Two years ago this time, the sudden and violent death of my best friend existed as a whole body wound. One that gushed blood nonstop. Two year ago this very evening, my beloved grandma would begin having chest pains and I’d race her to the emergency room as she had a heart attack. I sat there, clamming up in the unnaturally warm waiting room, with a face shield, N95 Mask, and gloves on given we were mid-COVID pandemic pre-vaccine. My best friend’s death still disillusioning, grandma possibly being the next on life’s chopping block, I sat in the clammy discomfort in utter astonishment of how cruel life can be. The night sky was red when on my drive home. She lived. But I won’t forget the fear, nor the inarticulable sense of cruelty and unfairness.
Two years later and I lay in more excruciating pain. I’ve lost three loves ones since then and the love of my life left me.
The misery rolls on.