Corona Letters #24

"I want to go home" she says for the third time today.   It's only 9 am.

"You can't" I remind her.  "There's coronavirus.  It's a pandemic.  No one can go anywhere."

"That's right" she says.  But, I know she'll ask again in 10 minutes.

She doesn't remember anymore.   Sometimes, I envy her ability to forget.

**********

I look out the window at the trucks digging up our street.   We couldn't leave if we wanted to, and
I do want to leave.
All I want to do is leave.

And where would I go?

I want to go home.  Just like her.

But I am home.

Home just doesn't feel like home right now.

My entire family is living here right now.   We've all been together longer than we've been in a long time.  Under one roof.  As it should be.

But nothing is as it should be.

The children shouldn't be here.

One should be at school.

The other should be at her apartment, going to work every day, and having fun at night.

My husband should be going to work every day.

I would be home.  Alone.

But, it would be okay because I'd be out too.

I'd be at the gym.

Or having coffee.

Or at the grocery store, sans mask.

Or at my neighbors house with a cup of tea, having some good laughs.

And, there would be hugs.

Lots of hugs.

Then I would come home.

And, my dog would be happy to see me, because I was gone.

Then my husband would come home, and the dog and I would be happy to see him because he was gone.

Every now and then the girls would come home,  and my husband, the dog and I would all be happy to see them because they were gone.

You can't come home, if you're never gone.

Home is still home.  But, it's also not.

************

"I want to go home." she says again.

I look out the window at the trucks, and the invisible virus keeping us all in our dwellings.

I look at her and say, "Me too."