Words To

I think, or possibly I hope, but the end does seem to coming into sight.

As I gaze hopefully, searching to retrieve the slivers of freedom that I relinquished about sixteen months ago, I ask myself what has been the hardest part of this time.

Immediately, I realize it was the loneliness, and I am surprised.

Probably because I have never been particularly outgoing; quite the opposite to be honest. My world was confined to those I embraced with love; my immediate family, a few intimate friends and occasionally, unexpected pilgrims God sent my way. I seldom had a busy calendar.

I never belonged to a club or headed a committee. I didn’t share coffee with neighbors or belong to leagues of any type. I rarely had dinner engagements after my beloved left this world. A large segment of our slim social world disappeared by my choice after his death.

Now I question why during the past fifteen months, the blanket of isolation woven with loss of human contact threatened to destroy my equilibrium?

Of course, I feared Covid and the dire physical consequences. I worried about the Fabulous Four and all those both they and I embrace with love.

However the fear of the unknown was never as painful as the isolation that was a loss of contact with nearby pilgrims.

Then I wonder if that is why it was so painful. Was it because pre-lockdown or quarantine I had chosen to maintain my life long choice of remoteness?

Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned as I recall the anguish of the months, days and lonely meals endured since February 2020.

John Donne’s words “No Man Is An Island,” come to mind, and I am grateful for the reminder.

The renowned poet has long been one of my favorite authors. Unfortunately, I didn’t always listen to the wisdom behind the beautiful words.

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”

Now I hear them distinctly and doubt if they will ever again be forgotten: