Finding Comfort

It's been about two years since I last found myself here, but at the suggestion of some wonderful people in my life, I've decided to dust off the old Blogger, and make a bit of a return. Perhaps it's temporary, perhaps I'll be returning for the long haul. But right now, I'm trying to sit close to things that bring me small bits of comfort. I'm here to see if a return to writing can serve that purpose.

It seems that the world is on fire and all we have at our disposal is one small bucket. Our collective response is to focus on who started the fire. To see how many buckets we can collect. To find out where the water is. To spray down our own homes as we protect ourselves. And while these are good uses of our time, nothing seems to bring me comfort, because I can still sense that no matter our late arrival to the fire, fire is fire. It burns, hot and orange. You can smell the smoke when it's nearby. You can hear the sirens as they pass nearby. And it burns until all that's left are smoldering ashes of loss when its fuel has exhausted. And yet here we are, one bucket in each hand. All of us standing at a safe distance.

And like fire, this virus (from all accounts I find) is temporary (ah, comfort!). But what burns in the path is scary and uncertain. What this fiery virus leaves in its aftermath cannot be predicted, but there are a few things that are certain.  Those who didn't have much to begin with will end up with even less. People will still reject scientific modeling and data despite what is sure to be proven over the next several weeks, even in this country. And yes, we will lose people we love to the ashes of this disease. 

Waiting for these certainties brings back familiar feelings and emotions. For me, I'm experiencing much of the same physical and emotional responses I had when my mom was sick and spending her last days with us. It was a daily roller coaster of emotions as the news changes every hour, a tightness in the chest, a nervous stomach, a heavy heart. Sometimes tears. Grateful for small moments of laughter. Wishing time would pass quickly, but despite all efforts, seconds tick slower and slower.

My goal in writing this is to force myself to identify something that still brings me comfort or a fleeting moment of peace. They're hard to find, but in this forced look around me, there are brief moments we must all savor. Mine include a soft pair of socks, a hot cup of coffee, a long hug from my person. Pictures of animals. Something good to eat. A loved one's virtual face. Meditation. Music. Sunshine. 

Yes, there are small bits of comfort that remain, while the fire burns hotter and hotter outside. The key, though, is to look through the flames, in the space between the embers, through the smoke of the burning ashes. Love remains. Beauty remains. Kindness endures. Friendship is evergreen. May we all pay attention to those moments of comfort, because they are just as real as the fire. Perhaps more potent - hopefully more contagious - and we need them to infect our lives in real time.