It’s mid-morning and the sky is threatening a gloomy May day. We suit up anyway, dressing in swim gear and sunglasses, and our summer garb hugs us like armor, like hope.

My brother is in town for the weekend so we’ve made plans to go stand-up paddleboarding, or kayaking for me. It’s our first family outing in I don’t know how long so I hide my phone in my bag. I want to be present today.

My mother buzzes around the house, evaporating from the living room then reemerging like a magician. Her packing frenzy convinces me I’ve inevitably forgotten something, so I mount the stairs and head back to my room.

There were times, in The Dark Days, when I crawled up these stairs to bed. Today, I bounce, skipping every other step.

As my mom loads the car, I pack up too, taking inventory of my cream-colored tote bag.

Liter water bottle full of water, check.

Water bottle filled with electrolyte drink, check.

Backup packets of electrolytes, check.

Salty snacks in case I get hungry and/or dizzy, check.

Beta-blockers and backup meds, check.

My pill organizer for the day, check.

Personal fan (that makes only a marginal difference but for some reason I bring anyways) in case I get hot and symptomatic, check.

Regular human things I need like my wallet and driver’s license, check.

Hand sanitizer, check.

Face mask, check.

Keys, check.

Okay. We’re ready to go.