It’s easy to fall into a panic, to give in to fear, to let worry take over. There’s so much that’s uncertain, so much to fear for.

And yet there are little things that mean so much.

I’m grateful that my mom is here. I can be sure she’s safe, and eating well, and taking her meds. I can be sure she’s not going out and risking her health.

I’m grateful that my mom is here, and Lucas can spend time with her, playing and learning.

I’m grateful that Oneal’s dad is here, making breakfast every day, cooking food that Lucas loves, making sure the house is safe and secure.

I’m grateful that Oneal and Lucas and I are together; there are families out there who are kept apart by this quarantine.

I’m grateful for Oneal’s patience and love and care, because God knows I can’t be easy to live with right now.

I’m grateful for Teacher Candice conducting online classes, so Lucas is still learning and interacting with others.

I’m grateful for Zoom and Skype and Telegram, Viber and WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger, because those are the only ways to connect in a time when isolation is the way to survive.

Honestly, I’m grateful every time I hear the garbage truck. For me, it means things are still moving, society hasn’t fallen into chaos.

I’m grateful every time the water delivery guys ring our bell and ask if we still have water. I’m grateful they’re still in business, and we still have a reliable source of drinking water.

I’m grateful for the people still selling and delivering meat and vegetables, so we don’t need to keep going to the grocery and risking exposure.

I’m grateful for work that means something, for stories that in some small way might save a life somewhere, that might make it easier for someone somewhere in the world to access the help and healthcare they need.

I’m grateful for the people, literally around the world, checking on me and offering virtual hugs.

I’m grateful for online concerts and gigs, yoga classes and religious observances. Even if we’re separated by distance and screens, we are united by the music and the spirituality, the prayers and the thoughts of hope, love and light.

I look forward to the day we can run around the park again, and feel the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces. But for now, we’re alive, and we’re healthy, and that’s enough.