On Wednesday March 24, 2021, my fifty-three week, five-day wait to hug my husband ended. The look on Peter’s face told me all I needed to know. Carolynn, here for a week’s visit, went with me. She’d been waiting for a hug from her Poppy for the same 376 days because she was with me last year, the day before the everything closed down due to Covid restrictions.
A lot has changed in Peter’s year. I won’t delve into all that in this post. The fact that visitors could come into the home and into residents’ rooms was reason to cheer. He’d had another haircut and beard trim, only his second in 12 months—he always looks decades younger once his hair is trimmed up. He was wearing clothes that fit after several months of shopping for him without really knowing what size my formerly “slim fit” husband was.
I took him a thermos of tea and a cookie, a treat I thought. The cookie went down quickly, but he wrinkled his nose at the tea. I made it the way he’s always liked it, strong and dark, splash of milk, no sugar. He didn’t drink it.
For the time being, visitors are allowed 30 minutes. Not long enough for us, but long enough for Peter. After about 15 minutes he curled up on his bed and went to sleep!