Dear future hubster,
It's been a while. I've been hiding away, not just because it's strongly recommended to the point of mandatory, but also because I've been angry.
I've been angry with pretty much everybody, and you in particular. I took it very personally that I have to go this alone, got irritated at any advice on how to deal with being stuck inside with your family or significant other, snarkily commenting that yes it must be awful to be with the people you love, and I would snap at anybody who'd tell me to take care of myself. I don't want to, OK? There's supposed to be somebody else to take care of me, so in turn, I can take care of them. Where's my future hubster when I need him most, this is what we were supposed to tell our grandchildren, how grandma made spinach twice a week but also gorgeous garlic bread so grandpa couldn't really complain, and he thought it was funny that she kept bumping into the furniture well into the second month of the lockdown, but would also very kindly and gently apply the calendula cream on her bruises. This was supposed to be a fundamental bonding time, and we missed it.
So when this is over and you show up, I will have to ask you where the hell you've been, and I suspect you'll turn out to be one of those people who were, in fact, taking care of others. I bet you're a hero somewhere on the frontlines, so technically you're protecting me, my health and my sanity, by not being around. Well played.
Meanwhile, I'm doing my own bonding. With my hula hoop and tiny hand weights, but also with myself, with what I want and what I have. I might still be considering slamming the door on anybody's face who tries walking into my life once we're allowed to do that again. I might still tell them "You weren't here. I don't need you now." But I'm also taking note of all that is here. I look around and register what it looks like living through a major historical event that I most certainly didn't choose. These are the books I read (or, more accurately, open and close). These are the series I watch and re-watch. This is the food I dream of, and then this is the food I cook. These are the people who keep me from losing it; the people who protect my sanity by actually being around.
These are the stories I will tell our grandchildren, and you will bring your own.
