What a year!
Need I list it all: disease, loss of life, loss of livelihood and dignity, hunger, racial injustice, a bitter election, a nation torn apart, its values threatened. . . .
Yet, there have been moments of gratitude. Plenty of them.
Gratitude, when New Yorkers stepped out of the warmth of their apartments every evening at 7:00 pm sharp to cheer for the healthcare workers. It didn’t matter if was raining, sleeting, or a Northeaster barreling down, if their favorite TV show was on, they came out on their balconies, and on the rooftops, clapping, blowing their horns, yoo-hooing, or simply beating on their make-shift drums. Those were moments when Americans came together—in gratitude.
Our son and daughter-in-law are frontline workers. Saqib operated on COVID patients, showered and changed the minute he walked in the door at home, and wore the mask around his children in those terrible months. They got through it, and for that we are grateful.
For six weeks, my husband Khalid and I did not leave our apartment building. Our only excursion was walking seven flights of stairs up to the rooftop and doing laps to get some exercise and fresh air. In those cold months, we had heat, gas, power, a roof over our heads, and food on the table. Thank you, God. These small things meant the world to us.
In these weeks we realized how much our lives depended on the minimum-wage immigrant workers. The Mexican lady who stocked the grocery shelves, the Yemeni Uber-Eats delivery boy, the Pakistani cab driver, the Chinese woman packaging take-outs, the Guatemalan porter, the Nigerian InstaCart guy. . . . Thank you for putting your lives at risk and getting us through the lock-down.
In February, just as COVID was rearing its microscopic head, Khalid suffered a relapse. He had been in remission with Multiple Myeloma for over a year. “Let the worst of the pandemic pass before we start the treatment,” his doctor advised. That took us into early April. By then, the hospital had put system safeguards in place, the worst was over, and he was able to resume treatment under strict safety protocols. We are grateful to have access to the best that medical care can offer, and grateful for the advances in science.
It hasn’t been easy for our grandchildren, particularly Asha who is eight, the only child, and loves to socialize. Until now, her parents had succeeded remarkably in ensuring that she had minimum screen time. Well, that changed. While the schools were getting their systems in place, and mom and dad had to work, we grandparents took on the role of virtual babysitters. But purposeful babysitters, doing classes in science, Arabic, and Urdu. Asha is now reading the Quran in Arabic and Laila speaks Urdu fluently; not to mention the bonding experience.
Racial injustice was horrifying. But seeing the nation galvanize their energy into standing up for the rights of their fellow Americans, day after day, night after night, and people around the world marching for the rights of their fellow human beings, gave us hope. I am grateful to all those who gave up hours, days and weeks of their lives, to stand up against racism. And I gave a virtual hug to our grandchildren when I swiped my phone to see photos of them holding up posters: Black Lives Matter.
Omar, our grandson is on the autism spectrum. He hasn’t done well with online teaching. So every day his teacher drops off his activity package at home. His sisters then help him with the activities. Thank you, teacher, for driving the extra mile, for caring. Bless you little girls, for taking care of your big brother.
People are hungry. People are spending hours in their cars, lined up to pick up food packages. Parents are making this into a teachable moment for their children: show your gratitude by giving. It warmed our hearts to know that Asha packed her backpack with food and bicycled her way to the food pantry with her dad; that Laila went door-to-door collecting coats for her Girl Scouts clothing drive and is on the schedule to work at the mosque’s food drive on Sundays.
All my book talks were cancelled—in-person, that is. But the zoom option opened up a whole new world, and places I would never have ventured to, were now hosting book talks. A year ago, who would have thought that I would be engaging with high school students from Pakistan and Afghanistan, fielding questions from Afghani boys on my marriage and my Muslim-ness. I tell you it was worth waking up at 4:00 a.m. to connect across ten time zones.
And thank goodness Trump was defeated. Defeated at the polls, defeated in the courts. I am grateful that despite the high-powered big guys in Washington towing his line, everyday Americans in local counties stood up to him. I am grateful that our institutions withstood his attempt to subvert democracy. I am grateful that the will of the people prevailed.
Thank you, God, for realigning our values and teaching us compassion. Thank you.
