The morning started with my 12-year-old son sitting in a pale beige chair that blended in with the wall behind him. He looked up at the pharmacist with his big blue eyes that were swelling with tears.
Not the kind of tears you get when you are scared, but the kind of tears you can’t help but hold back when you feel the kind of relief that allows you to breathe again.
Looking at the pharmacist, I could tell he was taken by surprise when from behind my son’s black athletic face mask, he softly and simply said, “Thank you so much for giving me this vaccine, it means everything.
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