Every day my husband Facetimes with his 92 year-old father, who is alone in an apartment in New York City. My father-in-law grew up in the ghetto of Brooklyn during the Great Depression. He shared a bedroom with his grandmother. And he scraped, hustled and worked his way out of hunger and poverty.
I hear my husband tell his father not to go to the grocery store, not to let anyone into the apartment, not to touch the buttons in the elevator, to wear a mask, to stay inside.
Every day I hear my father-in-law say to his son, “I can’t do this anymore.” And every day I hear my husband say, “Yes you can, Dad. You can do this. I know you can.”