My son-in-law died of Covid.
I wrote his obituary.
I sent flowers.
I didn’t go to his funeral.
I knew it wasn’t normal.

The governor was at Jerad’s funeral,
without a mask.
He shook hands with my grandsons
who had tested positive for the virus.
Not to worry!
He was the first US governor to get the virus.

He refused to mandate masks in Oklahoma.
After all, he survived.
This brand of governor
has become too normal.

My son came from Virginia
to help his sister navigate
the roiling waters of widowhood.
He brought his laptops and his work.
Working from anywhere has become normal.

We visited, son, daughter, grandsons
on one side of the dining room window,
parents on the other side,
talking on our phones.
Not normal, but we were where we needed to be.

The first thing I did two weeks after my second vaccine dose
was hug my daughter and my grandsons.
My son will be here next month for a family memorial.
I’ll hug him, too.
The governor won’t be there.

My friend died two weeks ago,
the latest in a string of relatives and friends.
She didn’t believe in vaccines.
Her family says, We think
she died of a cardiac event.

I worry for the undertakers,
for family members,
and for the churchgoing faithful
who never miss a funeral.
Worry is normal.

As has become custom,
I sent flowers
and didn’t go to the funeral.

Normal is a fluid state.