Ordered to shelter in place…All schools, gyms, bars, restaurants, theaters, concert halls closed…Grocery stores with bare shelves. These are indeed astonishing times. Like everyone else in California, I am hunkering down for the duration. And I’ve been surprised by a sudden yearning to talk to my mother. She died eighteen years ago, and in the following months and years, I often found myself wanting to tell her about my life: that my daughter had made the varsity softball team, that I had an article published in a respected academic journal, or that we were remodeling our kitchen. It was always a shock to realize she would never know these things. But over the years, that desire faded.

Now, it’s flooding back. I want to share with her this extraordinary moment, to hear her calm, philosophical take on life during this pandemic. And I think often of her experience living through the Blitz in London during World War II. I have lived through the aftermath of other momentous events such as the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco, or the September 11 terrorist attacks, but those were discreet events whose impact was mostly immediate, lessening as each day passed. The Blitz is the closet parallel I can think of to what we are living through now. The dangers were more extreme perhaps, certainly more immediate, with bombs dropping and buildings destroyed every night, and the enemy more concrete. But there was a similar disruption to daily life. And they also had no idea how bad it might become, or how long it would continue.

My novel When It’s Over is based on my mother’s story of escape from the Holocaust, and her life in England as a refugee from Czechoslovakia, with no word from her Jewish family left behind in Prague. For my research I immersed myself in all matters related to life on the Home Front during the war; I read books, both fiction and non-fiction, studied contemporary newspaper accounts and diaries, watched movies, scoured museums such as London’s Imperial War Museum, and conducted a ton of online research. I was steeped in WWII.

Now, I am struck by some of the parallels to that time. Every day brings more examples. Shuttered stores: check. Long lines for groceries: check. Some everyday items unavailable: check. The government ordering industries to redirect production into priority items: check. Borders closed: check. Travel to and from certain areas curtailed: check. Daily reports of people dying: no one in my immediate circle yet, thank goodness, but yes, I know people through social media who have perished.

The British are famous for the way they survived the Blitz. They kept calm and carried on: have another cup of tea, stiff upper lip and all that jazz. My mother often talked of that time, and of how people came together. There were always a few who tried to profit from the black market or flouted the regulations designed to keep the community safe, but mostly people did the right thing.

And, by and large, I see that now too. Some have succumbed to panic hoarding of toilet paper, of course, even snatching rolls from the elderly or infirm, or persisting in close social contact, or here in the U.S. ffs running out to buy guns. But mostly, I see people coming together: checking on neighbors, offering to shop for those at increased risk, supporting struggling local businesses, providing online resources for parents stuck at home with school-age kids. When I take my daily walk, keeping the required six feet distance, people I pass are courteous and offer friendly waves.

All this in spite of the total lack of leadership at the Federal level. Trump has belatedly stated that he sees this as a war, but he is no Winston Churchill. My parents were staunchly left-wing, and opposed to most policies that Churchill embraced before and after the war, but they recognized his extraordinary skill as a wartime leader. Even in the 1960’s, they would listen to a recording of his wartime speeches with tears in their eyes. Churchill could tell the British people how bad it was, how bad it would get, and yet inspire resistance and courage. Trump, when asked what he would tell Americans who are scared, verbally attacked the reporter who asked the question. Luckily, we have the governors of California and New York, and some other states, stepping into the void.

I never had to chance to tell my mother that I wrote a novel based on her experiences during the war; I didn’t think of it until after she died. She would have been mildly embarrassed and self-effacing, I think. But it’s a great story that many readers have found moving. When It’s Over wasn’t my original title, but my publisher didn’t like mine and I didn’t like hers, so we went back and forth before settling on one we could both live with. I have come to like it. It captures the theme of hope and resilience that runs through the novel, the anticipation of an eventual return to peace and normalcy.

Today, everyone is asking the question: when will it be over? And no one knows.

I am in the over-sixty age group, pushing seventy in fact— although I don’t believe it most of the time. I am fortunate to be in good health, but my wife has a health condition that places her at higher risk, so we’re paying attention, severely limiting all social contact, and washing our hands like crazy. We are very fortunate. Millions of people are losing their jobs and health insurance, or seeing their small businesses go under. We are lucky to have stable retirement income, a warm, comfortable home with a nice backyard and a sweet, cheerful dog who has no idea what the fuss is about. We are retired health professionals who no longer have to put ourselves on the front line in this epidemic. I am grateful for all these things.

But I feel the disruption. I miss seeing my friends. My schedule is suddenly empty. I miss my volunteer activities and my yoga and my writing class. I miss being able to go the grocery store without thinking, knowing I’ll find what I need. I am trying to adjust, maintaining some kind of structure in my day, reading, writing, embarking on long-postponed projects around the house. Clearing out the bathroom cabinet was satisfying; in addition to discarding tubes of antibiotic dated 2013 and bottles of congealed lotion, I discovered three hidden containers of hand sanitizer!

One huge advantage we have over the WWII generation is the freedom to communicate with loved ones, even if we are physically separated. My mother had no news of the fate of her family members for five years. I can text and call and Skype with friends and family all over the world. My meetings are moving to Zoom. And we have Netflix for endless entertainment.

These are hard times, for sure, and we are all justifiably scared. We don’t know what lies ahead. But we will get through this. Most of us have been privileged up to now to live free of war, famine or plague. We can take strength and inspiration from our parents or grandparents who survived worse.

When will it be over? No one knows. When the Bay Area’s shelter-in-place order went into effect a week ago, it was initially only until April 7. I am sure it will be extended for several weeks beyond that. But hopefully we will soon begin to see the flattening of the curve. Then we will be able to say, as Churchill said in 1942, after the German forces were driven from Egypt, marking a turning point in the war, “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”