A short list of things I am afraid of right now:
I am afraid that Australians have not heeded the messages to stay at home, to cut out all the non-essential trips outside the house.
That this silent predator that steals people's breath might have been allowed to spread, that it lurks on shopping trolley handles, swings and doorknobs.
I am afraid about the effect being stuck in the house will have on my bright, vivacious four-year-old who won't be able to see his friends for months.
My boy overcame being starved for interaction with other children during a (pre-virus) three-month stint overseas by striking up conversations on buses and asking strangers at playgrounds to play with him.
Now, there are no buses. No playgrounds. No other children.
I'm afraid because my daughter, almost two, is play-acting washing her hands when she sees a bottle of soap.
And because I've read so much about the importance of early childhood education in these critical years and - though we are fortunate to be getting resources and tips from our child care - I know the attention of distracted, stressed, trying-to-still-work parents will be wildly different from structured learning and play.
I'm afraid for my brother, a travelling physio who makes house calls. I'm afraid both because he has to go into strangers' homes and because those strangers might stop wanting him in their homes.
I'm afraid for the state of our democracy, for the curtailing of scrutiny and the dismissal of arguments and questions that happens when events move with such speed.
I'm afraid for my ailing grandmother, who I already haven't seen for months and who I might not see for months to come.
I'm afraid for my other grandparents, my parents, my parents-in-law, friends who are vulnerable because of their health and mental health, friends who are single, friends who have or are about to have small babies.
For the hairdresser I've gone to for years, for my favourite coffee shops, for my children's educators, for the fabric stores I frequent, for my community textile arts association and its members.
I can't think of a single person in Australia who will not be affected by the coronavirus in some way.
But there is hope.
There is hope in the numbers delivered by officials every day. The numbers that grow, but which might be growing slower than we dared hope for a week ago.
There is hope in the empty streets and the shuttered shops. They represent a battered economy and a world of financial pain for thousands upon thousands of people but they also demonstrate how Australians are showing up for each other by not showing up.
It is there too in the vast sums of money the government is throwing at people in a bid to prop things up, in the tired expressions of politicians and public servants who have been working to react as fast as the behemoth of state can to this speedy threat, and in the flocks of people desperate for information who are returning to trusted sources.
There is hope in the teddy bears stuffed into the front windows of houses, staring out into the world to silently convey a message of love from strangers. In the willingness of people to adapt to this strange new world and still find a way to be human, to be part of a tribe.
And there is hope in the one-and-a-half metres between me and anybody outside of my immediate family, a distance that seems vast but also one that draws us together as a community ready to defeat this thing.
Australian Associated Press