My father died suddenly in an accident a month before the lockdown. I’d been depressed, traumatized, feeling grief and guilt, but able to find relief from all of this when I was going to high school and surrounded by friends. The pandemic stopped all of that. At night, trying to sleep, I was forced to face all the emotions I had built up. Going to class by Zoom became a fight. Staying in the same environment only served to spoil my mood. I was overcome with longing for what was now gone.

William NGUYEN ’24
Special to The Hawk

Our games were civilized at first. I’d watch the sun fall through the cellar windows while my brother Nick tried to teach me how to do a spin serve. But as the lockdown went on, the games got more bizarre, like determining how many shots it’d take to knock down a plastic Santa Claus from the top stair with a Nerf gun, or who’d be the first to step on something sharp in the dark. One night, I found Nick on his hands and knees, looking for a pingpong ball that had rolled away into a maze of boxes. It must have been our last ball because Nick was cursing like I’d never see him before, and then in his anger, he stubbed his toe on a Christmas tree stand. We were kids again, raging down there in our minor inconveniences, being reckless for fun, and neither of us knew what day it was. Death was right outside those cellar walls, waiting up the rickety stairs, while we spent our days scrounging among two decades’ worth of our childhood as a way to get out of ourselves.

Olivia Giannetta ’22
Special to The Hawk

None of us expected her death to look like this: Aunt Flo, lingering in between varying degrees of lucidity; the rest of us, hiding sad smiles and muffling goodbyes behind masks and an imaginary six-foot bubble. Aunt Flo’s dragged-out death comes amid millions of other deaths in this new normal, binding our brains and hearts. Numbed by morphine and negative-pressure machines, we can only watch what is in front of us. All the while, I find myself forgetting to calculate the distortion that follows collective trauma. My first thought isn’t concern over her transition to nonexistence, but the task of finding a black dress and arranging socially-distanced seating. This, while Aunt Flo pumps out her last breaths.

Caroline Hamilton ’21
Special to The Hawk

My last normal memory before school shut down for COVID-19 seems like a lifetime ago. I remember being upset because me and my best friend had opposing spring breaks and we wouldn’t see each other. Due to the school being closed for the next week, I was so excited that we could hang out. It’s so strange that at the time so many other people, including myself, were not expecting anything more than an extra week of spring break. Looking at the positives, despite the numerous difficulties, I did get some extra time to spend with my family and self-reflect.

Sehar Macan Markar ’22
Assitant Opinions Editor

April 2020: 10 a.m.: the first alarm goes off. Snooze. 10:09 a.m.: the second alarm goes off. I roll over in bed, pick my laptop off of the ground, and log in to my 10:10 a.m. Zoom class while rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I sit and listen to my professor and classmates without saying a word. As he dismisses us, I unmute myself to say “thank you” and then I close my laptop to go back to sleep. This routine happens three times per week until the semester ends. It’s the only sense of an academic “schedule” that I know now.

Elaina Wall ’21
Assistant Features Editor

This past year has definitely been a doozy. It caused me to truly value the things I often take for granted and to cherish the present moment rather than looking to the future with trepidation. I neglected the freedom I had to wander campus and visit friends. I learned to sit in my backyard and listen to the sounds of nature to ground myself. This past year has made me more introspective and taught me to calm my mind because we were all forced into a standstill. That standstill opened my eyes to the present world and I am oddly grateful for it.

Lenora Thomas ’23
Columnist

The trek across campus has always been my favorite part of the day, seeing people during free period walking with their friends or eating lunch in DB. I always kept my eyes peeled for anyone I knew because that’s what makes St. Joe’s feel like home. I could always count on the Barbelin bell tower to loudly chime three minutes before the hour.

One day last year at the beginning of May, I took a walk around campus. It looked as if nothing had changed—the bronze hawk still stood tall in front of Sweeney Field welcoming me back to campus. But I had never seen St. Joe’s look so lonely.

The bell tower still chimed three minutes before the hour, the sound echoing out across an empty campus. The only one listening was me.

Carly Calhoun ’21
Copy Editor

When restaurants first closed because of the pandemic, my mom and I decided to get creative at home and set up a dining area on our back porch. We strung up lights, cut some flowers for a vase and played restaurant music while we ate. Every day after dinner, we would go for a walk around the neighborhood. The best part of our walks was definitely when we got to see our favorite neighborhood dogs—Nooka and Quincy. Being present and living in the moment, whether that be eating pineapple fried rice with my mom or petting a dog, has made me realize that the most beautiful and precious things in my life are the little things that happen every day.

Leslie Quan ’22
Columnist

My senior year ripped away from me by a force nobody saw coming. Usually a control freak, but this time, I had to let fate run its course. Zoom after Zoom feeling drained, burnt out, and depressed; I ask myself when will this be over? Seeing my friends and family on a tiny dark screen leaves me lonely, with a pit in my stomach. Computer head, tired eyes, and dark circles, all from long nights staring endlessly at a screen. The pandemic caused all this; I noticed my smile beginning to fade, and my motivation diminish. Yet still, through all of this, I am grateful for not only my health but the health of my loved ones. And I know through strength and hope from the people around me, everything will be okay…eventually.

Nenagh Sheehan ’21
Assistant Features Editor

The first time I saw the St. Joe’s campus was in 2018 when I was a junior in high school touring colleges. I remember the lively atmosphere, smiling faces and what felt like a never-ending list of opportunities. Once the coronavirus pandemic isolated the U.S. population in quarantine, I lost much of my excitement to enter college. Many people in my life told me to lower my expectations, but when I arrived at St. Joe’s in August the campus was still alive. I was immediately immersed into the culture during freshman orientation. During the first week on campus I was grateful to see that the exciting environment, positive attitudes and inviting activities that made me commit to St. Joe’s were still prevailing on Hawk Hill.

Ruby Dillard ’24
Special to The Hawk

“You have time,” my mother said as she cracked three eggs onto a sizzling hot pan. “If you can’t do it today, you’ll always have tomorrow.” Time would always be there, I believed. People would always be here. I have time. Then weeks turned to months. No one was allowed to leave. People changed as much as seasons. People died as much as dreams. I realized that time was not an infinite loop, but a borrowed jewel, too precious to be left unattended, for it can be stolen, no warning.

Fatmata Sakho ’21
Special to The Hawk

I wasn’t supposed to be here this year. Italy awaited me for the spring semester, months studying in Florence, weekends spent roaming Tuscany in flowing dresses and espadrilles. I’d been waiting to explore Venice since I was ten years old, watching my brother play a video game set there. I was going to learn about food and wine, finally achieve fluency in the language I’d been studying since I was 14. Warm sunshine on Cinque Terre. Easter with my family in Positano. Connecting with distant relatives in San Fele. Now I’ve shifted my traveling desires to the States, feeling rejected and disappointed, grieving for my dream.

Faith Cowell ’22
Columnist