123 The Weight of Care
Jennifer Mushagalusa
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I was in Winnipeg, navigating a world that felt like it had been turned upside down. In the beginning, I was 14 and in ninth grade, trying to make sense of the ever-changing rules, restrictions, and uncertainties that shaped our daily lives. Lockdowns became a recurring reality, forcing everyone to adapt to a new way of living.
One of the most defining aspects of my pandemic experience was my job at a retirement home. While many people were confined to their homes, I was stepping out every day, walking into a place that housed some of the most vulnerable members of our community. My role involved helping with food service and ensuring the building was thoroughly sanitized. It may have seemed like a simple task, but in reality, the weight of responsibility was immense. Every shift carried the underlying fear of unknowingly carrying the virus inside and endangering the very people I was there to help.
As a first job, it was unlike anything I could have ever imagined. The residents, many of whom had already spent much of their lives in quiet routines, were suddenly thrust into extreme isolation. Family visits became echoes of love through phone lines, a distant connection that could never replace an embrace. I became one of the few faces they saw multiple times a day. This created a bond that was both deeply rewarding and emotionally taxing. They would tell me stories; memories of a world before masks, before distance, before fear. I would listen, nod, and smile behind my mask, hoping my eyes conveyed the warmth my voice could not. They would express their fears about the uncertain future. In turn, I did my best to bring comfort in the small ways I could, whether it was through a warm meal, a kind conversation, or simply being present.
However, the anxiety never fully went away. The idea that I could be the reason someone fell ill was a constant shadow in my mind. Every cough, every sniffle, every moment of doubt led to an overwhelming fear of what could happen if COVID-19 spread within the facility. We took every precaution possible, masks, gloves, frequent sanitization, but the risk never disappeared.
Aside from my job, I was also dealing with personal health complications. Managing my own well-being while working in a high-risk environment was an exhausting balancing act. There were days when I felt like my body was betraying me, yet I pushed through, knowing that people depended on me. The pandemic amplified feelings of isolation, making every challenge feel heavier.
When I reflect on the broader impact of COVID-19, one theme that stands out is fear. It wasn’t just the fear of catching the virus, it was the fear of what it was doing to people, to relationships, to the world around us. The residents in the retirement home were scared, their eyes filled with unspoken worries whenever another lockdown was announced. They feared never seeing their families again and feared dying alone in their rooms. I saw their hands shake when they asked if today was the day things would get better. Fear dictated so much of what we did. It determined who we stood near, who we avoided, and how we treated those who had been infected. In my workplace, fear built invisible walls. Residents who tested positive were not just isolated for safety but transformed into completely new people. It was as though their diagnosis had fundamentally changed who they were in the eyes of others. Even outside of work, I saw how fear played out in public spaces. A simple cough could send people recoiling, eyes narrowing in suspicion. We flinched away from one another, afraid that a single misstep could be the difference between life and death.
Despite the hardships, there were many moments of beauty. The bonds I built with the residents were genuine and heartfelt. I saw resilience in their eyes, heard strength in their words, and felt hope in their spirits. They became more than just patrons. In them, I found friends, confidants, and reminders of the importance of human connection. COVID-19 stripped away so much from us, but it also emphasized the value of compassion and care. Looking back, I see the pandemic as a time of immense struggle but also of profound learning. It forced me to confront fears I never expected to face, challenged me to care for others in ways I hadn’t before, and showed me the power of human resilience. If scholars 100 years from now study this pandemic, I hope they recognize not just the numbers and policies, but also the deeply personal experiences. I hope that they see the silent battles fought in hospitals, in retirement homes, and in the hearts of people everywhere.
This pandemic changed the world, and of course, it changed me. But through all the fear, uncertainty, and isolation, one thing remained clear: even in the darkest times, we must find ways to connect, to care, and to endure.
