The day you died, it felt like a slap on my face. I heard about Covid mortality rates going up, but nothing prepared me for this. How my heart stopped. When my mind cried, “This isn’t real.” Because losing you was one of my biggest heartbreaks. So, for weeks I cried myself to sleep. I kept calling your phone, hoping you would pick up.
I was in a resounding state of denial. I felt quite selfish because I wanted you back. I stopped watching the news for months. It was sickening when the statistics on TV now had a face. It was no longer just a number on the screen; it was my best friend.
So I kept passing by Old Oyster Street. I convinced myself you would still be there waiting for me. Just like the old days, this road never changed. For everything looked the same. The ocean was still next to the trees. The steep route we crossed on our commute home. The gentle memory of your laughter is still on my mind. I tried fighting my great sense of grief. How seeing something familiar made me feel your presence for a brief second.
But why did losing you feel so chronic? How I will no longer receive your text messages, while the sound of your voice is now just a memory. How the route down Oyster street will forever be bittersweet. How the drive home makes me replay your laughter. But the reality set in, so I stopped crying every day, yet I could still feel this empty void within me.
I know that I will heal someday, but right now it feels impossible.
But once the pain I feel is no longer here, I will choose to remember you. Even when the drive home will never be the same.
So rest well, my dear friend. If heaven has a library, I hope you read the chapters that I wrote for you. Each page shall hold you dearly. For your body may be gone, but my love for you will stay forever. May our joyful memories comfort my aching heart.