Baby come back! I think about you every day. Little things bring you to mind. Like today when I was cooking the 207th not very happy meal of my quarantine. I remembered that waiter who knelt by the table to take my order for what has become my last supper (in a restaurant that is). Apparently, he sprayed droplets of saliva all over me, the table, and my food but you had already so thoughtfully put what Dr. Fauci calls anti-bodies and I call for-me bodies in my blood. Those invisible little warriors made it okay for most people to be within six feet of me doing ordinary things like using the letter “P.” Oh, do I miss those nice-to-meet-you Southern hospitality embraces. You did things like that for me all the time for so long I assumed you’d never stop. I thought it was my healthy living getting me through germ warfare.
Then, COVID19 came out of nowhere. He doesn’t give a hot doggone about my sit-ups and kale. He doesn’t care how many liters of water I drink. He knows I’m vulnerable because you sent me home to think about how I’ve been treating you. You begged for my undivided attention year after year. You tried everything: pastel sunsets, misty waterfalls, serenades from every species of animal, and fresh flowers all Spring. I saw but I didn’t see. I heard but I didn’t hear. I am so sorry. I intended to pause and look into your blue eyes every time you sent a fluffy cloud to shade me, not just when I was on vacation but every single time—take one moment and thank you. I did not. Did I?
I guess I forgot to express my appreciation for the raindrops tapping my skin as I rushed to my car. I was too busy worrying about my packages getting wet to take joy in having harmless rain caress me. Until recently, I didn’t fear the rain, or packages, or coughs, or much of anything because you made those luxuries seem like privileges.
Now, you’ve made me delete everything from my calendar, eat at home, and sit for hours thinking about how I miss the things I complained about before like crowded stores and traffic. I have a new way of seeing things now. World, if you’ll turn things right side up and let me shelve these gloves and masks for yard work only, I’ll be ever so grateful. And, know this, there is nothing pure, lovely, admirable, or praiseworthy on earth that I will take for granted again.