I’ll remember loving you the time the world stood still.
I’ll remember the death counts and statistics and how they accompanied each trip to the grocery store.
I’ll remember that the groceries doubled and so did those trips to the grocery store.
I’ll remember the world of uncertainty, but also how certain I was of you.
I’ll remember missing the hugs of the people we loved but holding on to each other tighter because of it.
I’ll remember watching you sanitize the groceries, wash your hands, get the door handles and the credit cards.
And that you willingly did it all again each time—taking every vigilant step so your family would not get sick.
I’ll remember every little cough, every toss and turn, and how each time you pulled me closer.
Held me tighter.
I’ll remember standing with you on our porch, looking over to the church, and watching a funeral conducted out of the back of a hearse.
I’ll remember crying on my knees.
And you, getting down on my level.
Together, totally understanding how very small we actually are.
But how very big it feels to have each other.
For better or worse, pandemic or health.
Life and death, for whatever comes next.
I’ll remember loving you.