that little voice

The deep breath of relief seeped through my body as the juice of the vaccine squirted from the needle into my arm.

I didn’t shout with joy. I didn’t pose for a picture. I just thought how fortunate I was to finally receive this life saving serum.

And as I sat contentedly, a friend mourned the loss of her husband, not from Covid but from cancer and Parkinson and the deadly effects of both. One life saved, another gone, and the joy of one can’t compete with the sadness of the other.

Those who have lost a spouse know the pain of absence. ‘Lost’ is not the best word for the passing of someone. They aren’t really ‘lost’, they are lost from our sight, but not our memories. They are missing from our arms, but not the warmth we shared. And we will always long for one more word, one more moment, one more smile.

I don’t know how to comfort those who are attempting to grasp the vacancy a death creates. Words, hugs, food, messages, listening, tears, presence: they can distract from the darkness, but not eradicate it. Only time renders relief.

Grieving is a private journey; one without a map or a calendar. Where the mind wanders, the heart aches, and the length of time it takes to finally feel peace is a personal trek unlike another’s. But, someday you accept, adjust, look forward without regret.

I’m grateful for the vaccine I received, and I look forward to the second shot. But I’m sorry for each passing and the pain those remaining must endure. My heart aches for you, and I wish for you peace and light and joy and wonderful memories of your loved one.

Rest in Peace, each and everyone who have traversed the path we do not see.