Lucky by Lolly Vieira

On February 21, 2020 I found a feather on the sidewalk while walking my dog. As I twirled it in my fingers, I remembered hearing once that it was good luck to find a feather. For a moment, I felt really lucky.

The next week, the pandemic officially hit.

I didn’t feel very lucky having to explain to my son that there was a deadly virus ransacking humanity. I watched pools of confusion well in his eyes when he couldn’t go back to preschool. Bullets of bemused liquid streamed down his cheeks in our prison of a home. But I did love how we discovered new science experiments, books, recipes, crafts, and conversations every day. The one-on-one time we got together was an invaluable treasure.

I didn’t feel very lucky going into work at night knowing I was risking my family’s lives and mine. I would quake in anxiety as people yelled at me for offering them a free mask, their angry spit droplets hitting the freshly installed glass between us as they claimed to have asthma. But I did love that we survived. My father was asymptomatic and my son was better three days later when we inevitably caught Covid. At first, it hardly mattered that I was infected, too.

I didn’t feel very lucky being sick as a dog for two weeks, afraid that death was just around the corner as I struggled to breathe. But I did love learning a valuable lesson about how to really take care of myself and put my needs first for once. I learned how to say, “No, I can’t right now,” without feeling guilty. My-people-pleasing-self began to build brick wall boundaries, unashamed.

I didn’t feel very lucky when my therapist was sick for months, feeling abandoned and having no one to blame, worried I’d never be able talk to them again. But I did love that after they recovered, we were able to set up virtual sessions for everyone’s safety and I got to learn that, sometimes, people do come back.

I didn’t feel very lucky when my grandmother in Canada called to tell me the same stories every week, saying, “Is jus me an tha four walls,” in her endearing broken English, too terrified to step outside and feel the sunshine or the breeze, crying about how someone spit on her sister in the elevator, saying, “Go back to China.” But I did love that we started to call her nightly and that we convinced her to get the vaccine, because, no, it’s not a microchip and it doesn’t take away your ability to believe in god.

I didn’t feel very lucky when I had to tell my best friend that I couldn’t visit her anymore because it could kill her. I was unable to support her in any way but from afar, knowing that after two comas and extensive brain damage she just might not understand. But I did love that she got to move back into her childhood bedroom in her parents’ home, even if that was harder for them, because she needed someone to help her in her wheelchair. They even got stair lifts installed.

I didn’t feel very lucky when my teenage coworker laughed and told me that he was worried I was more likely to give him Covid because I’m a quarter Chinese. I didn’t smile when people called it the “Kung-Flu.” But I did love that I grew stronger in my personal convictions against racism and was able to teach myself to lovingly educate people rather than blame them for their ignorance.

I didn’t feel very lucky going to the park, breathing heavy droplets into my mask that clung to my face for dear life, seeing bright yellow caution tape covering the slides, and explaining to my disappointed son that it just wasn’t safe to play right now. But I did love that my dad helped me build a raised garden bed to give us our own slice of nature. I loved the toothy grin on my son’s face as we dug through the dirt to make room for our tomatoes. I loved realizing that I, too, was being planted, growing my roots, incubating, waiting until the environment was just right for me to bloom. I found that for a year, the world and I were plunged into the grimy darkness and we’d both get to choose how we spent our time there. Our plants didn’t wait around for luck to grow, they needed conscious conditions and time to blossom. Sometimes tears are the water that we so desperately need. I watched my garden and myself reap what was sown in the mud, no luck involved, just love.

On July 3, 2021 my son found a feather on the sidewalk while we were walking our dog. As he twirled it in his fingers, I remembered hearing once that it was good luck to find a feather. I can’t foresee what the future holds, but I know that for a moment, he felt really lucky. And I’m confident that when the time comes, I can help him find things to love and ways to flower, even when he just doesn’t feel very lucky.