Today is December 1, 2020. A Tuesday. Our family has been living in a hotel for the past 50 days, and honestly, we don’t have an end in sight. We had water damage at our house, which destroyed our kitchen. Then our insurance company ignored us for weeks.
Writing this is not a plea for sympathy; rather, it’s a song of gratitude. If you’d have told me on October 12, the day we had to move into this hotel, that’s we’d be here for over 50 days, working and doing school and everything, while in quarantine, I don’t know if I could have mustered my faculties to actually take it on.
If you would have told me on March 13, 2020, that we’d still be in quarantine in December, that the COVID cases were, in fact higher, in December than any other time of the year, I don’t know how I’d be able to wake up the next morning. And make breakfast. And clean it up. And get to work and take care of my people and repeat.
But we didn’t know. We never know, do we? No day is guaranteed. This year has pulled back the veil, and honestly, I don’t know if it will ever go back. Nor do I necessarily want it to, at least not in the same way it was.
So thank you for keeping me in the dark on these things, whoever is in charge up there. I think it is in my best interest. And I’ll keep trying.
There’s a lot to be grateful for. Beautiful, precious family, friends, community, a great job, and, knock on every piece of wood around, good health. I hope the same and more for you, reader.
This photo is from last year, of my daughter, December 2019. You know the thing I miss most about being home right now? Hearing my son play the piano. Here’s to homecoming, very soon.