Gratitude

(for those of you who don’t live in Sutton and couldn’t read this in Le Tour)

It seems like an eternity since we got the call from our daughter. It was mid-March, she was at work in Montreal, debating with her co-workers whether they really wanted to risk working another shift and potentially exposing themselves to this crazy virus going around. In the end, they staged a minor rebellion and we drove into the city to collect her, along with a couple of her fellow waitstaff who suddenly felt the city wasn’t a safe place to be. It’s hard to believe that was more than five months ago.

Our son ended up finding his way home as well and suddenly our almost empty nest was a household of seven adults (or nearly) and I couldn’t have been happier. With no jobs to return to, no outings worth the risk, we all hunkered down to board games, bread-baking, movie nights and endless projects around the house. The addition of our two guests meant that every family meal was a dinner party as we aimed to outdo each other in the kitchen.

Like many of us, I was unable to concentrate on much, consumed with the need to keep abreast of the latest statistics, watching country after country reel from the impact, all while feeling slightly guilty about being spared. The coronavirus took the life of my sister-in-law’s dad and the father of my girlfriend’s three kids but, aside from my poor sister-in-law having to deal with being quite ill as she mourned, it left the rest of my extended family untouched.

We nurtured the veggie patch, we made pizza, we watched Harry Potter, we drank ridiculous amounts of wine. We relished every minute. My husband and I would occasionally find ourselves wondering if anything but the coronavirus could have brought two adult children who’d flown the coop back to Abercorn for such an extended period of time. And we thanked our lucky stars.

And just like that, it was over. Our son was asked back to his job in Montreal so he got a new apartment and left. Cegep will be starting soon so our youngest will be off to the city as well. And our middle daughter will undoubtedly find herself another job and a new apartment, and our two Covid-kids will eventually follow.

In our newfound quiet, I tried to do a little yoga in my kitchen. The online yogi took me through a mellow session and, at the end, suggested I give thanks to my body. And I did. And for the first time in my life, at age 53, I felt love for my imperfect body – for the vessel that grew three babies, for the knee that clicks and aches, even for the spare tire that I have spent my whole life gaining or losing. And then I found myself crying, awash in gratitude – for the safe haven that is our home, for the health and happiness of my family, for the abundance of our vegetable garden, for the nurturing community that is Sutton/Abercorn, for the freedoms we enjoy as Canadians, for a planet that continues to provide for us despite our abuse, for all of it.

Lucky us.