It’s been a while since I last checked in. Thirty days, in fact. Turns out that the “little” nasty virus I had morphed into pneumonia and oh, what a month I had! More accurately, oh, what a month Handsome Hubby and I had … as we both dealt with my 103+ fevers, chills, non-stop coughing, hallucinations, and other symptoms.
Yes, I coughed, sweated, and slept my way through a month of pandemic horrors, Mother’s Day, my birthday, Memorial Day, and the murder of a black man at the hands of a policeman. Now I’m watching the news in the aftermath of that tragedy in horror and sadness. And at the same time, COVID-19 continues its own deadly march. Honestly, it makes me want to retreat back to bed and pull the covers over my head.
While sick, I was overwhelmed with love and attention. Family and friends called and texted with such frequency that Handsome Hubby took over as my official “secretary,” answering calls, responding to messages so I could sleep.
While sick, we received such plentiful supplies of food we never had to worry about trips to the market or what to cook for dinner.
While sick, so many flowers arrived that one day, deep in fevered confusion, I got scared. I asked if all the bouquets were because there couldn’t be a funeral and people were sending them to the house instead. Jon actually had to spend many minutes reassuring me that they were sent in love — for my birthday — not in mourning.
All that love, all those good wishes helped me heal. Why can’t we do the same for our nation? That’s what I’m thinking about on Day 80.