My nephew, Ethan, is a software engineer. A sweet, awkward kid who saw my grief and didn't know what to do with it. He'd come over every other Sunday, fix things around the house, and then we'd sit in uncomfortable silence. One Sunday, he was showing me a new graphic design app on his tablet, trying to get me interested. I was humoring him. As he swiped, I glimpsed an icon on his home screen—a stylized 'V' that looked like a rising gem or something. "What's that one?" I asked, just to fill the silence.
He looked startled, then embarrassed. "Oh, that's... nothing. Just a game site. Forget it."
"Ethan, I'm a widow, not a nun. Is it poker?" A tiny, forgotten part of me stirred. Jamie had loved poker. He'd play with his brothers, all laughter and terrible bluffs.
"Sort of. It's an online casino. I play the blackjack sometimes. It's... algorithmic. Calming." He said it like a confession. "They have good bonuses. Like, a sign-up incentive. A
vavada casino bonus thing. It's just math with pretty graphics."
Math with pretty graphics. That sounded... manageable. Not social. Not committing. No pressure to talk or be interesting. Just math. I could do math. My planner had been full of math. "Show me," I said.
He walked me through it that afternoon. He created an account for me, his fingers flying. "Aunt Sarah, you sure?" I nodded. He explained the welcome bonus, the vavada casino bonus that would match my first deposit. "It gives you more room to play. Think of it like... house money." I deposited a trivial amount, the smallest allowed. The bonus kicked in, doubling it. The number on the screen meant nothing. It was just a score in a game.
That night, after Ethan left, the silence was especially heavy. I opened my laptop. I navigated to the site. I stared at the live casino section—all those real people—and felt a wave of social anxiety. No. Not that. I found the slots. I filtered for "low volatility" and "nature themes." I clicked on one called "Whispering Woods." It was all dappled sunlight, forest creatures, and a soft, melodic soundtrack. It was the opposite of the harsh, ringing silence of my house.
I set my bet to the absolute minimum. I hit spin. The reels turned with a soft whirr. A deer symbol landed next to a stream. A tiny win. I hit spin again. And again. For an hour, I did nothing but click a button and watch the peaceful forest scene. My mind, usually a tornado of "what-ifs" and memories, went quiet. Focused on the simple task. It was a meditation. The bonus money meant I could do this for a long time without feeling like I was "losing." I wasn't playing to win. I was playing to not think.
