How the pandemic forced one family closer

I knew what she should do. So did my husband. She needed to stay home. “You can't go back. It could kill you,” I implored. We begged her not to return to her job. Then we tried to order

her not to, though we knew that our “because I said so” license had expired long ago. By this time, Americans were dying by the tens of thousands. The cousin of one of my closest friends, a

healthy man of 73, tested positive for the virus and dropped dead of a heart attack five days later. My colleague had to watch her mother die over FaceTime and attend her funeral via Zoom.

From stories like these, I knew this was a virus to respect. To our great relief, Juliet ultimately decided to remain in Berkeley. But that decision thrust her into a funk. She took little

solace from the fact that she was one of many young adults who felt their lives were on hold, one of many who had to choose among a slate of bad options. Her gloom soon enveloped the house.

Juliet spent an increasing amount of time in bed, bingeing on Netflix and letting her dirty coffee cups pile up even higher. Wes couldn't cheer her up. I felt helpless. I kept asking

her if she wanted to go for a walk, take an online class, talk about it. The answer was mostly no, and, as a parent turned roommate, that sidelined me. I couldn't sign her up for

therapy and make her go. I couldn't love her out of her depression. I had to let her work through her troubles by herself. In the end, it was sewing, not cooking, that brought Juliet

out of her malaise. She needed some more pants—she had left most of her clothes in L.A.—so she bought a bolt of white canvas and fashioned it into a pair of jeans. They looked cute,

especially with the wide pockets she had improvised. That success buoyed her confidence, and she moved on to making a dress and then some curtains. Sewing, like cooking, meant that Juliet

could work with her hands and bring a task to fruition. Months later, as we still hunker down at home to protect ourselves and others, our group of four has found its equilibrium. Juliet and

Wes have started to live a bit separately, shopping for food and often eating dinner by themselves. Wes has found work, Juliet is looking, and they now pay us rent. We all still get

together for dinner sometimes, but Gary and I increasingly interact with them around house projects. Juliet and her dad are building a table. She and I are raising worms for a compost pile.

And what did Juliet text me about her day recently? “Deep cleaning the kitchen!!” Those are words to make a roommate — and a mother — smile. _Frances Dinkelspiel, 61, is the cofounder and

editor of the news site Berkeleyside and the author, most recently, of Tangled Vines: Greed, Murder, Obsession and an Arsonist in the Vineyards of California._