After four years, some of the details of March 2020 start to blur and fade.

The empty streets. The full ICUs. Stores picked clean of toilet paper, hand sanitizers and dust masks. The 7 p.m. din of neighbors banging pots and pans out the window for the health care workers.

The fear. The loneliness. The lockdown. The search for the catchiest song we could hum as we scrubbed our hands long enough to maybe, maybe kill a virus we couldn't cure and could barely treat. ("This is what it sounds like ... when suds fly.")

Then, four years ago this week, Tom Hanks caught COVID-19. If the virus could get Tom Hanks, it could get any of us.

My pandemic started with a Post-It note.

I packed my laptop, stuck a "socially distancing" note on my computer screen and headed to my wee Loring Park apartment for a day or two. Just until the air cleared and the virus passed.

I spotted a friend in the skyway and we greeted each other with an awkward foot-shake. Before the memory fades completely, remember that there was a time we were tapping our feet together like arrhythmic Morris dancers because maybe handshakes could kill us. We didn't know. Nobody knew.

If I could travel back in time, I would not. March 2020 was bad enough the first time around. But if I did, I would pass along two warnings.

First: The Costco membership you're about to panic-buy is absolutely not going to make it easier to find toilet paper.

Second: After the virus sends Tom Hanks to the hospital, it gets worse. George Floyd will be murdered. Minneapolis will burn. Donald Trump will send a red-hatted mob to Congress to try to overturn the presidential election he lost. COVID-19 will kill 7 million people. It's killing us still.

The state of Minnesota went into a state of emergency on March 13. I hope we remember how hard most of us tried to keep all of us safe. The ones who stayed home. The ones who worked from home and learned from home and got really good at smiling brightly at a computer screen for Zoom birthdays and Zoom happy hours and Zoom game nights. Neighbors put teddy bears in their windows so bored children could go on scavenger hunts.

Some of us got really into sourdough. Some of us got really into "Tiger King." Some of us learned how to sew cloth masks. Some of us were ... less productive.

Sometimes, I'd sit on the balcony and listen to the drag racers roar through half-empty streets, setting everyone's nerves on edge. Against all odds, some people found ways to make a lethal global pandemic worse for everyone.

Looking at you, anti-vaxxers and anti-maskers.

But four years ago, just like today, most people tried to help each other through.

The teachers whose students were scattered across two dozen screens. The small businesses that found a way to stay in business. The customers who bought gift cards they couldn't use, just to make sure their favorite restaurant had a little bit of money coming in. The friends and families and internet strangers who cheered us up on days when the pandemic canceled vacation plans and weddings and the 2020 Minnesota State Fair.

If I could go back to 2020 -- and again, I absolutely would not -- I would tell most of us how proud we're going to be of most of us.