This week unfolded in a way that reminded me — gently but firmly — that COVID is still very much with us.
On Tuesday, my nephew mentioned that his dad had come down with a bad cold. He was worried, as any son would be. His dad lives in long‑term care, a beautiful private facility with excellent staff and thoughtful routines. Even so, when someone you love isn’t well, the worry settles in.
By Thursday afternoon, my nephew called again, sounding miserable. “I’m so sick,” he said, “and I haven’t seen my dad today.” I told him to rest, and I went to visit his dad myself.
I arrived around 3 o’clock with the protein drink he likes. He devoured it. He was dressed, alert, and happy to see me. We sat together in the common area — a quiet, sunlit space — and had a genuinely lovely visit. He was sniffling and blowing his nose, but his spirits were good. I wore a mask the entire time, just in case.
Yesterday, the care home called to say he had tested positive for COVID.
My own rapid tests were long expired, so I had tossed them out. I phoned my local pharmacy — no free tests anymore, but they had some for $9.99 with a long expiry date. I bought a box, came home, and tested negative.
Later, my nephew stopped by. I tested him outside, and his result appeared almost instantly — the positive line showed up before the negative one. No ambiguity there.
I've had COVID twice and never got very ill. The first time, I just had a sore throat. The second time I was exposed so I tested. The test was positive but I had no symptoms at all. I don't know if I had it, or the test was faulty.
Then, I realized something important: I haven’t had a COVID shot for two years. Life got busy, the urgency faded, and I simply didn’t prioritize it. But this week was a wake‑up call. COVID is still circulating, still unpredictable, and still capable of knocking people flat.
This year, I’ll be getting my shot. No hesitation.
I hope this strain isn’t a bad one. I hope my nephew recovers quickly. And I’m grateful that his dad, even while sick, was able to enjoy a quiet afternoon visit and a favourite drink. I hope his case doesn't get worse. The sad part is he's now confined to his room and we can't visit!
Sometimes the smallest moments — a phone call, a test strip, a shared hour in a common room — remind us how connected we all are, and how much care still matters.
