It’s like we’re on a death watch, with a dash of “well, maybe” thrown into the mix. We know evil is coming, and it could get bad, but it could also be okay. It’s comedic, yet it’s not. And that’s so messed up.

I find myself compulsively checking the news for updates on confirmed diagnoses. It’s surrounding us, and coming for us, slowly but surely. There’s no marking our door to keep us safe. This angel pays no attention to such things.

Kiddo asked to go to Dollarama today, and I told her, “we can’t go anywhere. We don’t want to get sick.” She accepted that answer, for now. Will she accept it in two weeks? In a month? In three months? I’ve downloaded and printed some small booklets to explain everything, but I’ve yet to actually sit down and share them with her.

The powerlessness is probably the worst part. I can’t make everything happen faster so we can get it over and done. I can’t slow it down so we can try to outrun it. My anxiety shows up as rumination; I try to play through every possible negative outcome in my head, knowing that what really happens is almost always a situation far beyond my imagination. If I’ve thought of all of the bad things, well, then only good things can occur, right? RIGHT?

What is our world going to be like after? How many loved ones will we lose? How long until someone I know and love is diagnosed?

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