I struggle through Ramadan most years. Going without food and water for 15 to 16 hours, day after day, is tough.

It’s a little easier knowing you’re in it together with a community. But this year, Muslims will be fasting through Ramadan without gathering together. Just like every other religious group, we’ve had to change our practices to try to stem the spread of the coronavirus. We can’t gather for the rituals that make holy events so special -- praying in congregations, breaking fasts with friends and working together to give back to those who need help.

It seems counterintuitive, but while Ramadan may seem like a month of deprivation, it is really a time of abundance. In addition to weekly Friday prayers, there are special evening prayers at the mosque every night, during which the entire Quran is recited over the course of the month. Friends and family sometimes get together before dawn for a pre-fast meal, and often meet in the evenings after sunset.

I feel most connected to my faith community during this time of year. As a child, it was exciting to wake up so early with my parents and siblings and do things outside our usual routine. So, how will I make this month special for myself and my family this year? It starts with changing our mindset.

One of the goals of fasting is to serve as a reminder of those who face hunger daily, and to increase one’s empathy. The coronavirus crisis will push more than a quarter of a billion people around the world to the brink of starvation, according to the United Nations and public health experts. About 265 million people around the world may face acute food insecurity by the end of this year unless there is massive intervention to provide food and humanitarian relief.

Numbers this large may seem abstract. But sustained fasting provides a visceral connection to the suffering of others. This increased awareness becomes a call to action: How well are we doing our part in the face of such an overwhelming crisis?

In addition to increasing what we give, I’m going to involve our children more directly in our charitable giving. Each night during Ramadan, we will pick a different group to support. We can read about their missions and follow their work. Hopefully, when it’s safe to do so, we can volunteer with some of these organizations.

This is also a chance to cut back on our food excesses provoked by the lockdown. The pandemic has led me to certain comfort foods I haven’t eaten in decades. (Hello, Cinnamon Toast Crunch; I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you.) Every year, I relearn that it is, indeed, possible to write on deadline without eating a snack after every paragraph.

I asked our mosque’s imam, Mufti Asif Umar, for some additional ideas on how to make the most of this new normal.

“This year, the main thing is, obviously, Ramadan will be more individual than communal,” he said. He said he understands that many people look forward to the increased social ties and community-building aspect of the month. “My suggestion is, do not become discouraged in any way,” he said. “Ramadan is still Ramadan.”

It’s an opportunity to focus inward, to work on an individual relationship with God and draw your immediate family into this sort of reflection and prayer, he said.

He added that this period of social isolation can help us appreciate the blessings we have taken for granted in the past. Isn’t that the truth? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thought “I’m never taking that for granted again” over the past few months.

Umar also reminded me that for those who believe in a divine power, that belief is never confined to a physical space.

“Whether the doors of the masjid are open or closed, the doors of (God’s) mercy are never closed,” he said.

That’s food for the soul.

At this moment of crisis, one of the toughest decisions facing parents with young children is how long they can keep paying for day care they can no longer use. The current situation has revealed all the cracks in our country’s child care system.

Laura Boling, a single, working mother in Ballwin, Missouri, has been paying full tuition to her day care provider, despite keeping her son home since mid-March. Her mother lives with them, and Boling was worried about potentially exposing her to the coronavirus if she continued sending her 3-year-old son. Both she and her mom are working from home.

Her son has been going to the same in-home provider since he was 3 months old.

“I want to stay with (the provider) because we really love her,” Boling said. But she says if she is still unable to send her son by mid-May, she will stop paying and unenroll him. “I understand she is in a hard situation, but I can only do so much.”

Day care providers have to continue paying their fixed costs during the lockdown crisis, despite plunging attendance. While many contracts mandate that parents continue to pay tuition to retain a spot, it has become financially impossible for those who have lost their jobs. Other parents have had to continue to pay for day care even though the facilities have closed down.

Day care payments often rival a mortgage, and are one of the most significant parts of a family’s budget. Parents are weighing emotional and moral factors in their decisions.

Dawn Spell, a nurse practitioner in Lake Saint Louis, Missouri, still has to go to the urgent care facility where she works while her young children are at home. She has been adjusting her hours and taking some unpaid days off, and her husband also takes one day a week off from his job to help care for their children. They paid about 60% of their day care bill for April -- $600 -- in addition to paying a sitter who comes to their home.

“I’m feeling extremely stressed,” Spell said. They will have to stop paying for the unused day care going forward, she said. “I feel bad, and worry about (the provider) not being able to pay the full-time staff.”

Day care costs more than in-state college tuition in more than half the country. Parents pay an average of $9,600 annually for care for one young child, according to a report by Child Care Aware of America. In some states, the cost far exceeds that average, and families with more than one child are paying multiples of that amount.

For health care workers with kids, that financial pressure is coupled with their current hazardous work conditions.

Dr. Betsy Odom, an emergency medicine resident at Barnes Jewish Hospital, has two daughters, ages 4 years and 6 months. Her husband is a hospitalist, so they are both essential workers exposed to COVID-19 patients.

Their child care costs have skyrocketed to $800 a week because they are paying half of their day care tuition to hold their spots, in addition to paying for a sitter to be on call given their irregular hours, and paying extra wages for a sitter who comes to their home because of the heightened risk she faces.

Odom, who is still breastfeeding her baby, said she is trying to pump at work, but it has become increasingly difficult to go through the many layers of decontamination before and after each pumping session.

“I’m consumed by the worry” of getting sick or exposing her children to the virus, she said. Her preschooler is also scared. One of her friends at school told her, “Your mommy and daddy work at the hospital, so they will get coronavirus and die.”

Odom said they reassured her daughter that they are taking lots of precautions to stay healthy.

The ethical quagmire facing working parents has exposed the dire need for subsidized child care in this country. Providers operate on thin margins, workers make an average of $10 an hour and the entire financial burden is shouldered by parents. For a wealthy country that claims to value its children, we have the worst policies for families: no paid family leave, no paid sick leave and no universal child care.

Our government can bail out banks, but not the people who take care of babies. Instead, we tell financially stressed parents to figure it out.

I knew that our kids would not be back in school this year once they were out for spring break.

But hearing Missouri Gov. Mike Parson make it official recently still hit hard. Our schools will be closed for the rest of the year, and students will only have access to online learning.

Governors have made the same difficult decision in states across the country.

I knew this was coming, and I still wasn’t prepared for how crushing it felt. The emotions around it are multifold.

I’m worried about kids who won’t be getting the meals they need for months, especially since meal service provided by bus has been discontinued in several districts. Food pantries are trying to keep up with skyrocketing demand and dwindling reserves.

I’m scared for kids who live in abusive homes, who have no temporary escape. Parental stress and anxiety make abusive situations worse, and everyone is feeling the strain of being locked in.

I’m heartbroken for the high school seniors who won’t have a prom or graduation, or one last goodbye with all their teachers and friends. Their disappointment is completely valid.

I’m anxious about how far behind kids without access to internet, devices or parental supervision will fall. These months will widen the opportunity gaps children from underserved communities already face.

And I’m sad that all our children have lost part of their childhood. I had been warning my children for the past month that it was unlikely that they would go back to school. Secretly, though, I think we held a flicker of hope in our hearts that it might happen -- even if just for a day or two, to get some closure on the year.

I asked my son, a freshman in high school, what he thought about the news.

“I’m not really surprised,” he said. “I guess it’s good they are doing it.” He knows the importance of “flattening the curve” because we’ve been talking about it incessantly.

Of course, this was a necessary and critical decision to save people’s lives and prevent overwhelming the medical system. Our stiff-upper-lip child gets that. But his voice gave away the disappointment I knew he must be feeling. When his tennis season was canceled before it even began, we congratulated him on an undefeated season, and he actually smiled at the lame joke. But I wish I could have watched him play, even just once.

Then I asked my daughter, a junior, how she felt.

“I don’t think anyone is adjusting well to it,” she said. “I feel bad for our teachers because they had to switch to (online learning) so quickly. As a student, I really miss my friends and activities I do outside of school. I even miss just being in and learning in the classroom.”

That part -- just sitting in a classroom, learning from the people around you -- they know we can’t give them at home. I wonder what conversations, thoughts and ideas they won’t experience. Education is a life-enriching experience, and that learning happens from more than just assignments and reading. It happens in the interactions with teachers and coaches, between peers, and even in social settings with friends. The life experience of interacting with people in various roles and from different walks of life is how our children practice vital social and emotional skills and gain knowledge during these formative years.

I’m sure we will all get through this the best we can, and I hope school leaders will work hard to help children in the most difficult circumstances.

But I’m taking a moment to grieve the loss of these months of learning, friendship and memories for our children.

It’s a part of their childhood we can’t replace.