The Weight of Loss: Reflections on 5 Years Since Covid

Five years ago, the world was forever changed by the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, a crisis that devastated millions of lives. For many of us, it wasn’t just the illness itself that left scars, but the deep, personal losses that came with it. My oldest sister, Bertha, was one of those we lost to COVID. Today, as we mark the five-year anniversary of the pandemic, I find myself reflecting on how grief has shaped my life—and how it continues to shape the lives of survivors like me. My podcast co-host Teresa is also a survivor in that not long after Bertha passed she too lost her beloved brother Andre to covid. Those were some very rough days. I was worried about her; she was worried about me.

There was a story in last week’s New York Times which chronicled a family who lost five family members to covid. Elizabeth Fusco’s family frequently held family dinners. https://www.nytimes.com/2025/03/10/nyregion/fusco-family-covid-deaths-new-jersey.html When Covid hit, she lost her mom, three siblings and an aunt. For the survivors the article noted that “Covid will never be over.” I feel the same way.

It’s been two years since Bertha’s passing, and while time has passed, the grief is still very much a part of me. As I write this, I hope to offer something to those who are still navigating their own pain, or perhaps to simply affirm that what you're feeling is valid. Grief, especially from the loss of someone as close as a sister, can be isolating and complicated. It feels as if you’re open, exposed, and fragile—especially in moments when the weight of that absence is too much to carry.

The loss of Bertha has felt different from any other loss I’ve experienced, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because this death is so tied to the global trauma, we all endured. COVID-19 stole more than lives—it stole time, closeness, and a sense of security we once had in our world. I have always considered my sisters to be best friends, and in the midst of a pandemic that saw so many separated from their loved ones, the loss of Bertha felt even more profound.

What makes her death particularly difficult is the way it constantly reminds me of my own mortality. I’m not scared of death, but I’m acutely aware of how fragile life is now. Her passing has left a hole that I feel every single day, a void that isn’t easily filled. As I continue through my healing process, I’ve realized that grief isn’t something that goes away; it’s something you learn to carry. Some days, I feel stronger, as if I’m making progress. I can wake up, do my workout, take a shower, and carry on with my day. It feels like I'm moving forward—until, without warning, that weight comes crashing back down on me.

Just the smallest reminder, something that ties me to Bertha, can trigger that heavy feeling in my chest. It’s as if the grief returns in waves, each one harder to bear than the last. I remember trying to write a thank you note to the funeral home that had handled Bertha’s arrangements. I wanted to express my gratitude for their care and professionalism, but when I picked up the card, the weight of her loss hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind went blank, I couldn’t think clearly, and even the simplest words became impossible to spell. I had to put it aside, knowing I wasn’t ready.

However, as I sit with this grief, I’ve noticed something important. Each time that weight descends on me, it feels slightly lighter than before. It’s hard to explain, but I can feel myself moving in the right direction, even if I don’t have the strength to move as quickly as I’d like. The process of healing, especially in the aftermath of such a global trauma, takes time. But I have faith that I’m headed toward a place where the pain will soften, and I’ll find peace.

As we reach the five-year anniversary of the pandemic, I reflect not just on the losses that so many of us have endured, but also on the strength it takes to survive them. Grief is a lifelong companion, but so is healing. If you’ve lost someone close to you during this time, or even before, know that you are not alone. The weight of loss may never fully lift, but with time, you’ll find a way to carry it. And one day, you’ll realize you’re moving forward, even when it feels like you can’t.

Lou