This photo was taken a few years ago from my son’s front yard, after a thunderstorm passed through.  To me, a rainbow signifies hope — hope that after the darkest hours, there is light.  Right now, our world is going through a dark time.  A deadly coronavirus is sweeping from nation to nation, person to person, and killing thousands as it sweeps through.  As part of the vulnerable age group, as a mother, as a grandmother, I am terrified by the scope of illness from this disease.  

In several states a large portion of our population is now basically quarantined to their own homes and yards, businesses are shut down, and only those deemed essential workers or businesses are carrying on, in an effort to prevent further spread of the virus.

I have always loved my home, loved days when I had no plans and no scheduled responsibilities, and have been completely happy being at home.  Now, however, after barely a week of quarantine, I am feeling the walls close in.  I miss seeing the faces of my children and grandchildren.  Normally, my twin grandbabies are here two days a week and often on Saturday evening. How I miss those precious babies, and the chaos that erupts as they enter the door.  I miss running to the grocery store at will, visiting the library, the local consignment shop, the craft store, and having lunch with friends.  This morning I had plans to get together with a group of friends for brunch, and later today, a late family St. Patrick’s Day dinner at my son’s house; instead, I will be at home.  I never realized how much time I spent away from home until I am no longer able to leave.  And the walls close in a little more.  I notice this week I have even lost track of what day it is, because my days before always revolved around activities on the calendar.

I will follow this directive to quarantine, because I am afraid of acquiring this disease myself or spreading it to others.  This is a dangerous disease with no current medications to combat it; we must rely on our own immune systems, and they have failed thousands upon thousands of people across the globe.  Once I get past this surreal feeling that haunts me,  I will get busy cleaning out closets and sorting through years of accumulation in this house I’ve lived in for close to fifty years.  I will go outside and rake the gardens out and enjoy the wonder of tiny plants coming to life, and leaves slowly appearing on the trees.  I will watch the sparrows in my birdhouses, building their nests and waiting for their babies to hatch.  I will be missing my children and grandchildren, missing their cancelled sports and concerts, missing those moments of togetherness we take for granted as families.  With today’s technology, I will be able to talk to them and see their faces on my phone, but that is not the same as hugging them close.

We all must sacrifice; we all must practice all the safety precautions outlined for us, because this is a deadly disease.  We must all work together to save each other.  Those of us who pray should be praying for the health of our loved ones and friends and thousands of people we do not know nor ever will.  And I will also be praying for a rainbow — a rainbow to show us that the dark time is over and we can come into the light again. 

                                                         God Bless Us All