try and get warm, but the fear of a possible death won’t let me raise my body temperature. My mouth has gone completely dry, even though I just took in a gulp of water about thirty seconds ago. All of a sudden, my fingers are very aware of how cold this water actually is, and they’ve begun to go numb. I push the valve on my regulator, and a hard shot of air enters my mouth and forces any water out.

            The feelings of weightlessness and despair are magnified when you’re floating in darkness. Even though I cannot see them, the cavern walls feel like they are closing in on me, and I know that the last thing I should do is panic, but it’s difficult. My brain keeps wandering over to the possibilities of death; getting stuck, running out of air, losing my regulator. The pressure of the Earth feels like it’s pushing down on me, and all I can do to survive this is to keep swimming calmly. I make sure my gloves are on tight, I check my weights, my fins, my mask. Everything is where it’s supposed to be. I try to get out of my own head, out of those thoughts of fear, and I begin to use the outlines of the cavern walls with my fingers as my exit strategy to get out, and into the light of the world above. The terror of not knowing how this situation could end is such a frightening thought, but I cannot continue to focus on it, I swim forward. 

            I’ve gone diving 100 feet below the surface, and even been in the water with 14 foot Tiger sharks, and I was never afraid of how those dives would turn out. I always found them exciting. However, I feel like this pandemic, this isolation, has hit me harder than any dive I’ve ever done. The fear of the unknown during this chaotic time within our society is very real, and sometimes I feel like I am in the dark, without knowing how to find my way out of things. It makes me feel like I am right back in the Devil’s Den, in Central Florida, so many years ago.

            The fact that I have been through this feeling of despair before helps me now. The biggest fear I have is whether I am able to properly protect my daughters from this intangible enemy. It is the unknown that grabs me by the neck and squeezes. Will my daughters be okay? What will life after this isolation look like? Can I bring myself to take them back to their daycare? There are so many variables that I cannot predict, and it feels so easy to lose control and spiral down this rabbit hole of what ifs. I have been spending so much one on one time with my two daughters, that I am genuinely afraid of giving that up. I don’t want to see them cry if I have to drop them off at a daycare again. I don’t want to hear the pleas of “mami, no” from my babies. 

            In that cavern, so many years ago, I was alone. I was not married, I was not a mother, I had no one to worry about but myself. It was a different kind of fear, I’ve realized. Today, being the mother of two beautiful, healthy girls, I’ve come to understand that my stress and anxiety has nothing to do with myself – it is all about my daughters. I worry about them, how they’re doing, how they’ll cope once this all finishes, and I worry about their well-being. It’s the hard-hitting realization of being a mother during this strange new time in our world. The feeling of never having had to parent this way with so many limits and regulations, and the feeling of having to adapt and regroup from everything you once knew. 

            Before the pandemic happened, my eldest daughter, Eva, would get sick almost daily because the majority of the other parents would take their kids to school sick. It begs the question, what would stop them from taking their sick kids to school now? I know that her school has sent us information on the step they’re now taking to combat COVID-19, but deep down, my motherly instinct is telling me otherwise. The thought of my daughter catching this disease takes all the air out of my lungs, and makes my chest feel like I can’t breathe. Part of me hopes that this isolation lasts a bit longer, because the reality of having to gamble both of my daughter’s health for a job is a burden that I simply cannot handle. I have to actively tell myself that I have to focus on what I can control, I have to focus on the light.

            Back in that cavern, I had a physical obstacle. My limits were clear, and my goal was even clearer; if I wanted to stay alive, I had to swim to the light. Now, it is not clear at all, but the feeling of helplessness is exactly the same. I keep my daughters, Eva and Ema, busy with activities. I teach them their ABCs, we color, play with blocks and build all kinds of beautiful wobbly structures, practice kid-friendly yoga, but every single day in the back of my mind is that feeling of uneasy weightlessness. The feeling of will I get out of this? Because it’s not just my life on the line this time, it’s both of my daughter’s lives as well. 

            I focus on my daughter’s laughs, their sweet melodic voices, and how my eldest, who is two, changes and softens her tone when she begins to sing along to her favorite songs. I marvel at the love they have for one another, and how sweetly they hold on to each other when they awkwardly hug. I relish in their belly laughs and watch as their beautiful curls bounce along with them. I watch their tiny little bodies and eager brown eyes run up to me to collect affection. Their laughter is my direction. They are the ones who light up my world. And it’s those thoughts that I use to get myself out of the spiraling web of what-ifs.

            Back in the cavern, I continue to swim forward. I stumble, get stuck, and the walls now have me, and I begin to panic. The fact that I’m now physically unable to move has broken me, and I begin to cry, even though I know I shouldn’t. I take in water and agitate myself even more. My hands get stiff and I can’t move my fingers. I’m choking on the freshwater, and I’m struggling to take an even breath. I try to scream, but it’s pointless. I feel my body slowly shutting down; my back getting stiff, legs starting to get cramps, and my arms not moving the way I want them to.

            “You’re going to die, you fool!” I loudly scream to myself in my head. My mind immediately goes to my mom. The fact that I didn’t tell her “I love you” before doing this dive shatters me. Thinking I’ll never see her again, I’ll never hug her again, that I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to her. She doesn’t deserve that! I cannot accept this fate, this cannot be the way I die. I tell myself not to worry, that I will see her again. I begin trying to calm my mind. I remind myself it is okay, that I know this cavern and that I’ve done this dive several times before. I will get through this, I will find my way out. 

            I eject the water from my mouth, take a deep and controlled breath in, slowly back up, unhook my BCD strap from the cavern, loosen the grip on me, and begin to move forward again. All in the dark, all in silence, all alone. As I swim forward, there are small signs in other narrow passageways below me stating not to enter, they are lit up by faint yellow lights that give me just enough guidance to see that I am headed in the right direction. I have to continuously think not to panic because panicking causes frantic breaths, which in turn, deplete my oxygen tank. So I keep swimming, making sure to take slow, deep, and consistent breaths along the way. I look up, and I see a faint glimmer of light far ahead in the distance. I look at my gauge and notice that I have just enough air to make it out alive.

            Using that past experience, I remind myself daily that I have to focus on the important things. My daughters are healthier than they’ve ever been and no longer have runny noses, or congestion. My eldest daughter has flourished into such a lovely, kind, and understanding little woman. She develops a new part of her personality daily, and I feel absolutely privileged to be able to witness every bit of it. She is growing to love her princess dresses, and she will use any opportunity given to do a little twirl filled with pride, while I cheer her on and tell her how beautifully she shines. 

            My youngest, who spent her first birthday in quarantine, has begun to show her likes and dislikes, and went from never eating to eating just about anything I feed her. She’s also developing so much affection for her toys and will take any opportunity to grab a toy, caress it, and gently rock it back and forth. We have been able to truly get to know one another, and truly communicate – even when it is just gibberish and drooling. This isolation has been a blessing in disguise. As opposed to being limited to a few hours a day due to work and a long commute, we get to spend all day with one another, and truly enjoy each other’s company. We have the opportunity to learn from one another.

            I also use this time to focus on my job, which I still have, and am able to work from the comfort and safety of my home. I acknowledge that a lot of people have not been so lucky, so I grasp onto that and make sure that I do not forget how fortunate I am. My situation is not as bleak as my mind sometimes wants it to seem. I realize that now, just like I did back in that cavern, I cannot waste my energy on negative thoughts that do nothing but unravel me. I will focus on the light, I choose to focus on the good. That feeling of weightlessness and despair will not take over.

            I’ve realized that this quarantine has pushed me to limits I never knew existed within my mind, and it has forced me to reach levels of stress I never knew I could handle. Being alone for the majority of the day, sometimes the entire day, with two toddlers is an extremely stressful situation. Add to that the fact that we cannot leave the house, and you now have a recipe for disaster. In the beginning, there were a handful of days where I feared for my wellbeing and my mental health. However, this quarantine has also shown me that I am stronger than I ever thought possible. My daughters and I have made the best of this isolation by creating a daily schedule and routine. We’ve turned the chaos into calm. This will not kill me. This will not break me. 

            When the day comes to finally go back to normal – whatever that may mean now – I will be more ready than I ever thought possible. My family and I, we will be ready. We bring out the light within each other, and that is a beautiful thing. I’ve begun writing more, reading so many books, and picking up new projects that I never seemed to have the time for before. My daughters have begun to let their personalities flourish, and they’ve begun choosing activities that they feel suit them best. Watching my girls shine so bright has been my saving grace from the darkness of this quarantine.

            In the cavern, I kick a little harder and I can see more light. This is it. As I finally make my way up above the surface and out of this cavern, I take a good look at her and I thank her. This cavern will hold my secrets, she pushed my limits and boundaries, and she will make sure I am ready for the future. The light now consumes me, I break the surface, rip off my mask, and scream with all my might. I inflate my BCD and weep tears coming deep from my gut, the most primal cry I have ever experienced. I am alive. 

            This virus that has forced society to be isolated from family and friends has actually shown us how to be closer on a much deeper level. Most of us have gone back to daily phone calls of catching one another up on our lives. Something we once took for granted. It’s shown us how to reconnect, and how to value the truly important things in life. Something a lot of us had forgotten how to do. This virus, which we thought at first to be our demise, has secretly been our salvation. Realizing that I’ve had so much one on one time with my daughters, and seeing them in different ways has shown me how wonderful staying at home can be. Things that they would have normally done or discovered at their daycare, they now do at home with me. I’ve learned to slow down, look at the details that life gives me, observe the peculiarities that nature offers, and most important of all, I’ve learned to truly see my daughters. We will all come out as deeper, better-connected individuals because of this virus. My daughters and I, we will choose to focus on the details of the day and we will be thankful for them, because today is a new day, and we are lucky to have it.

– Susana Ramirez