I put on the mask my mom made the other day and a set of gloves and head into the grocery store. I hate the way the mask feels, so steamy, my glasses fogging up.
I’ve never liked stuff on my face. Even on the coldest nights when we were camping, I kept my face out of my sleeping bag.
Milk, ice cream, half n half, New York Times: a dairy-heavy grocery list today. Back in the car I pull the mask down to my chin and head over to my parent’s place. I walk down the driveway and around to the front deck and knock on the window. My 87 year old mom puts on her coat and comes out to sit at one end of the picnic table with me at the opposite end. My dad sits on the other side of the glass eating apple pie at the dining room table. He doesn’t understand why I don’t come in anymore, he never will.
This is how it is.
This is how it will be until there’s a vaccine.
wake up and write 
April 7th, 2020 at 10:50 pm
My heart breaks at this poignant prose. It is painful and beautiful all at the same time. My prayers for you and your family. We share your jarring reality. I’m eagerly anticipating the realization of your last line – this is how it will be until there’s a vaccine. Sending hope your way… ~Carla Michelle
April 8th, 2020 at 4:58 pm
Such a concise heartfelt post. And we are all having trouble with understanding these days.
April 9th, 2020 at 3:32 am
It is very sad when we see our near ones going away into their own world where we cannot reach them. My father was bed ridden for eight months in 2016 before passing away. He had dementia. It was heartbreaking. Take care. Regards
May 30th, 2020 at 1:35 pm
I’m reminded how I’ve always been in awe by the way you can say so much with a few words. This makes me feel so many conflicting emotions.