A close friend
A sister (but not my sister)
A confidant who knows all my stories, but tells them slightly wrong.
Because the person that wrote those words was physically me, but she also wasn't me.
Her kids were tiny.
She had never heard of COVID.
She hadn't held a crying eight year old asking why her grandpa loved Trump but not her.
Now her kids are nearly grown.
She survived Christmas of 2020 sleeping on the livingroom floor with the kids, terrified because Dr A's breathing was so very shallow as he fought COVID in the bedroom.
Now that eight year old is a teenager that just rolls her eyes when her grandpa screams, to the point of slobbering, regurgitated MAGA nonsense.
We are all tougher.
We are all recast
and reborn.
Rewritten daily.
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