I leave Zion National Park early in the morning on Thanksgiving, four hours until I see family. It’s been a year since I saw anyone. I’m a little nervous and apprehensive about the whole ordeal, as I want people to feel safe.
My parents come over to my brother’s house, but only for a few minutes. I want to hug my Dad, but refrain. I see the pained look in his eyes, and it sums up the entire ordeal that we all have had to deal with.
I make it over to both of my other brother’s homes as well over the long holiday, catching up on events through our masks. My nieces have changed so much since I saw them last. Their cute little masks break my heart.
We end up going skiing one day. Mask wearing and social distancing at a ski resort was a new experience, no doubt about it, but we all make the best of it.
Before I know it Sunday has rolled around, and it’s time to be back on the road to Arizona. I’m equal parts sad and happy, but I only have a month until I’m back for Christmas. At least this pandemic has me staying around for the holidays this year so I have time to see the family.
