Crying in the car...

I didn't expect an emotional outburst.
From the start of this Corono virus thing, I've pretty much maintained a stoic stance.
I worry.
I fret and I miss being able to make plans with my family and neighbors.
I try to keep things in perspective.
I pray.
But I haven't cried.
Until yesterday.
A sweet lady in our ward suggested we all get in our cars and meet in front of her house.
We would then drive by in a line past the houses of two of the missionaries who have quietly come home due to the perilous circumstances within their mission boundaries.
We could maintain social distance but still convey our love and good wishes.
It was an interesting idea and we were all mostly free on this particular Sunday afternoon.
Marc was asleep but I was intrigued with the plan so I went ahead and got in line.
At 5 p.m. we all started our engines.
(I asked the lady in charge if the police were on board with this. She said she didn't know but the bishop was!)
We began to circle the block, a long caravan of cars with mostly vans with teenagers standing out of the top windows waving.
As we came past the missionary's house, we all honked and waved.
And I burst into tears, the first tears I've shed since this all started.
I cried for the losses, the fears, the things we haven't been able to do together, the things that might still happen, the new normal, the empty store shelves and the countries that are closed to tourists, the suffering.
I sobbed in my car and finally turned back into my driveway because I couldn't see clearly any more.
I went in the house.
My husband was awake now and wondered what I had been doing.
He looked curiously at my wet cheeks because while I was crying, I was also smiling for the first time in two weeks.
I told him he'd missed the parade.