Tonight I am crying.  I'm crying for the 1,680,193  families worldwide and the  320,782 in the US as of today that have lost a loved one to Covid. I'm crying for the people that still believe Covid is a hoax or that wearing a mask is a violation of their American freedom. I'm crying for those that know the pain of not being  with their family member as they lie in a hospital bed and move to a different realm. I'm crying for the ICU nurses and doctors for the heavy load that has been placed on their shoulders. 

Tonight I am laughing at our family's sense of humor- when Mom hung up on Bishop Mike Watson as he was offering a profound prayer to our family by phone Tuesday evening but another call came in that she decided to answer. i'm also laughing that the return call to Mike was accidentally via FaceTime and Mike watched Mom's ear for at least 2 minutes before saying, Carole, I believe you have called me on FaceTime. I'm laughing because we all knew that Dad would have found all of that hilarious. 

Tonight I'm grieving for the  normalcies we took for granted that have been ripped away by this virus: hugs, breaking bread in community, funerals. I'm grieving as I refer to my Dad in the past tense- every verb is like a sharp sting to my heart. I'm grieving for myself, my family, this community, the country, the world. 

Tonight I am rejoicing that Dad is giving his friend Jesus a lesson on Elhew Pointers, the plight of the wild quail population and how much he adores his grandchildren. I'm rejoicing in the love and support our family has received over the last hard days and how much it has meant. I'm rejoicing in the words "Live on, survive, for the Earth gives forth wonders. It may swallow your heart, but the wonders keep coming" and welcoming my sister friend Amy Lesesne's new grandson, William,  to the world as of 12:58 this morning. 

Tonight I am resting, home in Chattanooga after a hard couple of weeks- exhausted and dazed but so grateful for all the feels.