Blink Me Somewhere Else, Please

Picture it: heart on one side of the rope and brain on the other, in a constant tug of war.

Emotionally, it is inconceivable not to see my parents this month. Intellectually, it is inconceivable to even consider it.

My sentimental Christmas heart is swelling, especially with regards to my mother. Go. Bake cookies. Watch Hallmark movies. Rearrange her curio cabinet while she acts annoyed but really beams with pride. Have a gift wrapping session, me on the floor surrounded by tissue and boxes and she on the couch tossing me the appropriate tag for each. Hit a store or two for last-minute purchases.

My over-active pandemic brain attempts to rationalize, to find a way. Then there is a photo of an older couple, both hooked up to machines, on their way to dying together of COVID-19 while their daughter is tasked with hard decisions and heartbreak. A few hours pass. I’m back to rationalizing. Someone from the Thanksgiving gathering of people I went to high school with that made me cringe when I saw unmasked group photos on Facebook has tested positive. With dread, I wonder how many more.

I want to blink my eyes like I Dream of Jeannie and make it all go away. Heck, right about now I’d blink myself into her bottle with the posh pink pillowy décor, fill it with books and tea, and blink my way back out in a year or so.