My Grandma Died of COVID & She’s More Than A Number

The sound of heavy winds wake you up around dawn that first morning after, cozy in your warm bed, the feel of soft blankets cocooning your body. For a split second you forget and you feel good. Then the memories smack you in the face. The blankets feel scratchy and heavy, your legs feel antsy, memories are suffocating your mind, the dark house doesn’t seem as forbidding as staying in bed alone with your thoughts. Your thoughts feel like a festering pustule.

Bleary eyed, you try to unlock your phone to turn off your alarm for later, you won’t need it, grief woke you. You stand up and wrap your robe, one side, the second side, take in a deep breath, at least you get to still do that, then you loosely tie it with the belt, standing in your dark room, that brutal recollection of reality feels raw.

You greet your dog in the kitchen, his tail wagging wildly, he’s so happy to see you. He’s oblivious, oh, how you wish you were him. What a gift it would be to be that oblivious to yesterday’s tragedy. You stand in front of your coffee maker, the smell of beans doing nothing to wake up your exhausted soul. The dog rests at your feet. He’s been following you around more so than usual. Maybe he’s not that oblivious. Maybe he’s your caregiver right now. After all, your motto is that all dogs are emotional support dogs. As you watch your breath…