Watching someone’s soul fall apart in front of my helpless eyes is one of the most tragic things I have ever experienced. Just as I was getting ready to write a letter about falling in love with my incredible boyfriend, he messaged me with the agonizing news of his father’s passing. For 30 minutes, we stayed on Skype sobbing our eyes out. I had never watched anyone unveil the many layers of their emotions to me. His pain was so heart-wrenching that I forgot to breathe, I forgot to wipe the tears away before they made a pond on my keyboard, and I forgot how to speak the cliche words of comfort because they had never seemed so inapplicable. There were no words I could ever say that would justify the death of his father after a long and treacherous battle with his health. My heart grieves for the son who was left behind. My heart grieves for the man who was once a child beside his father. My heart grieves for the piece of my boyfriend I am sure was taken in the wake of this unforeseen tragedy. That piece will never be returned in this lifetime.

I only wish I could share enough of his pain so that his burden could be lighter. I wish he had no regrets about being absent when his father’s last breath was exhaled. I wish that I could have the capacity to help him, but I am only a human myself. In moments such as these I am reminded that I myself am not exempt from the misfortunes of life, that I am only a soldier training for when the bullet decides it is my turn to suffer. Right now, I am here to tend to the wounds of my beloved, though his will never heal. That is one of the curses of loss for sure. I try to see the beauty in the subtle and precious moments of life but it is so hard when someone’s suffering shows how easy it is to want to discredit all of life. And that’s okay, because life is a balance of dark and light. Which is to say that it is perfectly fine to live where the sun never rises. That’s our right to choose that, and I want my boyfriend to choose a world where he has the chance to see the stars and maybe somewhere within those specks see a new thread of hope.

I could never say, “I understand what you feel...you’ll be okay...he’s in a better place” because I would be lying. I listen...and carefully. I share my vulnerability and my emotions. I remind him that it’s okay not to be okay. These simple gestures are the only truth that come from me. You see, death is such a peculiar thing which demands that we sacrifice our greatest treasures in exchange for...for what? There is no barter system, no lesson to learn from such unnecessary pain which wishes to destroy a sane person’s soul. Maybe with the loss of love we somehow fill it with the condolences and mourning of others. We look to see how many people they changed and inspired, loved and held dear. We look to see how lonely we become without them and how much they meant to the foundation of our lives. But is that the gift of death? Not necessarily. Not when a funeral is only a day which ends, giving others permission to go on with their lives. Death offers nothing in return for our loss.

To my boyfriend, no words in the human language could ever express how much I wish to hold you for hours and say nothing. I wish to have met your father in person, and maybe now we have. Someone’s presence was here in my room after the Skype call ended, and I have a feeling such a warm and loving soul could only be that of your very own idol. I wish to understand your pain fully.

I wish there was something on this earth to make everything okay again, even if just slightly. All I have to offer is my patience, my open ears, my hands to hold you, and my lips to tell you that I’m right here.