Do it for Laura
There's a place in Earlville, about five miles from where I live, called The Christmas Shop. The store isn't open year-round, only at Christmastime, and sells, as its name suggests, Christmas things: garland and ornaments and lights and other trinkets, not your Saks Fifth Avenue overpriced fifty-dollar glass baubles but nice basic stuff at very discount prices. I've bought lots of things there to fill out the holes in my holiday decorating, tiny silver trees to go with my tiny tree collection, oversized gold balls to hang from my porch eaves, window candles to replace those whose fuses have blown for the last time. I haven't gone there every season, just discovered the shop a few years back when my cousin, who volunteers there, told me about it. The store is set up nicely in a side-street building, a temporary spot, and is staffed by volunteers like my cousin. All the merchandise is donated and raises money (I think) for a local charity or church. The atmosphere is jolly, in no small part because of the people who take time out of their lives to work there.
The last time I visited the Christmas Shop I met a woman who was cashing me out. I could tell by her accent that she was from downstate and we struck up a conversation. I told her I lived in the New York City area for 30 years before moving back upstate to my hometown, she said she came from the Bronx. We shared city stories and talked about our lives now in decidedly more rural surroundings. I was amazed, and told her so, that her accent was still so pronounced after decades in this area. The accent I might add, and her staccato conversation style, were welcome to me: my many years in Manhattan, and Queens, and ultimately Long Island, were great ones that were filled with a good career and many dear friends. I left the store uplifted. How nice, I thought then, to have met someone from my old stomping grounds.
The woman, whose name was Laura, was a bright light. She was effervescent and charming and full of life. She was easy to laugh and bright-eyed, a kind person doing good things for her community.
I learned today that Laura died on April 2. Of COVID-19. I further learned that her husband passed away today of the same virus, just 20-some days later. Laura was 63.
I didn't know Laura at all, really, only met her that one time. But I've been crying all morning, for her, for her husband, for the children they left behind, and for the other 46,000+ American people who have died from this disease in the past month. On March 17, when I started keeping track, there were 183,000 cases globally and 7,167 deaths. In the U.S. there were 4,661 cases and 85 deaths. As of today, just five weeks later, there are 2.6 million cases around the world and 825,306 cases in the United States. And those are the cases we know of.
For the love of god, people, take this seriously. This isn't a Chinese virus, or a European virus, or a New York City virus or a virus from outer space. It's a virus and doesn't care what you look like or how old you are or who you vote for or where you live. Listen to the medical experts, not the talking heads with political agendas. The virus is here in our communities in upstate New York. You may think it's inconvenient, or that you'll look silly, but wear a mask if you have to go out. Essential workers, thank you for being out there for us, but please wear a mask. Everybody, wash your hands when you get home, wash your clothes when you get home, but if you don't have to go out for food or prescriptions or other essential supplies, and if you're not an essential worker, stay your ass in the house. Stop worrying about being bored or how to entertain your kids or that you haven't bought your vegetable seeds yet and instead worry about getting infected. Worry about infecting other people. Worry about dying. Worry about people you know dying. Wear a mask, wash your hands. Do it for your family. Do it for your neighbors. Do it for your community. Do it for your country.
And the next time somebody tells you COVID-19 is a hoax, tell them about Laura.
