January 7, 2022

It’s Friday. I’ve left work early and surprised my kids by picking them up at school. Did I have to call my husband and get tips on how to enter the school parking lot at this hour because I’ve never done it? Yes. Did I feel sheepish about that and then brush it off because it takes a village to raise a kid and I’m simply one part of the whole? Yes.

I greet my children on the crosswalk. They shriek with delight at the ice cream sandwiches that await them in their seats; we are lucky enough to live in Alaska where things stay frozen without much assistance. I deposit three kids safely at home before taking the baby to ballet; mask over your nose sweetheart and do you have the right shoes? I meander around the thrift store until it’s time to pick her up. What a delightful view of town I have, to leave early on a Friday!

We drive home into the sunset, literally; we ooh and aah over the pink haze that drapes across the snowy mountains in the distance. I climb the stairs to my room and take off my work clothes. The house smells so clean. What a treasure, to crawl into bed and wait for Shabbat to begin. Good Sabbath to you.

And then, the phone call, the one my long term care facility has gone the entire (!!) pandemic without. One of your residents has tested positive for COVID-19.

I pack a bag and hug my children. My husband loads the car with my favorite pillow and a shirt or something that smells like him. I do not remember. I float around the house grabbing items I think I may need if I’m unable to come home for awhile. We have come so far. How many more will follow this test result? Did I update our PPE guidelines? Do I have the staff I need? Do I have what it takes? What will happen next? In the end, I settle on the trite but true. This is what I signed up for. I can only hope my team feels the same. And so, I return to work. Good Sabbath to you.