The Deepest Comforts of Life

Comfort was hard to feel, but I became able to perceive each moment with pure love and enjoyment once I was emotionally healed. Comfort is the peace I feel when I hear my son is finding his way and doing okay from the choices he’s made. Comfort is a song that accompanies me when the quiet can sometimes feel lonely. Comfort is knowing I am the creator of my life and only I can choose what’s right. Comfort is finding a place I can finally call home after spending years running from everyone I’ve ever known. Comfort is a pillow to rest my head after working long hours. I’m ready for bed. Comfort is sharing how I feel without the fear of judgment I used to dread from thoughts inside my head. All these comforts bring me joy and make me feel so grateful that I want to rejoice.

Comfort is the look of calm on my brother John’s face, whose life has been filled with stress and strain. He lives with regrets and tries to forget, but the weight of his guilt holds him back from appreciating the life he’s built. Comfort is waking up to the sounds of birds chirping all around in the morning. Comfort is finding what I need at the store with little effort or need to explore. Comfort is knowing I can depend on only a few close friends. Comfort is strolling through the woods and seeing how nature works perfectly together. Comfort is being happy and single without the need to seek a new partner or mingle. I used to be that gal afraid to be on my own and always on the prowl. Comfort is letting go of my pride when things don’t work out how I’d liked. Life is full of lessons I used to question, but now I pay close attention to my misconceptions. All these comforts bring me joy and make me feel so grateful that I want to rejoice.

Comfort is living in my truth even when those around me think I’m aloof. I see the divine in the things in my life, but that is for me to choose. Comfort is drinking a cool glass of water after a long hot day outside playing with my granddaughters. Comfort is feeling the saltwater mist as I walk down the beach in the sizzling summer heat. Comfort is having lunch with an old friend to share stories and advice to reconnect. Comfort is washing the dishes after a family gathering filled with love and heartfelt wishes. Comfort is walking without crutches after weeks of recovering from a fall off Mount Monadnock. I broke a leg and ankle and fractured my face, which left me in immense pain. In time, I felt ready to climb that fateful mountain, but with humility, grace, and a new scar on my face. All these comforts bring me the most joy and make me feel so grateful that I want to rejoice.

Comfort is seeing my mother smile after years of grief that it’s hard to believe. She lost a baby girl named Roxana when she was eleven months old to complications of pneumonia. Many years later, she lost a son named Omar when he was twenty-nine years old to the affliction of alcohol addiction. He was a good brother and a wonderful father to his little son, but he was hurting a ton. When Covid hit our shores, my mother lost so much more. She lost her husband, rock, and best friend, which was devastating. My father was kind and loved to laugh. He shined and was so truly amazing. It took her a long time to recover, but now she is much stronger. She finds comfort in knowing our souls go on even after the physical body is gone. All these comforts bring me joy and make me feel so grateful that I want to rejoice.

Comfort is singing in the shower whenever I feel empowered. Comfort is sitting in front of a roaring fire after hiking the Adirondacks in our winter attire. Comfort is waking up from a terrible dream with monsters and strange creatures I’ve never seen. Comfort feels like a warm touch from my granddaughter Adalee’s little clutch, whom I love so much. Comfort is my sister Carmen surviving cancer, and I couldn’t be happier. She is courageous and will fight for what she believes is right. Comfort is avoiding gossip that only serves to create an escape from people’s unresolved problems. Comfort is visiting my cousin Sandra after 17 years. She is still so kind and patient even as she ages. She welcomed me into her home as if I’d seen her not that long ago. All these comforts bring me joy and make me feel so grateful that I want to rejoice.

Comfort is viewing the moon on a clear night while listening to nature come alive. Comfort is the desire to help someone in need, so they find their own inner peace. Comfort is celebrating my little sister Michelle’s new engineering job where she can utilize her intellectual mind to help improve people’s lives. Comfort is listening to my intuition or the voice of my soul telling me I’ve made the right decision toward fulfilling my goal. Comfort is the silence I hear after spending the day hearing sounds of wind and rain crashing down all around. Comfort is having food, water, and shelter during a hurricane disaster. I’m sending love and healing prayers to all the families who lost a loved one during Hurricane Ian’s eve of fear. I’m sending love and healing prayers to all the service workers and personnel who helped in the fight for us to survive during these dreadful days and nights. Let’s take some time to appreciate each moment we have with those who matter to us while we can.

By

Jacqueline Ortiz