It was not the Christmas I expected.
With my daughter’s Covid diagnosis on Christmas Eve, (and now my son and mine,) there was no rollicking Christmas Eve Talent Show, no flying in cousins as a surprise, no formal dinners… just three of us on a quiet starlit winter night.
It felt like being dropped into a silent meditation, deep underground with the sleeping flowers and tree roots. Something about the stillness nourished our souls, centered our spirits, reminded us who we are.
But still, we alternate between sore throats and light heads, thermometers and Tylenol, intense sleepiness and dance parties, boxing matches and card games.
I take walks in the woods behind my house, inhaling the pine trees and running my hands along the rough bark of the tree trunks. Branches stretch towards the clouds, the electric green moss cushions my steps, and the sun reflects like jewels floating in the air. I reach out a hand to hold the light…
