The Struggle is Real

I have to decide how to play this week’s observation. I am conflicted. One child moves through the world as if he was made of steel. I find it hard to tell if he thinks he can’t get the virus, or that if he does, he is strong and virile enough to overcome it quickly, with relative ease. He makes his choices about where he goes and who he sees along those lines. My other child is in the trenches, doing what he can to make the most of these crazy times while the establishment for which he labors is ever on the knife’s edge of being allowed to stay open. He is as careful as he can be.

I want to go home. I want to see my mom and my siblings. I want my kids with me, too. One can’t because he is taking care of his staff who are opting to be safe and not go home for Thanksgiving. One can, but then I think of where he’s been, who he’s seen…and my mom and my sister…and my niece…the potential for contact. I don’t want to live in fear, but I want to be sensible.

It reminds me of a time several years ago when one of the boys came down with bronchitis…we got the diagnosis early in the week of Thanksgiving, and my parents waived us off. I was shocked and dismayed. They pointed out that my dad was having some trouble and didn’t need the exposure to something contagious. I cried the whole time I was making our Thanksgiving dinner. I just wanted to go home. Of course I CAN make all the parts of the feast, I learned from the best, I just didn’t want to have to be doing it like that…rushing around trying to find the ingredients at the eleventh hour, my lime Jello salad not quite up to par for the boys.

I have been careful, limited who I’ve seen, where I’ve been. But what about my boys?

I’ll make the decision today so I won’t toss and turn like I did last night worrying about it. This bites.