Some people seem to live under a perpetual cloud of loss.
I have a friend like that.
Our rare conversations have mostly been occasions for me to extend condolences after yet another tragedy has touched his life.
There’s an inexplicable shadow that follows some people, a persistent sense of misfortune that seems to cling to them.
I feel deep sympathy for my friend, but I’m often at a loss when it comes to lifting that heavy burden.
There’s a small, hidden part of me that feels a quiet relief that I haven’t been marked by such relentless sorrow—a thought I hardly dare to acknowledge because it feels so wrong.
I want to offer him comfort, to find the right words that might help ease his pain.
But moments like these starkly reveal the limitations of language—their inability to truly penetrate the depths of another’s grief.
This inadequacy feels even more pronounced in these pandemic times, as the world remains in isolation, each of us confined to our own fractured realities.
We miss the fundamental solace of human connection, both physical and emotional.
It is another scar the pandemic has left behind.
I first noticed this “shadow” after my friend J lost his wife just over a year ago.
I’ve learned that his sister, too, has recently passed away after a long illness.
It seems as though loss has become a constant companion in his life.
Yet, even amidst all this, what seems to provide him a sliver of relief is the power of words—words exchanged across distances, reminding us that even in our separateness, we are not alone.
In these times, when physical touch is a rare luxury, words have taken on new weight and meaning.
So I write to him once more, fully aware that my words are just that—mere words.
But I hope, in some small way, they might offer a touch of comfort, a reminder that somewhere, far across the world, someone is thinking of him and genuinely wishing him well in his darkest hours.
Because in the end, we all face our own clouds of loss.
It’s not a matter of if, but when.
And perhaps knowing that we are not alone in our grief makes the weight a little easier to bear.
