Four days since I heard he was ill. Four days of knotting my stomach, of a disconnected head and a pounding heart. Four days of measuring each breath I take, hoping only that he is still taking them too. Four days of dry mouthed fear and crawling skin. Four days, four days.
Four days since I got the message that Lazarus was ill. Four days hoping, praying, wandering, waking in the night, sweating. Four days of indecision. Too far away to do anything.
Four days of uncertainty: should I stay, should I go. Four days with my hands shaking and no will to eat. Each night I call for peace but there is no peace.
Now I stand outside, my cheeks wet, my body trembling, my head a void. Martha worries about the smell. I am anxious about far more than that. Four days, four days.
The stale air reaches my nostrils. I scream into the abyss. ‘Come out, my best friend, my Lazarus’.
JAL 29.03.2020 during the COVID 19 Pandemic, when the lectionary remembering was the Rising of Lazarus.