When This Is All Done
I hope you remember the good that you saw
When this is all done, I hope you’ll continue to use all the food in your fridge.
It’s easy to give in to cravings and desires and cater your daily meals to what you feel like eating. But such thought process leads to waste — and if you’ve learned anything in your kitchen during this quarantine time, I hope it’s to be more mindful of what you cook and what you throw out and how you fill your fridge.
When this is all done, I hope you’ll visit your grandparents on a more frequent basis.
If you are fortunate to have your grandparents still breathing upon this earth, I hope you’ll call them, too. But if you live within driving distance, I hope you take the time to visit with your grandparents and sit with them, and talk with them. I hope you listen to their stories and let them become part of your own, too. It’s a gift to have your elders with you — and when this is all done, I hope you remember that.
When this is all done, I hope you show up for your friends, more.
Invite them into your home, and have them sit around your table. Break bread with them and drink wine with them. Fill their bellies with the food from your kitchen and the generosity of your heart. Let yourselves delight in laughter until the wee hours of the morning. Let the warmth of your conversations warm all of your spirits.
When this is all done, I hope you put your phone down when you’re in the presence of the ones you love.
I hope you put your phone down when you’re hanging out with your family and friends. I hope you no longer give it a seat at your dinner table — let it stay in your bag or upon a shelf or in an entirely different room. When someone is sitting in front of you and trying to have a conversation, I hope you relish the fact that there is no screen separating your faces. I hope you give them your undivided attention and look them in the eyes.
When this is all done, I hope you stand in the sun.
I hope you resist the urge to spend endless amounts of time on your couch — and I hope you go outside. I hope you appreciate the way the sun feels on your skin, and how the wind can whip through your hair, and what the waves sound like as they crash upon the shore. I hope you never forget what the birds sounded like without the buzz of traffic. I hope you learn how to clean up after yourself and not leave a trail of garbage in your path.
When this is all done, I hope you still remember.
I hope you remember the days where we all wore masks and gloves and feared to leave our homes. I hope you remember the doctors and the nurses and the hospital staff who had to leave their homes so that you could safely stay in yours. I hope you remember what it was like to have your children home from school — and that even though they might’ve driven you crazy, the time you had with them was still precious. I hope you remember that going out to dinner is a gift and celebrating at bars is a gift and so is going to the movies and a concert and the mall. Yes, even the mall.
I hope you remember the compassion that others bestowed upon you.
I hope you remember the compassion that you bestowed upon one another.
I hope you remember what it was like to miss a hug from your Mom or your Dad or your best friend — and I hope you continue to hold them a little tighter once this is all over.
When this is all done, I hope you remember the good that you saw.
When this is all done, I hope you still hold onto hope.
