My father, piloting a B-29 bomber in Asia, was shot down and killed in World War II. I was fifty years old before I met a single person whose parent had been lost in that war. That did not mean for one minute that I did not believe in the approximately 400,000 American deaths that occurred as a result of that war. I did not have to know them personally, to believe in their loss in addition to my own.
That is why I am somewhat puzzled by people who say they do not believe in the current pandemic because they do not personally know anyone who has died. Was Joseph Stalin, of all people, more understanding than we are today when he said “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic?” Can we not imagine 500,000 (perhaps half a million is more compelling) families mourning the end of loved ones’ lives, with their parent, spouse, child, often alone, gasping for breath in an ICU surrounded by masked strangers? For each of these families this is the tragedy of a single life. If that were our beloved relative would we not want others to be willing to do whatever they could to at least honor that death? Certainly if that were a neighbor we would bring a casserole, babysit a child, help in any way we could. How much easier is it then to simply to obey the rules set down by the experts? For that grieving family, it does not seem to be too much to ask us to wear a mask, pray at home since prayers are heard wherever they are uttered, and perhaps forgo Sunday football at the local bar or restaurant..
This is a complicated time, and I do not begin to know the solution to all the problems that it has brought forth: the unemployment, the virtual educations, the closing of businesses, and the isolation of those who live alone. But I can at least be empathetic with those who have experienced the ultimate irreversible loss, and do what it is in my power to do.