“I received the nicest package today!” my mother tells me excitedly over the phone. “It couldn’t have arrived at a more perfect time!”
Kleenex, Voltaren, scotch mints, body lotion and a hand drawn picture from a great granddaughter, all bundled and dropped at the entrance to the nursing home, where we are no longer allowed.
My daughter and her family put it together.
Another daughter picks up medications for an elderly neighbour who can’t get out.
Ric is grocery shopping for us and others in the neighbourhood, minimizing exposure.
What can I do?, I wonder, feeling helpless in this state of isolation. It hits me in the middle of the night. Do what I can. Write.
So now I put out a weekly newsletter for our retirement community, 75% of which are widowed individuals. Inviting contributions, I’ve offered to organize and distribute, my mission to keep humour and entertainment the…
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