Lately, I’ve found myself feeling incredibly fortunate. I’m filled with gratitude for the chance to spend another day on this planet with my beloved family.
When the news about COVID-19 escalated, I can’t deny that fear washed over me. The alarming statistics were daunting, and during an early press conference, I turned to my partner and expressed my worry about knowing people who might lose their lives.
Sadly, that has been a reality for many. However, my closest friends and family have largely been spared. If they did contract the virus, thankfully, it didn’t lead to hospitalization.
About a month ago, I learned of a professional acquaintance who was hospitalized with COVID-19 and not faring well. Although I didn’t know him personally, it saddened me to see someone’s health decline so rapidly. I discovered he had passed while I was engaged in a mundane task: waiting in the drive-through after taking my child to his first ice skating lesson. As I scrolled through Facebook, I stumbled upon the announcement, and my heart ached for his loved ones, especially his young grandchildren.
That evening, while preparing for bed, my partner casually asked, “Do you smell that?” I replied no. Suddenly, it clicked, and I began to open various shampoo and lotion bottles, inhaling deeply—and realized I couldn’t smell anything. I wasn’t particularly ill otherwise, but I decided to get tested for COVID-19 the following morning.
As someone who deals with anxiety, thoughts raced through my mind about how to prepare for the worst. Some parts of my life are in order, but others aren’t. It struck me that I might need to convey certain information to others in case I didn’t make it through.
My thoughts swiftly turned to my mother, who, not much older than I am now, lost her battle with cancer. I never had the emotional maturity to engage with her about her fears, and thus I missed the chance to understand what it’s like to face the possibility of death from someone I loved.
Fortunately, while my COVID-19 test result was positive, I didn’t experience severe symptoms and was able to continue working from home, quarantined with my family.
A week later, a college friend shared on social media that he had been hospitalized with COVID-19, but he seemed to be holding up. Days later, his posts turned grave, expressing his fear of dying. Living in another country, I woke up to a message from a trusted relative who had taken over his social media account, only to learn he had passed away.
Although we hadn’t spoken in years, social media kept our connection alive. He was the type of person who always knew how to lighten the mood with a witty comment. His death, just before Easter, resonated deeply with me as a practicing Catholic. It made me reflect on the fact that both of us were in our late 40s, both diagnosed with the same illness, yet I survived.
A few days after my friend’s passing, I received a call from an unfamiliar number, which I let go to voicemail. The message was from a colleague of my therapist. In that instant, I sensed something was wrong. Upon returning the call, I learned my therapist had passed away unexpectedly.
This news hit me hard. I felt sympathy for the person tasked with delivering such news to all of my therapist’s clients. Long-term therapy creates a unique bond, and I found it difficult to process this loss. Despite sharing intimate thoughts with him, I knew little about his personal life. As a fellow therapist, I understood the professional distance he maintained, yet I knew about his dog and sometimes even what he had for lunch.
His absence leaves a void, both personally and within the psychoanalytic community where he taught. It stirred fears about my own mortality. I have a partner and a preschool-aged child, and the thought of them receiving such news is overwhelming. My anxiety often leads me to ruminate on worst-case scenarios, especially concerning my loved ones.
There are no easy answers to the “What if?” questions that plague us. Unlike simpler concerns, like “What if I burned dinner?”—which has straightforward solutions—these thoughts about loss are complex and unsettling.
Since becoming a mother a few years ago, my awareness of life’s fragility has intensified. We bear the responsibility for a child who cannot care for themselves, pouring all our energy into their safety and emotional needs.
Perhaps the only way to confront this reality is through preparation—both practical and emotional. This means ensuring that our loved ones are taken care of and having difficult conversations about the inevitable.
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In summary, my experience with COVID-19 has deepened my appreciation for life and the time I get to spend with my family. Reflecting on loss has prompted me to think about what I can do to ensure my loved ones are cared for, while also embracing the moments we have together.