It’s day whatever of the pandemic and we’re faced with a choice about how to go forward. My daughter just signed an email indicating she would learn from home rather than begin her first year of college on campus as planned. We’d returned from our weeklong stay at the beach and the dog days of summer lay before us with no relief of something fun in sight.

The weight of 133 days and the frustration of everything, the news, the pandemic, all of it, hung heavier than the air. She’d been so strong, and now she felt tired of being strong, tired of having to be strong.

I thought about all the little deaths we’d endured over the weeks, no graduations, no proms, no plays, no parties. No baseball games, no sports, no parks, no 5k runs, no swimming lessons, no berry picking at the farm, no museums, no movies out with friends, no trips to the mall. The whole year felt like one big “No,” and it was little wonder, she cried. These were all the results of the pandemic, and we knew all of these little “nos” were not part of the big picture, as no one we knew was sick, no one we knew personally had died, and yet, it was a big “no” to endure all of it.

Taking her to the car, I volunteered to drive for ice cream. We began our hunt, talking about how easy it was for the feeling of sadness to take over. The first place felt too crowded, with many people coming and going without masks. The second place we discovered was closed, owing to the need for a deep cleaning and testing of employees exposed to Covid-19. I spied a bakery tucked in the strip mall and we ventured inside, masks on, hoping to purchase gelato.

The bakery looked spartan, and a single man greeted us. There were a few cakes and some pastries in the racks, but no ice cream. He explained, owing to the pandemic, he’d had to shut down some of his freezer bins to cut expenses. We bought a cake and tipped. He loaded us with extra cookies and seasoned pistachios. “There are no weddings,” he explained. “Last summer we had 200.” He worried about the business being able to stay alive.

Going to the car, my daughter talked to me about his business. Here was a real person, one of countless, whose business was joy, comfort and celebration, all of which dried up with the absence of weddings and graduations and birthday parties.

I went back in to talk with him and get his card and ordered a few more treats for the week. (We have a birthday coming). We promised to order a cake for the next celebration too. She felt better just knowing we’d done something, a little something for someone else.

Driving back home, we talked about how the surest cure for sadness is to do for someone else. Prayers and alms, and helping where you see you can help, it’s the cure for chasing away whatever demons plague us, while helping others fight the good fight too. It’s also the vaccination against despair during these long months of corona quarantine and uncertainty, and the means by which we will help rebuild this society into something better than before. 

Sherry Antonetti is the author of The Book of Helen  and blogger @Chocolate For Your Brain!