Like rain, they fall;
a hard-driving, relentless rain that comes in slantwise
and hits the ground so hard it bounces.

Angry words,
drenched in frustration and spite, land, venomous, on the page;
a momentary catharsis, but no respite from pain.
They bring neither comfort nor healing balm for a grief-stricken heart.

Selfish expressions of anxiety and fear,
they feel, in this moment, a necessary indulgence.
While quelling the torrent seems an utter impossibility.

My heart beats uneasily.
Fluttering and tightness cause a catch in my breath.
I stand helpless as the enemy takes hold and sparks of hope dim.
Loved ones, alone,
with only the gloved hand of a stranger and the ringing of alarm bells
to usher them to God.

I watch in horror as our healers fall ill, one by one.
Left to fight a war with no armor, sacrificial lambs to the slaughter.
“Why am I not one of them? Please, don’t let me be one of them.”
Sorrow, disgust, relief, and guilt swirl violently, my soul embattled.
This loss of precious life is maddening. It is unbearable.
It is unnecessary.

The rains are unending. The fear is palpable.
We wall ourselves off to slow the gathering waters
and steel ourselves to calm the rising panic.
Our children know little difference. Their worries are few.
We shield them from the harshness of an impossible reality,
while, quietly, we plan for death.

I wish I could feel lightness again; the sunshine on my face;
a warm breeze, drying the floodwaters and
making everything feel fresh and clean;
the air heavy with possibilities and renewal.

Though the raging storm now passes, a pall lies thick upon the horizon.
No light yet pierces the fog and haze.
In the acknowledgement that none will come to save us,
A resilience to save ourselves emerges.

We who stand alone, stand together.
A stronger people once more.
It is this communion that brings us hope.
It is this communion that offers rescue.