RELIEF

 by Mary Reiman

Some of you will remember the Rolaids commercial from the 1970s:  How do you spell relief?  Rolaids were tablets to relieve stomach pain. Isn't it interesting when one phrase conjures up such memories.  And even more amazing when you suddenly hear a word over and over and over to describe a variety of feelings for a variety of different reasons. Many of us would say life has given us quite a bit of stomach pain in the past year. I should have checked to see if they still sell Rolaids. 

Relief. Two syllables that have become one of the most often used and powerful words of the month. Describing the depth and breadth of our feelings. A simple word for complex times.  

March 25th, 8:40 a.m. was the moment I received the second vaccine. Relief. It carried a powerful message to my brain that a weight, an inordinately heavy weight, had been lifted. And the word just wouldn't leave my head. It soared and swirled just as the magnificent eagle I saw later that week as I was driving to Iowa. I believe eagle sightings are good omens. I believe certain words are also. This two syllable word kept returning to my consciousness and I knew it had to be addressed before it would let me move on.

March 28th, 2:00 p.m. I walked into the Milford Care Center and hugged my mom for the first time since March 1st, 2020. They were now allowing 30 minute visits each day. Joy. Gratitude. Relief. Joy that she still remembers me. I believe this because she waved as she rounded the corner and I'm just sure she was smiling behind that mask. Overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude that I held in just long enough to get back into my car 30 minutes later where I dropped my head onto my steering wheel and sobbed. Relief. A truly indescribable feeling in my heart and soul that Sunday afternoon. 

April 13th, 10:00 a.m. Relief to be back at the Care Center now sitting beside mom in her room, yes in her room, holding her hand and watching her sleep. As I left the room an hour later, I turned back to say the same phrase I say every time I end a conversation with her, 'I love you.'  Sometimes this past year when I called her on the phone, she just hung up. But that day, that special day, she opened her eyes and replied, 'I love you too.' 

April 20th, 4:15 p.m. The breaking news report. The verdict. A collective sigh of relief. There is no way I can articulate it more clearly or succinctly than the many journalists who have described and shared the thoughts and feelings of so many. Justice. 

It's not about the size of the word or the number of syllables. It's about the visual depth of the meaning. Yes, this month has been filled with emotion and thankfulness, gratitude and joy. That's how I spell relief.