Yesterday, as I sat filling out paperwork, for a dental procedure, my phone flashed on. The assistant who was helping me, said, “Oh, that’s nice,” when she saw the picture of me and my wife, in a warm embrace, on the home screen. I said, “Thanks,” then, after a small pause, added, “She passed away in August.” After another small pause, the assistant said, in reply, “Mine did, too, in November. From COVID.” Suddenly, my pain was hers and hers mine.

We talked of grief, of a sad Christmas, how long they’d been married, their children, the grieving son, the new grandchild to be never known, all the things death leaves behind when it comes knocking. The chief difference, however, was that mine came with a long goodbye, after a good life, and for that I feel blessed. Her’s, however, came with suddenness after only eighteen years in their married journey, a bolt from the blue, from a disease that before last year was never even marked as a way men die. I understood the essence but had little grasp of the impact and the seeming unfairness of his passing.

But I think grief is grief, varies mostly in intensity, and knows well a fellow sufferer. Acknowledging her grief gave witness to mine and I imagine did the same for her. It was as if in holding the other’s troubles, if only for a bit, somehow lightened our own, and made them a little easier to bear. I guess because we both knew we weren’t alone. We’d found another fellow traveler on the sad and lonely road and could call out to them if we ever passed this way again.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale