Navigating the COVID-19 Crisis as a College President and a Mother

As we continued on our journey, we, like everyone else at that time, conversed about COVID-19 and whether it would lessen attendance at the alumni lunch planned for the next day. I also started to jot down some thoughts on potential issues and decisions to make. I commented that I was glad we were returning the next day in case plans needed to be made. I also was looking forward to being home in time to dine out with my husband on what was our 25th wedding anniversary.

We checked into the hotel and I had a few hours to work before our evening dinner with a former trustee and alumna. I called my assistant and she told me that the state university system had just announced they were moving to online instruction. I knew that would cause a ripple effect throughout the state and told her to convene our Emergency Response Team (ERT) for first thing the next morning. After speaking with her I checked if I might get a flight home that evening but it was too late in the day and flights the next day would not get me home much sooner than our previously scheduled flight. Knowing I would have to do the ERT call by phone, I quickly sketched out an agenda. I also reached out to a few of my presidential colleagues to compare plans. All of us were navigating the same uncertain waters, but as always, I am edified by how much easier my job is due to the amazing support of my peers. I sent an email to my board chair to appraise her of current status. As a president of five years, this was not my first crisis and I knew I had a great team and a great board, but I also realized that the uncertainty and fear, and as well as the disruption potential of the pandemic, was going to make it more challenging that anything that had come before, especially for my students.  So I also took a moment to breathe deep and say a prayer.

So consumed was I by what I needed to do to steer the college through this growing crisis that at that moment, I must admit that my own sons, a college senior and sophomore, respectively, were not in the forefront of my thoughts. But that changed in an instant when I received a call from my senior. He had chosen his dream college in 9th grade and then did everything possible to gain admission into one of the nation’s top liberal arts colleges. I still remember the day he called to let me know he had been accepted. I happened to be in a grocery store but that did not stop me from shouting and doing a happy dance, much to the chagrin of his brother. All parents know that seeing your child that happy is the best feeling in the world and we also know that seeing your child hurting is the worst. That was what was waiting for me on the other end of my phone on that afternoon in Florida.

“Mom, it is over.” “What, what is over?” I cried, alarmed by the sound of his voice. “Everything mom, everything, school is over.” In my own panic and fear for him, I did not instantly make the connection to COVID-19. I thought this was his own personal crisis – a failed test, a missed deadline, something that could be managed. But his voice told me it was much more. It took a few tries to get it out of him but finally, I understood that the college had moved spring break to the following two weeks and would then move to online instruction with no set return date. The students also had been told to pack up their belongings if they could, just in case. My heart broke for my son, who had worked so hard to be at that school and then had thrived there. Last semester had been academically stressful and he had moments of doubt that he would make it; yet he had recently regained his equilibrium and determination and had just moved into a suite with his friends for the first time. He posed for his senior pictures just a few days prior and was truly joyful in his last semester. Four years and now just a few months away from graduation. My college and my job were forgotten – all I could do was cry along with him for all that was lost and try to find words of comfort, although, even to me, they sounded like empty platitudes.

That is when my mother and president roles blurred. I thought of all “my” seniors and their families and that I was faced with making that same necessary decision that would cause such grief. I felt a lump form in my throat that has not yet quite gone away.

After getting off the phone with him – understandably he wanted to be with his friends – I tried to refocus on my job. Thoughts of what I needed to do and him crowded in my head, making focus difficult. What about his planned trip to Montreal for spring break? What about our students, currently on spring break, could they get home? What about his honors thesis defense that, much to my delight, he had invited his father and me to attend? What about our undergraduate symposium day, when our students proudly share their academic work? What about his work study job as a lab TA? What about all my students whose jobs are critical to their attendance? And so on. The sadness was almost paralyzing, as images of my campus without students in the classroom, at the student center, on the field, stage or quad ran through my head. Was it all going away?

The next morning, I spent two hours on the phone with the ERT figuring out next steps, as I know countless other presidents were doing that morning. We put a plan in place to extend spring break another week and then begin online instruction for at least two weeks. It was a whirlwind of issues to resolve, communications to write, decisions to make. Most important, the president’s job in such moments is to lessen anxiety and instill confidence and hope. Yet I know my emotions were apparent on that call, which as a strong female leader was frustrating. Yet, in retrospect it was probably beneficial to our decision-making.  How our students, their families and our employees were feeling was top of mind, not just the many logistical issues demanding our attention. It also is what I am most proud of at my college—the strength of our community to care for and support not just our students but each other. As so many other times in my life, my children helped me be a better leader. They reminded me to communicate frequently, even when I did not have the answers, to instill messages of optimism and to remember to check in on my employees, to say thank you and try to ease their burden as best I could.

And their resiliency gave me hope as well. Within hours of the news, my senior was gathering with his friends for a final good bye (social distancing guidelines had not yet been mandated) and had secured permission to stay on campus to complete his laboratory research.  My other son had stocked his apartment with yes, toilet paper, and assembled the electronic tools he needed to complete his term online. Along with my students, they reminded me that hope dies hard in youth and inspired me to keep moving forward through these dark days. Every day and sometimes by the hour we would make decisions that the next day became obsolete. Every day I would hear of another student or employee that was facing seemingly insurmountable challenges – homelessness, loss of job—or someone I knew had contracted the virus. We were all called upon to help in the larger effort, providing what resources we could to fight the pandemic and help those most in need. Often I wondered whether, despite the many now unscheduled hours on what had always been a fully scheduled calendar, I would ever have time to work on anything other than COVID-19. 

Two weeks later (what seems like two years) and I found a few moments to write this memoir, so perhaps that day is coming. In the meanwhile, there will be more challenges and more sadness, but also moments of hope and laughter in the face of adversity. I know all that I am learning will serve my institution well in the future.  And when that day comes, I will joyfully welcome my students back to campus, celebrate my son’s graduation and have that anniversary dinner with my husband.