If you want to understand parents terrified about schools ending mask mandates, maybe it will help to explain why I hate nuts.

A few years ago, I edited a newspaper story about a child who choked and died at a pool.

The boy was about the same age as my son at the time, and the imagery — of a happy, playing kid asking his mom for a snack and then, a minute later, choking to death on a nut — has lived in my mind ever since.

For years after editing that story, I wouldn't let my kids touch nuts. Now that they're older, they can have peanuts or cashews — if they're in smaller pieces, and I watch them while they eat.

My older son also almost choked once, on pancakes of all things, and the cold terror I felt in that moment has remained with me.

Now, the more time that's passed, the more I've loosened up. But I still worry about choking, and every time they cough while they're eating, the fear rushes back.

I don't know what the statistics are on children choking to death, and, frankly, it wouldn't much matter. It wouldn't reassure me in the slightest to know that my kid's death was a statistical anomaly. And I realize that I'm transmitting my anxiety to my children. They see other kids eating grapes and hot dogs without their mom first hacking at the food as if it was attacking them. They must know that I worry.

But it's been all too easy for me to picture being the mother of that boy, forever frozen in time, wracked with guilt and misery, and I can see his death in my mind. The emotion is insistent, will not be denied.

For some, that's also the way it goes with COVID.

Some people feel, strongly and presently, the danger of COVID — to themselves, to their kids, to their relatives and friends.

The data, how likely they are to catch it, how likely they are to be hospitalized and die, is less important than the emotion, the urgency of fear.

Arguing the statistics, being rude or dismissive, isn't the way to win over these people. We must instead lead with empathy. We need to understand that planning and preparation are key in ending mask and vaccine mandates. And, for some people, we must wait.

We should talk about taking off masks and going back to "normal" gently, recognizing the emotion present in the conversation.

We can, yes, talk more about the risks, small and large, that we all accept to fully live our lives. We can point out that we can't get very far — both figuratively and literally — if we refuse to drive a car, swim in the ocean or let our kids eat a nut.

But we also need to understand that everyone has different tolerances for risk. Some of us will climb Mount Everest, knowing that we might never come down. Others won't fly on planes for fear of crashing.

Similarly, one parent might tell their child to mask up at school and another won't. They have different risk tolerance, different beliefs about whether taking those risks is necessary.

We're past the point where COVID's risk is inarguable. We have vaccines and therapeutics. We know more about the disease than we did two years ago.

In February of 2022, COVID's danger varies.

Some of us are immunocompromised. Some of us have high-risk relatives. Some of us simply could not live with ourselves if our loved ones or community members were the statistical outliers who wound up hospitalized or dead.

We all, eventually, will have to decide for ourselves, and we will have to let others decide for themselves, too.

We'll either let our kids eat the nut or we won't, but hopefully, we will view with empathy different choices. Because we all want the best for those we love.

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

Photo credit: AmrThele at Pixabay