So Much Death

As I write this more than 80,000 people in the United States have died of Covid-19. Many of them are African American. Many of them are the most vulnerable among us, the elderly, compromised health, and so forth.

And yet, we are faced with armed protesters demanding we undo the strategies that are keeping the virus from spreading more and taking more lives. And they are egged on by our President.

Their argument? A few must die so that the larger economy can function and the protesters—they believe—can have their lives back.

Hmm. Protesting with an assault rifle strapped to your chest and/or a handgun at your side is cowardly, and intended to intimidate. Not express your voice within our first amendment nor a respectful use of our second amendment.

And to say that those who will die in much, much greater numbers must do so so that the healthy can thrive, is ignorant.

It makes the 80,000+ who have died faceless, nameless… all but meaningless.

These protesters cannot wrap their minds around this fact. They cannot generate the internal sense of empathy that could allow them to make better choices.

But there is some truth to this for all of us. With so many dead, how can we wrap our minds and hearts around each individual tragedy?

As with writing when I lose the forest for the trees or vice-versa, it is about narrowing, finding the meaning of it.

To do that, I think it helps to study just one of the many lives lost. Learn but one person and who they were, that they were loved and depended upon, and you can start to feel the grief for all the many lost souls.

We live in a connected age of social media. We can connect with the life of one person in myriad ways and see their last posts on Facebook, their blog, and so on. We can see the reaction of people who love them to their death.

We can feel their presence and their loss.

And by doing this, we can begin to feel and mourn and come to terms with the massive scope of this monstrous loss that shows no sign of abating (looking at our failed president).

I came to this while reading Patricia Bosworth’s memoir last night. It is wonderful and as I read, the fact of her death would come to me like an intrusive thought. And I felt her loss. I read and learned her life, thoughts, goals, loves, pains, sexual life, and more, and I saw/see her as a full person.

And, her life was worth saving.