This Isn't a Magic Spell
When my mom died years ago, I remember who showed up. And who didn’t. And how surprised I was in both directions, to some extent.
A dear friend told me she’d call me to check in, in a couple of weeks. She never did. She never texted either. I heard from her after that, inviting me to her baby shower. I didn’t go. We had been inseparable, until we weren’t. And it was something I couldn’t forgive. And it was something she never asked for forgiveness for.
I know that, often, the problem is that people don’t know what to say. They don’t know the right words, so they don’t give you any. And I think that’s the wrong thing entirely. The right words don’t exist. This isn’t a magic spell. A hard situation isn’t in want of fixing—it’s in want to connection. Care. Affection. A reminder that, hey, you’re not alone.
Because it’s easy to feel alone when things are sideways, and you’re hurting. It’s easy to feel isolated and exhausted. Because feelings are hard.
You don’t the right words—you just need a hand to hold. Whenever things are difficult, that’s it. That’s the secret: love. Care. Compassion. Someone to remind you that it won’t always be this hard or this bad.
When things are rough, that’s what I try to do. I can make food, if someone is close by. I can send food, if they aren’t. I can pop a card in the mail. I can send a text. I can say, “Hey, if you need an ear, let’s set up a call. Or a Zoom.”
You don’t have to fix or solve every problem. You don’t have to have a magic spell to unravel or cure. But being there? It’s its own magic. It matters. What you do matters.
I’ve been thinking on this lately, as I’ve spent time checking in on those I care about. In the middle of all the madness, be loving and kind. That’s the trick to it, really. The world can make you hard. The world can make you cynical. The world can flint until all your edges are rough.
Or it could do the opposite. It could radicalize you to love harder. To being more outspoken. To be wildly warm and affectionate and present.
You can let the noise turn your heart cold. Or.
Or. Or. Or.
I choose or. I choose to hold up my heart like goddamn lighthouse.
What about you?
Newest poem at Strange Horizons.