It’s 8:30 p.m. and I’m sitting in bed with my laptop, working.

The dishes are still in the sink. The unfolded—but clean!—laundry is still in the basket. And I can’t remember if I showered. (Blame the pandemic.)

The world seems to be waiting for 2020 to be over.

Me, too.

It’s been a crazy, tumultuous year, with the COVID-19 pandemic changing the way we work and live in ways unthinkable. No more traveling. No more potlucks at work. No more weekends spent with friends.

Dear Leilani,The night before you died, I had a dream about you.

We were lounging on the floor in a large room, surrounded by blankets and pillows, kids running around. It was early evening. You were relaxing, propped up by pillows; I was right next to you, my son curled up by my legs sleeping. (That’s how you know this was a dream.) We were watching some movie, I don’t remember, chatting, laughing, like old times. When I woke up, I felt like I had spent an entire evening hanging out with you. It was so comforting—and so real. I had to text you about it, remember?