A Brief Moment

It is cool in the apartment or perhaps it is the lingering chill that Covid presented as part of an unwelcome gift when it arrived on Sunday evening,

Several boxes from the Met Online Shop sit in a corner of the aging white couch unopened, The joy I found in the annual Black Friday sale seems so unimportant as I struggle to stay awake for another half hour.

It is the first day without snow that I can recall and tiny ribbons of blue are sprinkled into the sky as the gray clouds finally begin to evaporate,

I may not be counting correctly, but I believe this is day four of my Covid battle. The loving care I receive from staff is remarkable, but I cannot deny I ache for the presence of a loved one. And I am utterly aware that is nonsense. I am contagious and there is no one I would share this highly traumatic experience with willingly.

I don’t know if age played a part in the severity of the attack or something else. Or if it even matters,

I found comfort during the seemingly endless night of Day 3 in words written by a young man close to a century ago stating he wanted to share his life with me. And I remember that was one of the many gifts God bestowed on us. We had 57 years.

The packet of letters is now brittle with age, and the ribbon a faded gray, no longer blue.

And although last night my beloved wasn’t there to hold my hand or keep me warm, as I read each letter, for a brief moment in time, I pretended he was.

And perhaps he wasn’t that far away and knew I needed him nearby on a sleepless night shared reluctantly with Covid 19.