Early in September, just in time for the Labor Day weekend, Covid crashed our party. Two of our three kids had come home for the long weekend, and one of them had what looked like seasonal allergies. But by the third day, her symptoms gave me an unsettling sense of deja vu, so I went looking for the Covid tests we still had stashed from 2021. It turned positive faster than I could say, “Uh oh.”
Our oldest son got it next, but my husband Tom was immune since he’d already had Covid six weeks earlier. During that first exposure, I didn’t get sick despite a house full of rogue respiratory droplets. So, I hoped I could dodge the virus once again.
But Covid continued its march, leaving its shoeprint on my face before it left the building. I stayed home for five days with the worst of it and then tried to resume business as usual.
As many of us know from experience, Covid often leaves behind one heck of a hangover. At the seven-day mark, the fatigue and brain fog were like a weighted vest I couldn’t take off. Then came a stressful day of work plagued by technical malfunctions. For hours, I was stuck on a customer service hotline that served only more frustration. And I’d spent the whole day consumed with worry for a family member who was facing a complex health problem. Not only did I feel physically worn down, life seemed determined to take me lower.
It was under those conditions that I went through a McDonald’s drive-through late that night for some no-frills carbohydrates. I ordered and handed a credit card to the teenage girl in the first window. As she leaned out to take it, she looked me right in the eye, paused, and then said the following words: “Wow… You look SO tired.”
As you can imagine, this is not the greeting most women over 50 want to hear. Yet somehow, I couldn’t muster the will to feel offended. Instead, the opposite happened. I laughed and leaned into it. “You know what,” I said. “You’re right. I am so very tired. It’s been a really long day.”
I could tell from the look on her face that she hadn’t said it to hurt me because I didn’t feel an ounce of malice. It felt like pure observation with a touch of concern. She was just a girl noticing that the woman in front of her was hanging on by her last, ragged thread.
She handed me the receipt, but I couldn’t pull forward to the next window because the line hadn’t moved. Perhaps she realized her words might have embarrassed me because she searched for something positive.
Her: “Well, the good news is your hair looks great.”
Me: (Laughing because my unwashed hair had been pulled back into a rushed ponytail) “Oh, thank you. But I wish I had your curls.”
Her: “Oh, no. You don’t want these curls. Trust me. I’d much rather have it straight like yours.”
Me: “No, your curls are exciting. Mine is boring. Maybe we should switch, and then we’d both be happy.”
She laughed, and the line started to move. I waved goodbye, and she wished me a good night. When I reached the second window, a guy confirmed my order and began filling a bag. I saw the girl from the first window appear behind him and whisper something near his ear. He disappeared and so did she, only to return a few seconds later carrying a vanilla ice cream cone I hadn’t ordered. She handed it to me and said, “Here. I want something good to happen for you today.”
Friends, it was a moment that has stayed with me. Sometimes, even when you look and feel your worst and so much of the world feels wrong, someone sees you exactly as you are and hands you a moment of truth and tenderness. It reminded me how powerful kindness can be — how human connection counts for so much more than we realize.
And the ice cream? It soothed my soul, just as it was intended.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.