COVID-19 Deaths Month 9: November

Most of my friends are working from home now (or trying to work from home while also simultaneously acting as IT person for their children all day). A lot of my friends are in the kind of jobs that require them to work and interact with the public. It’s retail season. I worry for them. I am certain the Post office will see a higher number of packages sent out this December.

And still, people are planning holiday visits…

I fear the numbers will climb after Thanksgiving.

I keep praying it does not get worse. I remind myself that we only know what we know until we learn it to be untrue. The science will change as we learn new things about this particular virus. It's important that we stay open to that. The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

This month's death toll went up again.

 

In November, we lost thirty-six thousand seven-hundred and sixty-eight Americans.

36,768

That's near the total population of the city of Valley Stream, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 288,894 Americans have died of it.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

Today

 

Today I’m flying low and I’m

not saying a word.

I’m letting all of the voodoos of ambition

sleep.

 

The world goes on as it must,

the bees in the garden rumbling a little,

the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.

And so forth.

 

But I’m taking the day off.

Quiet as a feather.

I hardly move though really I’m traveling

a terrific distance.

 

Stillness. One of the doors

Into the temple.

 

~ Mary Oliver

 

COVID-19 Deaths Month 8: October

I still can’t believe we have lost over 200,000 Americans to this virus. People are done with staying at home. They miss going out. They miss concerts and theatre and sports and… I get it. So do my friends who are essential workers and have HAD to leave their homes and expose themselves to the public.

My friends who are doctors and nurses and nursing care workers and hospice workers and housekeepers and custodians and janitors are tired. They are overworked and understaffed and they need us to be better than we’re being. And we can best help them by staying home as much as we can. I mean, some places still do not require masks in public spaces. I can’t believe we’re still questioning the science about how viruses spread.

This is the month where I specifically focus on honoring the dead. This month that focus was on over 200,000 strangers.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

 

In October, we lost twenty-three thousand three-hundred and three Americans.

23,303

That's near the total population of the city of Peekskill, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 252,126 Americans have died of it.

 

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

Stay Home

 

I will wait here in the fields

to see how well the rain

brings on the grass.

In the labor of the fields

longer than a man’s life

I am at home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

 

I will be standing in the woods

where the old trees

move only with the wind

and then with gravity.

In the stillness of the trees

I am home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

 

~ Wendell Berry

Remembering Those Who Died of COVID-19 This Samhain

This is the night each year where I speak the names of the Recent Dead, which for my purposes is anyone who died since the last time I did my personal ritual. Sometimes I include people who I did not know had previously passed. I light candles and call to my Ancestors. I ask them to welcome the souls of those who have died in the last year. I ask them to show any stragglers the path to peace.

This year I felt called to be in service to a more specific intention and focus. I will still do my private ritual for the recent dead. But on All Hallow's Eve under the blessing of the Blue Moon I will do a ritual for those who have passed this last year as a result of COVID-19.

We are still in the thick of this virus. We do not yet have control of it and winter is coming. As of this morning there are 226,132 souls to bid passage and rest to, just from this virus alone.

Just before October 31st becomes November 1st I will light my candles on my ancestor altar. You don't have to use candles. Any source of intentional light will work. I will open my heart to my family lines of ancestors, both blood and chosen. And I will speak the number of the dead until I feel my intention connect with other world and I am filled with a sense of peace.

I invite any of you who feel called to join me. I will update the total number of dead after dusk: 228,185 souls.

Blessed Samhain co-walkers.

May those we love live on through us.

My Family & the Flu of 1918

[Stock photo]

It's October in America. Some of us have been living under restrictions and in isolation since March. I know people who have lost family members they did not get to see. In this country we have currently lost 208,000 deaths from COVID-19. There have been over 1 million deaths globally.

How can we find hope and strength while still in the midst of this pandemic?

The Flu of 1918

I looked to our history. And I looked to my history. This is not our first pandemic that has required masks and isolation. Some media call it the Influenza Epidemic of 1918 or the Influenza Pandemic. Most commonly it is known as the Spanish Flu. That is a misnomer (I'll explain that below). 

The Flu of 1918 first made its appearance in March of that same year in the case of an Army cook in Kansas. It spread through the Camp but was not seen to be deadlier than an average flu. Then the troops were deployed. America had joined World War I in April of 1917. Our troops brought the new flu to England with them and it spread through Europe, through the French and British troops in April and May.

So why do we know it as the Spanish Flu of 1918? None of the other countries were publishing any news that could be harmful to their troops and stories of illness among the soldiers counted. Spain was the only country putting out information about this new and deadly flu and they were the first country to write about it. 

[Stock photo]

The second wave of the 1918 Flu was far deadlier than the first. Just as the deaths seemed to ebb in August, the virus mutated and troops returned from England infected with a new strain. The most brutal months occurred in the fall of 1918, from September to November.

In the month of October 1918 alone, 195,000 Americans died of it. The new strain claimed the lives of the old and very young as well as previously healthy adults in their prime and their deaths were horrific to the medical community. Medical science didn't understand what viruses were let alone the cytokine explosion effect the pandemic had on it's victims. 

Life in Buffalo NY

All of my ancestors who were alive during the Flu of 1918 lived in Western New York, close to Lake Ontario. People stayed inside as much as possible. Schools and theatres and stores closed. Everything was shut down. People tried whatever remedies they could conceive, like wearing bags of camphor around their necks.

Everyone wore masks. The mayor of Buffalo restricted gatherings of more than 10 people. All restrictions were enforced, and many enforced within the community itself. But there were groups that tried to get special dispensation to gather and meet. Of course there were. There was even a large anti-mask group that rose up in San Francisco, claiming their Rights were being infringed upon.

During a global health crisis.

Towns along the railroads were particularly afflicted as it spread. So many medical people were overseas aiding the war effort that hospitals and casket makers were overwhelmed. There were just too many cases and too many dead.

It has happened before. It could happen again. Where can we find strength after such a long period of isolating when we know it s not over yet?

My Great-Great Grandparents' World

I wanted to know the names and faces of my ancestors who had lived to see such times before and I checked my family tree to see who was alive during the worst months of the pandemic.

My great-great-grandmother Theresa Tenney-Eaton, a widow, was 58. She lived in Somerset NY and was the head of house, living with her son, William Bennett, 38, and his wife, Lena, 40. Their five children were also living with Theresa. On September 12, during the worst months of virus, William registered his World War I draft card. All survived.

Roy Eaton & Hattie Smith  & family

Theresa's other son and my great-grandpa Royal Eaton, 45, and his wife Hattie Eva Smith, 36, lived in Auburn NY with their three children, including my Grandpa Mark who was just three years old. Great-grandpa Roy also registered his WWI draft card on Sept 2, during the thick of the flu. All survived.

Emma Whitcher, Ruth Ruston, & Ruth Ireland

My 2x great-grandparents Charles Ruston, 64, and Ruth Ireland, 57, were living in Lockport NY with their daughters Maude, 36, and Ruth, 21. All survived.

Their son and my great-grandpa Frank Ruston, 29, and his wife Minnie Wicker, 27, had been married for five years. Their oldest child, my Grandma Ruth, was 2. Minnie's mother, my widowed 2x great-grandma Emma Whitcher-Wicker, was 70 years old and lived with them in Lockport NY, along with a schoolteacher boarder. All survived.

Katherine Pils & young grandchildren

My German great-great-grandparents George Art, 47, and Katherine Pils, 45, were servants working for the wealthy Kenan family. The couple were living with their youngest two children, Walter, 23, & Alice, 20. All survived.

Their eldest son, and my great-grandpa Robert Art, 25, and his wife Margaret Burke, 24. had been married and living in Lockport for five years. They had two small daughters, the youngest having been born just that same year. There had been a second daughter who died in 1916. All alive during the flu survived.

In Newfane NY my great-great-grandparents Lafayette Riddle, 48, and Frances Gillette, 43, still had four kids home on the farm and my great-grandpa Harold, 15, was one of them. All survived.

Even my great-great-great-grandparents Albert Durant, 76, and Rosella LaValley, 75, both of Quebec origins, survived, though Albert died two years later and Rosella the year after him.

Elsie Durant, far left in glasses, and other Durants

Their son, my great-great-grandpa George Durant, 39, and Emma Louise Burnah, 49, were newly living in Lockport, having moved from Piercefield NY. My great-grandma Elsie, 13, was the last of their children still at home.

The End of the Flu of 1918

At the time, PA state medical inspector W.E. Matthews said, "The most dangerous time of all is right now, when the disease is disappearing. There is always the possibility of people letting up in their precautions or not taking the precautions that are so necessary in checking the spread of the disease." 

[Stock photo]

He was right. There was a third wave of deaths, with as high a count as the second one. History believes the virus ebbed when the war ended because we stopped shipping and mobilizing troops around the world, cross-contaminating our countries.

The pandemic lasted from 1918-1919. It killed 2-5 million people globally. Over 675,000 Americans died of it over two years. We're at 208,000 after seven months.

And Now?

History teaches us that there will be an end to this version of pandemic. We know that we have medical knowledge and technology we didn't have then. There are reasons to be hopeful. But we have to do our part.

The second wave has not struck us yet. 

Wear your masks to protect other people from your germs. Wear your masks to protect you from other people's germs. Wash your hands regularly. Socially-distance for real. Isolate if you feel unwell. Invest in a thermometer.

May we all come through the other side of this. 

COVID-19 Deaths Month 7: September

 

The college students have been mostly good in our town since the first weekend. There were parties. But the schools cracked down quickly and threatened to send them home. It is oddly eerie for the neighborhood to be so quiet, so much so that the autumn equinox snuck up on us. How is it fall already? We have been in some phase of lockdown for six months now. 

I celebrated by finally risking a haircut, with all the proper precautions in place. There were only four of us in the entire salon. My house has ordered food in a few times but we are sure to tip very well. We’ve stopped wiping down our groceries when we get home as it was found to be unnecessary. The science around the virus keeps evolving. We are learning more about it.

The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In September, we lost twenty-two thousand one-hundred and eighty-six Americans.

22,186

That's near the total population of the city of Garden City, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 228,823 Americans have died of it.

 

Over 200,000 Americans have died of COVID-19.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

[I carry your heart with me (I carry it in)]

 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

                                                i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

~e.e. cummings

Labyrinth Walking & Apple Magic at the Equinox

It is the start of autumn, and the time of year when my Work takes me down into the internal labyrinth, seeking to know myself better.

What do I want to work on? What do I want to explore? Where do I need to go?

We all have versions of ourselves we have been that no longer are. There are versions of ourselves we thought we might be. And there are versions of ourselves that, whatever the circumstances, we can no longer be.

I hold this at the entrance. I focus on breath. I focus on walking, feet on the earth.

Today the world is dark and hard. The way ahead is uncertain. But I am here, breathing. Walking in and out of the labyrinth within me.

Who have we been? Who are we becoming? Who will we be tomorrow?

I stand at the first turn. What do I no longer need? What no longer serves me? What do I still hold onto that hurts me? I shed them, one by one, breath by breath, step by step, going deeper down into the labyrinth.

It’s been a hard year. This winter will not be easier. I carry this knowledge into the dark with me, making it an ally not a deterrent. I use a favorite fictional passage to stoke my courage to see the truth.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” (Frank Herbert, Dune)

The Ritual

In preparation I make a rattle each year with apple seeds harvested from our local orchard and an empty medicine bottle. And for meditation purposes, and lack of yard, I use a finger labyrinth. I’ve walked enough labyrinths that I have body memory of that turning inward and outward but the visual movement is still helpful. 

The ritual I do is simple. As always, I encourage people to adapt it to what works for them. This is what works for me.

I rattle until I feel myself slipping into a calm awareness of everything but pulled by nothing. 

And then I walk the labyrinth, pausing as I make each turn. Each time I ask myself, what do I no longer need? What no longer serves me? What do I still hold onto that hurts me? I shed them, one by one, breath by breath, step by step, going deeper down into the labyrinth, deeper into myself.

What do I need to work on? Where do I need to go? Who am I becoming now?

The Labyrinth

I use a lap labyrinth made by my teacher and friend Tracy at One Path Labyrinth. The grooves are the perfect size for my finger. But you can also use a printed labyrinth of the internet or draw your own. Get creative. The more personal you make it, the better the experience it will be. And by all means, if you have access to an actual labyrinth, or have enough yard to create a temporary one, I highly recommend it.

COVID-19 Deaths Month 6: August

The virus is the dominant force in our world right now. It dictates what rules need occur. We must be like the reed and bend lest we break. The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

Our numbers have been better this summer than I expected them to be. We moved through Phase Three of reopening New York into Phase Four this month, which means most things can be open as long as they can follow covid protocols. Most restaurants spent the last couple of months building outdoor seating and spaces, waiting for this, even while doing take-out orders. But we’ve seen, in town, businesses already flaunting the rules by letting people sit inside their restaurants to eat. They got in trouble for it. We’re not supposed to gather indoors with more than 10-25 people, depending on the size of the space. Our local covid numbers are getting traced back to bars and restaurants and gyms. But the death rate is not climbing as much.

It’s been a long half a year. Even this introverted hermit is feeling the absence of the little social contact I had come to rely on. It propels me to be vigilant about safety protocols so that we can get through this sooner than later.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In August, we lost thirty-one thousand six-hundred and thirty-five Americans.

31,635

That's near the total population of the city of Jamestown, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 206,637 Americans have died of it.

 

Over 200,000 Americans have now died of COVID-19.

 

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

 

~ Mary Oliver

My Family and the Ratification of the 19th Amendment

Great-grandma Minnie Ruston in the glasses, center.

On August 18, 1920 it was written into law that voting rights could not be denied based on sex. Suffragettes had been protesting for the right to vote for decades. An early Women’s Rights convention was held in Seneca Falls in 1848, seventy-two years before the amendment was ratified.

This photo is of an unknown group of women from around the 1920s. My 1x great-grandmother Minnie Ruston is facing the camera in the glasses in the center. She was the daughter of a prominent business owner, fire chief, and Mason, Hiram Wicker. I have not yet been able to identify these women. There are other photos of the white-haired woman in the back row with the black robes on, but I am uncertain who she is.

Suffragette white in 1917?

[It’s important to note, considering how long women had to fight for it, that many states responded by passing laws to limit the freedoms of black citizens, including voting rights. It wasn’t until the Voting Rights Act of 1965 that black women (and men) had the full and legal right to vote. That’s forty-five years after the Amendment.]

It made me wonder where my ancestors were in their lives in 1920. It was only 100 years ago and my female ancestors could not vote. I’ll never know what they thought about women’s rights to vote—I know that not all women were in support of it, though I have learned enough about some families to make some educated guesses. So I searched our archives for photos of my ancestors who were alive at the time, within a few years, and here they are:

My 1x great-grandparents Royal Levant Eaton and Hattie Eva Smith-Eaton were 47 and 38 years old with three children. My grandfather Mark Dutcher Eaton was 5 years old, the youngest in the second photograph. They were living in Auburn, NY where Roy was working as a prison guard.

Royal’s mother Theresa Cordelia Tenney-Eaton was 70 years old, living in Somerset, NY with her son Hubert and his family.

Hattie’s grandmother, my 3x great-grandmother Eliza Marsh Bird-Dutcher was 83 years old living in Somerset with her daughter Carrie and her family. Here she is, on the left, with her son-in-law's mother, Sophia Sears-Smith. Sophia died soon after this was taken, a decade before ratification.

Frank Ruston tucking his head. Either with his wife Minnie, or Minnie took the photo.

Minnie Wicker-Ruston and son Dickie and daughter Ruth, my grandma, around 1922.

Emma Whitcher-Wicker, front right, with sisters Ellen, Harriet, and Frances, l-r.

My grandmother Ruth Emma Ruston was 4 years old, living with my 1x great-grandparents Frank William Ruston and Minnie Estelle Wicker-Ruston in Lockport, NY. Frank and Minnie were 32 and 30 years old and he was employed as an accountant. Minnie’s mother Emma Angeline Whitcher-Wicker, 75, lived with them.

Frank’s parents Charles Evan Ruston and Ruth Ireland-Ruston, 73 and 59 years old, were both first generation immigrants living at their own home in Lockport.  He was still employed by the Harrison Manufacturing factory. (In my childhood it was the Harrison-Radiator factory.)

Robert George Art and Margaret Loretta Burke-Art were both 28 years old, living in Lockport, with two young daughters. He was working as a blacksmith.

Robert’s parents, my 2x great-grandparents, George Art and Katherine Pils-Art, 50 and 49 years old, were both employed by the wealthy Kenan family as their private gardener and housekeeper. Here Katherine is with other housekeepers, second one in from the right.

Margaret’s father, my 2x great-grandfather Frank Burke was 57, worked as the watchman for a city building in Lockport. He’s listed as married, not widowed, living with five of his children, though his wife Eliza Conners-Burke is not included on the census report. She would have been 54 at the time. I don't have any photos of them.

My 1x great-grandfather Harold Riddle, in the light suit, was 17 years old, living at home with my 2x great-grandparents Lafayette Riddle and Frances Ann Gillette-Riddle, 47 and 43 years old. With five of their six children in Newfane, NY.

Harold and Elsie in 1924 when they married.

My 1x great-grandmother Elsie Elizabeth Durant was 16, the last Durant child still at home. My 2x great-grandparents George Durant and Emma Louise Burnah-Durant, 51 and 53, lived in Lockport, NY where he worked at a Block Company. His father Albert died earlier that year in Vermont. His mother Rosella Lavalley-Durant, my 3x great-grandmother, 82 years old, was working as a housekeeper in Vermont.

Rosella Lavalley-Durant

I do not know what they thought but I know where they were and who their descendants became. I know my great-grandma Minnie was an avid photographer and these photos of this group of women survived all these decades later so they must have been important to her, and so they are important to me.

Same group of women with Minnie behind the camera.

COVID-19 Deaths Month 5: July

I spent the whole of the month isolating in a cottage with my parents. We all isolated for two weeks beforehand. Even though I usually only see them a couple of times a year, there was a tinge of mortality in the air that made those hugs sweeter, and each touch, each connection more meaningful.

Our month-long visit was a balm that I needed. Events occurred that made it fortuitous that I was present. But even as much as I needed the break it was mitigated by the sea of visitors without masks in the nearby park and shoreline. Each morning walk I ended up using my cane to lift up discarded (and mostly unused) masks. My faith in humanity is shaken.

I have started having nightmares about needing to be intubated again. I have damage from my previous intubation during my accident so I am at-risk for COVID-19 complications. I see every maskless face as a threat against my health.

I know that the virus is taking lives across all continents, not just in America, but my heart can only bear to keep my eyes on this land. The global numbers are disheartening. And if this is going to be a long haul, we need to take care of ourselves. We need to care for each other better.

 

But here’s the other thing I noticed. I found respite in my time in nature. I saw evidence of nature blooming in our absence. There were more kinds of birds than I have seen at that shore in 20 years, more wild patches of flowers. It was breathtaking. It gave me hope for the world, in spite of humanity.

 

The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

This month's death toll declined! It feels like we have a bit of breathing room. For as disgusting as the carelessly discarded masks are, we must be doing some things right.

 

 

In July, we lost twenty-three thousand eight-hundred and fifty-one Americans.

23,851

That's near the total population of the city of Kingston, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 175,002 Americans have died of it.

 

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.

All things break. And all things can be mended.

Not with time, as they say, but with intention.

So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.

The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.

 

~ L.R. Knost