A year ago right now, one of my American friends was coming back from some sort of IT conference thing. She'd been nervous about going, because Covid was rapidly becoming an issue, but her bosses sent her and so she figured it was safe.
When she returned home, she learned that one of her friends whom she had hugged and spent time with and talked with had been diagnosed with Covid. She was scared. For him, and of course for herself.
He was hospitalized. She was very worried.
And then, sadly, he died. Of Covid. She was devastated.
I often think about how extra hard this has been for my friends in the states, and especially for this friend who lost someone right away at the very start of it all and so knew first hand that it was real and deadly.
I have had people in the last year challenge me with "well do you actually know anyone who has died from it???" and since I didn't know my friend's friend directly, I have to answer with "no, not directly" but that seemed to be almost an excuse people would use (I imagine, out of fear, to be honest) that things were being blown out of proportion.
I don't know why I'm talking about this other than my friend brought it up in a chat the other day and she's having a hard time with the anniversary of his death.
So this virus touched me, indirectly, from the very start and it's strange to see the dates roll by... a year later. It's still a lot and I know I'm nowhere near processing anything much at all.
That may take years, or may never happen. I don't know. I just know writing this has made me uncomfortable and I can feel anxiety rising up so I'm going to sign off for now. Stay safe, stay well, take care of yourselves.