On losing my best friend

Last week found me observing the fourth anniversary of my best friend’s death. We lost him to Covid at the height of the second wave. It still feels like he is out there, wandering about somewhere, and has simply forgotten to call.

When his loss was less than a month old, it used to be difficult to tell the difference between his temporary absence on account of work, and the lifelong sense of loss that was going to be my life. The end result in both cases was the same — me, alone, without him. But while his temporary absence was made tolerable by the hope and knowledge that he will show up soon enough, his death broke my mind’s ability to comprehend any duration of time without him.

His absence was forever. It will now always be forever. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

What do you mean he is not coming?

Whenever I was hit by the realisation that he was never coming, a pit would form in my stomach and it would feel like the ground beneath my feet had disappeared. Going through life felt like looking at a book with no knowledge of grammar or language.

Presence, especially a loved one’s presence, is a strange thing. It is more than just someone being there. It is also the promise of that person when they are not around. It is their being in one’s thoughts, memories, and in the larger view of one’s…