Sandwiched
My family and I have been pretty fortunate during the COVID-19 pandemic. I’ve worked from home for over three years. In fact, my business has recently increased. My husband’s business received benefits from the Payment Protection Program, so even when he was off of work for five weeks we never missed his check. My sons both work in restaurants that have survived thanks to strong carryout orders. And we’ve all been healthy and done our best to stay that way and protect others.
Realizing how blessed we’ve been, we’ve looked for ways to help others who aren’t in the same situation. I’ve done my share of praying and crying for the world as well.
But last Saturday I cried over one situation that’s been incredibly hard for my family – keeping our distance from my mother. With long-term care facilities having 1/3 of all U.S. coronavirus deaths, her facility is doing what others are and staying in lockdown. And thank God, it’s remained COVID-free.
My siblings and I have had one Zoom call with Mom and of course we’ve all talked to her on the phone. I’ve chatted with her through a door at the end of her hallway since her apartment is on an interior courtyard. And I got to see her from afar for the facility’s Mother’s Day parade.
Most days, I do just fine, even though this is the longest I’ve ever gone without giving my mom a hug or a kiss. That includes the days when I was in college or living in Central Indiana while she lived in Mishawaka. I’m a fairly positive person and my faith often gets me through.
Last Saturday, Mom’s facility had a parade for Father’s Day. My sons were working and my husband had a headache, so I was alone this time. I drove through the parade twice and smiled, waved, and yelled “Hi, you beautiful people!” The first time I slowed down and showed a sign to Mom. She smiled and waved back in recognition.
The second time I slowed down, yelled out how much I loved her, and took a picture. My heart lurched as I forced myself to not leap out of the car and hug her. Before leaving the parking lot, I pulled over and texted Mom’s photo to my brother and sister. I immediately burst into tears.
I wasn’t alone. My sister responded thanking me for the photo saying it brought her to tears. Minutes later, I got almost the exact same response from my brother. While the moment was incredibly sad, knowing I wasn’t alone in my pain made things a bit more bearable.
I dream every day of the moment when I’ll get to walk into Mom’s apartment, drop to my knees, and hug her tight as she sits in her recliner. I know countless others are dreaming of the moment when they’re reunited with older relatives as well. Those dreams and “giving it to God” keep me going.