Boston, you are on my mind this morning.
I’m thinking of the fear in the city,
of what that might feel like if the far reaches of Denver were banned under ‘shelter in place.’
I’m thinking of the silence in the streets.
Everywhere, really.
I’m also thinking of moms who are at home with babies,
perhaps the mom who was planning to buy more diapers this morning and now she has exactly three left.
I feel sorry that I pressed the snooze button against the news reports this morning, that I slept longer when the family of a campus police officer is undone with tragedy.
I am eating a pumpkin muffin although it is not autumn.
I am drinking coffee with steamed breve.
When the Panera girl asked for my phone number to track my purchase, I gave her Robb’s number.
I didn’t even know I had rattled it off until I heard the last four numbers.
“Oh, wait. I’m sorry. That’s not… that’s not the right number.”
I feel sorry for the things that I care about,
and seemingly, simultaneously, do not.
The magnitude of it all, there’s just so much.
So I’m holding one woman in my mind this morning.
The woman with a Boston accent and without enough diapers to make it through the day.
I will pray for her, carry her in my heart.
And in doing so, I will carry everyone else.

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