The flu has kicked my ass.
It officially broke me on Thursday, when I came home from work not feeling well and found my apartment without heat. Thermal underwear and a big winter coat and I was shivering. Chills. Bad stomach. Emotionally worn out. Physically drained. A low, low point.
Enter family. Blessed family.
My brother picked me up, spent hours in traffic to do so, whisked me off to my parents’ house in Leisure Village. Welcome to your sanctuary, he said, as we pulled in their driveway. And that’s exactly what it was. Warm. My father putting fresh sheets on the bed. Warm. My mother at the ready with soup and cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs and tea. Warm.
I slept and slept. Ate a little. Slept some more. Regained some strength. Watched TV. Slept more.
Now I am home. Still feeling weak, but a bit better. I am thankful for family. I am especially grateful to still be able to go “home” since most of my friends have either lost their parents or are caretaking them.
The flu has kicked my ass. But I’ve landed in warmth.