On the Eve of a Pandemic

It’s hard getting sick when you’re single.

I mean, it’s hard getting sick period.

But in my adult life, I’ve never felt more vulnerable and fragile - more helpless and alone - than I have in those moments when my cough’s lasted for more than a few days.

When my runny nose has kept running.

When my temperature’s spiked and persisted.

When I’ve found myself by myself, alone and unwell in a one bedroom apartment.

(Sadly, it seems like many might come to know that feeling in the very near future.)

The thing is, whenever my body would surrender to sickness, precious friends would refuse to let me suffer in isolation.

Many would call.

Others would cook.

One saint in particular would leave food on my welcome mat.

It was precious.

I’d hear a friendly knock, we’d chat for a bit - my front door shut between us - and then I’d retrieve her care package as she made her way home.

Call us crazy.

Call us pioneers of “social distancing”.

It was simply our rhythm.

And every delivery of potato soup or brownies or Gatorade was sacred, an act of solidarity and care, a sign that no one ever needs to be alone, a reminder that selfless love is a very real and very good thing.

I say all that to say this:

I have no idea what the next few weeks will hold.

Who does, really?

But I want to be like my friend.

I want to be thoughtful and brave, kind yet cautious, responsible and ready to do what’s right.

I want to make tough things easier.

I want to make scary things safer.

I want to make lonely people feel loved.

And sick people feel care.

And I know it’s possible - it will just require some creativity and courage.

But all the best things do.

So, thanks sweet friend (you know who you are) for showing me what it looks like to bring a little light to a dark spot.

I guess, now, we've all got the opportunity to follow your example.