One evening in early March, before we were all sent home to shelter, I got a call from my mother. She told me that her cousin and her cousin’s husband had been rushed to the emergency room. Both were diagnosed with pneumonia. Shortly after entering the hospital my mother’s cousin died. She was 88. Her husband spent weeks linked to life by a ventilator. Tests later revealed that both were positive for the Coronavirus.
Death by an infectious disease is an exceptionally lonely experience. When my grandmothers died some years ago family members sat by their bedsides for hours, soothing them as best we could. By contrast, no one was allowed to be close to our mother’s cousin, to hold her hand, gently knead her aching muscles, or express words of love that were deeply felt but may never have been shared. In her final hours she did speak to a family member by phone. Her last words, spoken between labored and fragile breaths were, “Remember….me.”
The Coronavirus has wound its way across the globe, devastating families, cities and even countries in its path. Along its journey it has unveiled truths about the state of our values, relationships and societies that are breathtaking in both their beauty and their brutality.
