Life in the (Widow) Hood: Breaking the Glass

“Why aren’t you also worried about the person in that ambulance and what’s happened to them?” my oldest son, now a young adult, asked as an ambulance roared past. We were driving to the cemetery where he was to be a pallbearer for one of his oldest friends -- the first of his now-two friends to take their own lives in the middle of the pandemic, within two months of each other.

I contemplated my answer. My son is both thoughtful and obstructionist. He is often looking for an argument, or to play devil’s advocate. When he was young, it was righteous indignation around the fact that he had to wear a coat to walk to school, or why optional homework assignments should be completed. Today, with his clever mind and arcane knowledge on a range of topics, it’s about the pleasure of and interest in debate for its own sake.

“Because I don’t know them, I don’t know the circumstances of why the ambulance is needed right now, and because my heart is already full with the loss of someone we know and love today” I replied, not quite satisfied with my answer. Neither was he.

He pushed on. “But what about the 250,000 people who have died of Covid? Why aren’t you mourning them as well? Isn’t there a societal…” He paused for the right concept. “A societal mandate to think about our fellow citizens? What about the six million?”

Ah. Hebrew school had reached him after all.  

“It’s too big a number for a human to grasp,” I said. “The human brain is designed to focus on the individual. The collective is a more metaphysical conundrum.”

But it still didn’t ring true. It didn’t ring true three months ago, even when we couldn’t believe that we had passed the 250,000 mark. It was too big a number. It was too much to process. Today, as we count down the hours to the new administration and simultaneously reach 400,000 dead, my numbness continues to grow. But now it’s also different. Now I have people who have been personally affected by Covid, who have lost someone they love. I continue to fear that it’s right around the corner for me as well, waiting to take me or someone in my close orbit. That danger feels real and present.