I ’ve thought about vaccinating you in your sleep. About flying across the country to break into your house and flooding your body with mRNA and teaching it to fight and protect itself and stand up against this stupid, homicidal virus. Even if you hate me for it. Even if it’s wrong to do that type of thing. But I won’t. Instead I’ll write. I’ll write all the things I wish I could say, that our family Facebook thread can no longer bear, after a year and a half of us brandishing articles like swords, and all-caps billboards of threatening Scripture, and the occasional whiplash of swerving from a vitriolic debate to a cute picture of someone’s baby in the next line to a conspiracy theory in the next. Text-to-text will never be the same as eye-to-eye. So here I am, writing this. I wish I could see you, in person, not through a screen, and we could sit tucked into the corner of a sectional, or on the floor of our parents’ oversized closets like when we were kids. We could giggle behin...