It's 2020. You have been 4 years in remission. You are thriving in life. I observe how you become a young adult from a quiet distance. You decided to study pre-Med at UMKC and follow the steps of your grandfather Antonio and of all those doctors who were part of your days back when we were all been defined by your cancer. You, my beautiful tall son, have a sweet girlfriend, dreams, and an immense dedication to your goals. You appreciate others and express your gratitude with words that seem to belong to a much older person than this 18-year-old soul. But of course, you grew. You suddenly became wise. You understood too soon that in life, nothing should be taken for granted. And these days, I have seen you teach others those pieces of wisdom that come from painful experiences.
It's 2020. We are locked down in our homes, isolated from the world due to the rapid spread of the Coronavirus. This is not a new experience for us. My friend Jessica, whose daughter Clara had bone marrow transplant when she was very young, told me that we have an advantage here. We do. We know how to live surrounded by extreme higiene. We know how to breathe through masks and our hands have navigated through oceans of soap once and again. We have closed our doors to the world before. We have remained in peace at home for days, weeks, months. We have found distractions and learned to rest in silence. We are indeed in a sadly privileged place to experience social isolation. 
It will be over. We will come back to the hugs and the kisses, and to open door knobs without even thinking. We will shake hands and mingle. We will. Diego did it. We did it.