I can’t believe that we haven’t commemorated our covid-19 deaths — 87,649 as of this moment — eighty-seven thousand six hundred and forty-nine. Where is the country’s mourning? The daily moments of silence for those who died and those who suffer? Our collective resolve to do better and unite for the greater good?
Covid-19 has changed things for everyone. Those who fall sick suffer physical changes. Families and friends shift into situations of grief and loss. Those who die experience the final, ultimate, no-going-back change. The rest of us change our behavior to prevent more death and sickness. Change, change, change, change. But what does it all mean, if we don’t make meaning out of it?
One way to make it mean something is to choose a change to go with all the unchosen changes. It can be anything that means something to you. Something you wouldn’t have done otherwise. Like planting a seed. Planting a tree. Writing a poem. Taking a day off from social media, maybe once week. Some kind of offering for all the people we’ve lost.
Covid Memorial Day
Since this morning when I began writing this post, the national death count rose to 88,450. Another 801 coffins filled, another 801 families crying, another 801 lives snuffed out. For all these 88,450 reasons (and counting), my household is planning our own covid memorial service.
We think it will be on Friday, May 22. Probably around sunset. We’re not sure yet how it will go, but we will dress up somewhat from our standard quarantine wardrobes. There will be flowers. Candles. Some kind of sacred sound, probably from our singing bowl. Maybe we’ll share our chosen changes with each other. I think we’ll end with a special meal. Maybe then we’ll watch a movie.
It’s a tiny gesture, I know, but it’s something. And a little meaning-making can go a long way. I share all this in case you might find any part of it useful. Mourning is necessary to heal from loss, and when we honor the dead, life becomes more precious. Since we can’t mourn together in person right now, maybe we can help each other share the grief in spirit, each in our own way.
My One Chosen Change
The other day I was thinking about what change I wanted to choose, and I asked my beloved husband Michael how his family observed the Sabbath when he was young. He said they didn’t do any writing that day.
“What, none?” I said. “Not even a list? Or a note to yourself?”
Not even a list, says Michael. Not even a note.
Wow. Could I give up lists for a day? Journaling? What about reading? Could I sacrifice (a word whose roots mean “to make sacred”) my lettered habits in honor of those who died?
Well, they had to give up all reading and writing forever. And for a change to mean something, it’s got to really mean something. So, ok. For all the lives that left us too soon, I will set aside the paper and pens for one day every week.
