I was living alone in New Mexico, where people I knew were dying of Covid. On March 24, I called my youngest son in Chicago and asked if I could come and stay for a bit. He eagerly agreed, saying, “Sure, Mom, it’ll be like a pajama party.” I drove from Albuquerque to Chicago with my cat, Wanda. We crossed a landscape almost devoid of people. It was three days of isolated, frightening misery that ended when I tumbled out of my car in a sleet storm and dragged the cat carrier into my son’s kitchen, crying like a child.
KATHERINE SCHWARTZ, 73, EVANSTON, ILL.
