Items

• 2021-12-04

  Grief and Loss in a Pandemic

  Most consider dying during the pandemic the end of the story, but for my family and myself, the death of my sister was the undoing of our culture. On March 13, 2021, just over a year since Covid-19 was declared a pandemic, my younger sister took her own life after a life-long battle with epilepsy, anxiety, depression, and PTSD. She was the youngest of my five siblings, aunt to fourteen nieces and nephews, and mother to two sons. My entire family, with the exception of one sister, all live within minutes of one another. Although we were raised as a close-knit family, disagreements had developed, resentments grew, and we all allowed “social distancing” to justify our lack of contact and communication for almost the entire year. And just like the rest of the nation, our family was divided by political and pandemic beliefs. As I mentioned above, my sister overcame her relentless struggles every day for almost forty years and on March 13, 2021, she lost that battle. Since that day, we have all theorized how the isolation brought on by the pandemic must have played a major role. However, we are only left with assumptions as she didn’t leave a note. What I do know for certain, is my family and I had no idea how to grieve during the pandemic. Social distancing, occupancy restrictions, stay-at-home orders and mask mandates challenged every aspect of how our Hispanic culture grieves. After an entire year of living in isolation, coming together as family, came with conflicted feelings of cultural proclivity and the health of our loved ones. As my family rushed to my parents’ home upon hearing the tragic news, there was a twinge of apprehension as we sought comfort one another’s arms. By midafternoon, their home was overcome with family overwhelmed with anguish, while instinctively gauging six feet distance. While notifying friends and family, tears and words of comfort gave way to requests to leave a note at the makeshift shrine in the front yard in lieu coming inside. Making arrangements meant we had to settle for any location willing to allow all forty of us at the memorial. Non-family members would only be allowed to walk through to say their last good-bye, once the family left the building to not exceed occupation restrictions. The cemetery would only allow fifteen people at the gravesite, not the dozens of friends and family who wanted to share their condolences. My mom, still reeling with loss, wanted to include those she loved and who loved my sister and chose a plot next to the street so the other family members could stand off the property while my sister was laid to rest. Following the burial, instead of opening our home and coming together to celebrate her life, we selected a secret location that wouldn’t be known to non-family members. Nine months later, despite continued cases and deaths, Covid restrictions have lessened and most people have resumed their lives as they were pre-Covid. For my family and I, losing my sister still feels unreal. I saw her in her final resting place, but grieving in my culture looks and feels so different than what I experienced. We find comfort and healing in community and in each other’s arms. We open our home to friends and family and welcome their offerings of condolences. We come together to share food, memories, and loss and we find healing. The pandemic unraveled all we knew about how to deal with loss, and the grief remains in isolation, unable to transition into acceptance.
• 
  2021-10-06

  Sharing Experience, Cochrane Times, October 6th 2021.

  2.) This is another photo within the Cochrane Times dedicated to documenting Canada’s first Orange Shirt Day; this was an article from the October 6th paper. The text underneath the photo reads: “Sharing Experience, Residential school survivor Jenny Clark shares her story with those gathered near the McDougall Stoney Memorial Church ahead of a ceremonial walk to Morley on the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, September 30.
• 
  2020-04-28

  The effect of suppressing funeral rituals during the COVID-19 pandemic on bereaved families*

  This documental study was intended to understand the meanings individuals who have lost loved ones in this context assign to the phenomenon of suppressed funeral rituals.
• 
  2021-03-19

  Introspective Interconnectivity and My New Dance Partner

  Went it seemed like the entire world shut down because of COVID-19, and we were ordered into lockdown, we could no longer be out and about in the world, gather – or even see our friends and families. As time passed, people began to absorb the implications the pandemic was having on their lives and our responses ranged from loss and mourning, loneliness, and restlessness to introspection, creativity, and reinvention. Meanwhile, the natural world began to tap our shoulders. The animals returned to our cities, birds had took back the skies, and all sort of hidden gems were no longer obscured by our pollution. My own relationship with nature is one of push and pull. I witness in nature, the miracle and fragility of my own fleeting life force mirrored back to me. This inspires awe and intensifies my awareness of being alive, of being a conscious individual within a larger interconnected whole yet understanding that this “whole” remains elusive. My mind battles to rationalize my observations and impressions of an intelligent force that seems equally purposeful and chaotic, innocent and cruel, physical and divine. This relationship has held me rapt and has been at the heart of why I make art. For over 20 years, I have incorporated moss (both living and dried), pine needles and other organic materials into sculptures, constructions and large-scale installations that explore the living energy of the natural world. It is while being in nature that I find myself closest to my art. As I carefully and respectfully collect mosses and needles, the seductiveness of vibrant colours and complex textures occasionally gives way to revulsion as I realize how much insect life they carry back to my studio. While I am made ecstatic by the beauty of life, I am terrified of stumbling upon traces of death. But now, with the pandemic, the possibility of death has come very much to the foreground where, just breathing in public feels dangerous. Although usually a citizen of the world, I am currently fortunate to be living in the country, with the expanse of Georgian Bay across the road and surrounded by deep forests. Outside of my miniscule bubble, I am essentially alone here and the deafening silence has force me to look further inward. My new work has become intimate in scale – small wall constructions made with pine needles. I sort, order and place my pine needles with Baroque intention. They are painstakingly laborious to make – a process that is contemplatively ritualistic but it is now the one area where I feel a sense of control and I am able to manifest love in a physical way. The forest seems ever more vibrant now because when the world went silent, Mother Nature returned to her dance, and now I can fully be in that dance.
• 
  2021-02-25

  Floral Heart Project comes to Milwaukee on March 1 day of COVID-19 mourning

  Originally an art project, the Floral Heart Project has morphed into a memorial for those that have died of COVID-19. The project is going to Milwaukee on March 1st to install a heart-shaped floral wreath at the Museum Park Center.
• 
  2020-12-17

  Attending a Family Funeral During COVID-19

  Standing outside in the cold dry wind, everyone was wearing masks. Small groups were huddled together but each grouping apart from the other. This was not how it was meant to be. The week before Christmas, I experienced this attending a relative's funeral. The pandemic made a traditional funeral impossible. Typically the gathering would be large and focused on coming together for strength. The service was minimized to a graveside service where social distancing could be practiced. The death was not COVID related, but the resulting affects of COVID completely disrupted our most guarded family traditions. The inconveniences of daily COVID restrictions seem trivial in comparison to the large moments that can never be replaced. Our family hopes for a future day when we can properly mourn this loss hand in hand.
• 
  2021-01-19

  The virus death toll in the U.S. has passed 400,000.

  From the Article by Patricia Mazzei: More than 400,000 people in the United States who had the coronavirus have died, according to data compiled by The New York Times on Tuesday, as the anniversary of the country’s first known death in the pandemic approaches.
• 
  2020-12-01

  Just A Number

  Coronavirus is a global pandemic that has disrupted all of our lives. I was just ending my senior year of high school, and i felt i had gotten everything taken away from me. As the numbers spiked, it became really scary and I realized how serious this really was. I want to show how serious this pandemic is in a poem i wrote.
• 
  2020-07-04

  Tío Pepe and COVID-19

  Throughout July and August of 2020, my family went through the loss of my great uncle on my dad’s side of the family. We all called him as tío Pepe. Tío Pepe was an essential male figure throughout my dad’s life, and the only one of my grandmother’s brothers (my father’s mom) to maintain a close relationship with us. My grandmother passed away suddenly in 2013; my father and his siblings were not prepared, and it is still a sore subject for all of us to comprehend. Tío Pepe was the bridge that connected me to my grandmother and her history. Tío Pepe shared the same mannerisms, physical features, and life philosophies as her. My tío Pepe really helped my father’s family adapt to living in the United States after they moved from Laredo, Mexico in the mid-1970s. When he passed, the pain cut through generational experiences. It felt like a piece of me that was so deeply rooted, that I could not quite grasp because I was still trying to figure it out, was ripped away. Tío Pepe was in his 70s, so it’s not like he had an exceptional amount of time with us, but we thought it was enough. He was cognizant, independent, intelligent, and showed me new perspectives every time we talked. Losing him was like losing a vital source of my memory, my optimism, and my faith. This is a little insight into what it’s like to mourn the death of loved one due to COVID-19. I’ve formatted this entry as a loose timeline to capture the dragged-out period of fear, uncertainty, doubt, and mourning. This experience cast a haze onto my family as we tried to navigate an unnavigable disease and global situation. We couldn’t make sense of it all; we couldn’t carry out our customary responses to a death in the family which left us feeling powerless. Personally, it made me feel like I was almost drowning. I felt like I was barely making it over the water to take brief puffs of air, but I was never comfortable nor safe. It was long, painful, and empty. While this process tested our individual emotional strength and optimism, it never weakened our ability to unite as a family. If anything, this experience fortified our family bond. July 4, 2020 – The mayor and city government sent out several warnings against celebrating the holiday in large groups. I was spending the evening with my parents, brother, and his family when my mom received a text message from a cousin of ours describing how tío Pepe’s daughter, Beth, had tested positive for the coronavirus. Her children and boyfriend also tested positive, and that my tío Pepe and my tía (his wife) were awaiting any symptoms. July 10, 2020 – We got the news that an ambulance would be taking my tío Pepe to the hospital. At this time, San Antonio was going through its second major spike in cases, with less and less medical supplies available for incoming patients. My family opted for an ambulance just so tío Pepe would have a better chance at getting a hospital bed and being treated quickly. July 12 – July 18, 2020, tío Pepe’s first week in the hospital: He was unconscious, on a respirator, and kind of keeping steady. We hung on to the ‘no news is good news’ mantra, remaining optimistic, and continued to live our lives. We really did not think this disease would touch our family in any serious way. On July 17, 2020: I officially canceled my gym membership. I was one of the selfish individuals impatiently waiting for, and incredibly excited by, the announcement that gyms would reopen earlier that summer. I frequented the gym almost every day. I was aware that the risk of COVID-19 was rather high at fitness gyms, but I thought nothing could touch me because I’m young, and I was desperate for some normalcy. And, while if I had contracted the disease my symptoms may not have been severe, tío Pepe’s hospitalization made me realize that I could have lived with the disease and infected someone like my tío and forced them to endure unimaginable pain. I canceled my membership because the reality of COVID finally hit me. It’s sad that it took my tío suffering for me to understand. July 13 – July 17, 2020: We received news that tío Pepe had woken up from his induced state and pulled out all of the breathing tubes connected to his face, which threw a wrench into the progress he was making. The doctors decided to try to inject him with plasma from individuals who had already recovered from the virus and built up antibodies. The treatment seemed to be going well, and again, we remained optimistic. July 20 – July 24, 2020, the week of his death: On July 20, a Monday, my cousin Gabby called my parents to let us know that tío Pepe’s health had taken a swift turn downward. Tío Pepe’s organs had gotten infected. Every day leading up to his death ended with a phone call update, further informing us of his degrading state. Gabby earned her master’s degree in Public Health; she knew exactly what to ask the doctors and what their responses meant behind the cushioned language. I knew that Gabby was further sugar coating these messages to her parents and mine. I texted her separately asking her to tell it to me straight. She informed me that things were not looking good at all. She told me not to keep my hopes up. It was cold, but it was the most honest and reliable set of news I had gotten throughout tío Pepe’s time in the hospital. For four days, we were all hanging onto our phones for the next call or text message update. It was quiet; the uncertainty lingered and distracted me from everything. Tío Pepe passed away Thursday morning July 23, 2020. I had been working as a research assistant for St. Mary’s University throughout the summer. My mother received a phone call from my dad with the news while I was in the middle of conducting an oral history for the research project. My mom cracked open the door to my room but quickly realized that I was still on Zoom and walked away. As soon as I heard my door open I knew exactly what happened. I carried on with the rest of the oral history, closed out my work for the day, and kept to myself. When I clocked out I emailed my supervisors of the situation. I hadn’t told them when he initially contracted the disease, nor the roller coaster of updates throughout his time there. My supervisors were very understanding, and I took the next couple of days to myself. I went for a rather long run that afternoon to clear my mind. I came home, showered, and tried to distract myself by watching baseball with my parents. My dad came home and hugged us, also acting as if everything was no big deal. My dad frequently shared music with tío Pepe to let each other know that they were thinking about each other. From my point of view, I think this was a way for tío Pepe to check up on his nephew and remind him to keep his head up. My dad had put his phone to charge and began talking to us in the living room. I got up to go to the kitchen and passed by his phone, which was locked. When I passed by, his Pandora started playing “Lead Me Home” by Jamey Johnson. This happened completely by itself; I did not touch it and my dad was in the other room. Here’s a snippet of the song: I have seen my last tomorrow I am holding my last breath Goodbye, sweet world of sorrow My new life, begins with death I am standing on the mountain I can hear the angel’s songs I am reaching over Jordon Take my hand, Lord lead me home All my burdens, are behind me I have prayed, my final pray Don't you cry, over my body Cause that ain't me, lying there No, I am standing on the mountain I can hear the angels’ songs I am reaching over Jordon Take my hand, Lord lead me home I am standing (Lord, I am standing) on the mountain (on the mountain) I can hear (I can hear the angels songs) the angels songs I am reaching over Jordon, (over Jordon) Take my hand, Lord lead me home Take my hand, Lord lead me home We all started crying uncontrollably. We felt like my tío Pepe was letting us know that he was okay and that he’s still thinking about us. July 27, 2020: My sister in-law and I were looking for a way to comfort tío Pepe’s daughter, Beth, and his wife. My sister in-law thought shadow boxes with photos of tío Pepe, decorated with cardstock flowers, and a sweet message would be a way for us to honor his memory and share in his family’s grieving process. On the box we made for Beth, the message reads “Dad, Grandpa, Best Friend;” on the box we made for his wife the message reads “Amor Eterno” (eternal love). The shadow boxes took us pretty much all day to make—completely worth it. We spent the evening telling stories about my tío Pepe and just spending quality family time together. The shadow boxes are pictured in this post. We used pictures from Beth’s Facebook. Tío Pepe was also very active on Facebook, which was kind of surprising for his age. He was very politically active and critical of our public institutions. According to my dad, tío Pepe has always kept up with current events and sympathized with the Chicano Movement; he was pretty about it, if you know what I mean. The last time he reached out to me on the social media platform was to commemorate our “friendiversary.” That was also the last time I engaged in one-on-one communication with him, which really shreds me up inside. He reached out because he knew that I was stuck at home working and attending grad school. He was always thinking of everyone and our individual challenges, reminding us to keep going. The shadow boxes were a surprise to Beth and her mom. I’ve included the screenshot of our brief conversation shortly after dropping them off. It hurt that I couldn’t get off and hug her. I saw that the just looking at the boxes invoked so much emotion in Beth. August 7, 2020, the funeral service: Our family had to wait two weeks before tío Pepe’s body could be released from the hospital. Throughout those two weeks it felt like I was floating. When you mourn a death time just stops for a couple of days; everything is really out of its element. But mourning a COVID death, having to wait to properly give your loved one a respectful service and not being able to fall into the arms of your relatives, prolonged this motionless feeling. If felt like a comet was slowly crashing into my core; I could feel every bit of my earth tear apart and float away. The service was set up like a drive-in movie. The funeral home had a screen outside of the building, a radio station to air the service, and a livestream on their website. We all drove up to the screen and either tuned in or played the livestream to listen. We had the choice to experience the service inside the building with tío Pepe’s daughter, wife, and grandchildren. However, they all had just gotten over COVID-19 so most of us stayed in our cars. I didn’t think the service would hit me as hard because of the physical distance and technological filter. My family is Catholic, I grew up Catholic, but I haven’t been the most devout member of the church. My tío Pepe lived one street over from the church we all grew up with. By “we” I mean three generations of my family. The deacon who led the service has known my family for at least 20 years. To sum up what I’m getting at, our church and Catholic culture is deeply rooted our family history. The service reduced us all to our childhood; we felt vulnerable. I remember every single prayer and recited all of them word-for-word, English and Spanish. The last time I had recited these prayers was for my grandmother’s funeral. Except this time, I had to go through these emotions on my own. It felt like someone was shooting thumbtacks at me, through me. Tío Pepe’s wife, daughter, grandson, and sister each wrote a few words on behalf of tío Pepe. I don’t know which set of words hurt the most. They all spoke from the heart; they were so raw and resonated so deeply with all of us. I wanted so badly to hug everyone. I was so incredibly mad that we were all put in that situation, to have to have our hearts pulled and constricted at the same time. Tío Pepe’s grandson, Joseph, and his girlfriend are expecting their first baby; tío Pepe would have been a great grandfather. Joseph spent a lot of time with tío Pepe, almost every single day, and he really embodies his pensive, mild nature. His words were strong and grounding. One thing Joseph said that I think really describes how tío Pepe carried himself is, “My grandpa always reminded me to do the right thing.” Tío Pepe treated everything and every situation with a level mind and fairness. No family, no honest and responsible person should have had to experience such ungraspable pain that never really seems to heal. To this day, my family has not physically come together to fill in the gaps in our hearts that this experience left behind. Late August, a virtual birthday commemoration: A couple of weeks after his funeral, tío Pepe would have turned 71. Gabby, the recent Public Health graduate, decided to make my tío Pepe’s favorite cake and offered one to each household. She scheduled a Zoom meeting for all of us to sit, talk, eat, and cry. My dad and the older relatives in my family brought out old photos of from their early years living in the United States. We each shared our favorite memory of tío Pepe. Here’s mine: before I went off to college Tío Pepe told my dad not to worry about me because he sees me as a ‘visionary.’ He reassured my dad and I that I have a good head on my shoulders, that I’m independent, and that if I really put my mind to it I could do anything. That was the first time anyone had given me words of encouragement going into adulthood—or really treated me like an adult. I snapped a picture of my dad talking to our tía Elda (Tío Pepe’s sister) about life in Mexico and the little arguments they’d get into as my dad was growing up. Although we were separated by a screen, this sort of companionship really helped us reconnect. I chose to include this story for this archive to humanize the broader health and historical context of the pandemic. This was both the easiest and hardest thing for me to create for this archive. The easiest because I was able to let the words flow out of my heart and be typed onto a word document; the hardest because I’ve realized just how ripe these feelings and memories still are for me. My emotions and memories of late July and early August have not fully healed. It’s been hard to accept someone’s death without physical closure. There were no last goodbyes, no hugs, no close contact of any kind to seal the wound in our hearts. I’m still longing to physically embrace my family; but for them I’d wait as long as I have to in order to do that safely. I write this as another way to connect with them. To share my deep feelings and let them know that they’re not the only ones who have felt or are feeling this way. Real people, real families exist within the news stories, academic articles, and everchanging statistics. Tío Pepe was much more than a statistic; my family is much more than a statistic.
• 2020

  Mourning During COVID

  Being a pastor in the time of COVID-19 has been a difficult task, and nothing has been more difficult than leading people through the process of mourning the loss of loved ones. In my church, multiple people have lost husbands, fathers, and friends. Towards the beginning fo the pandemic our church lost one of it’s most recognized members to complications due to surgery. However, because of the coronavirus the standard practice of end-of-life ministry, helping the family with mourning, and leading them through rituals which help the family receive closure with their loss was unavailable. I, as the person’s pastor, was unable to be with him in his last days, and neither was his wife. Any final prayers, family meetings, religious discussions surrounding the topic of death which are standard with pastoral ministry were impossible because of the virus. The funeral was small, less than a dozen people. Many of their friends and family were left without any normal medium to mourn and lament the loss of their friend, husband, father, and brother. This left many people in spiritual limbo, and drastically changed the way people were able to mourn. Religious funerals, grief care, and even simple things like having people cook meals for them are invaluable to help with the process of mourning loss and accepting death, not just for the immediate family but for all around. A family friend can, perhaps, mourn by bringing the family flowers or food directly. But, under COVID there is too much of a risk. They now have to mourn alone. The same goes for family. Though they had a small graveside burial, they didn’t receive the social benefit of being surrounded by all who loved and were affected by their husband and father, the edification of seeing the sum, value, and product of their life expressed through tears, laughter, and people united to mourn and celebrate life. The ceremonies themselves, offering a wealth of support during a time of mourning, is enough of a loss, but there is more. After the rituals end, the family is still left without a core member of their life and need further help to manage their grief. Normally, in religion, a pastor can offer a level of grief counseling. But for those technologically behind, who can’t FaceTime or use Zoom, receiving this care becomes both difficult and brings up several ethical issues. How does a pastor, like me, meet with an elderly woman to walk them through grief? How can this be done without risking infection? Is it better to leave them alone to mourn without their religious community and authority? All of these problems have brought light to the importance of religious responses to major life events. Beyond the topics of faith, belief, dogma, and the supernatural, religion offers a wealth of benefits to people’s basic life needs, be it sociologically, psychologically, or existentially. It helps them put words to the indescribable pain they feel. It gives them a channel to express the loss in their heart. It gives communal space to lament, cry out, laugh, and find meaning through suffering and pain. Religion gets people through the darkness that is inherent to existence. COVID, however, has changed how this is done, and actively harmed people’s ability to mourn in a proper, healthy way. There is now one less way to manage traumatic, scarring life events, and find healing and recovery that comes with the penetrating pain in death. Hopefully, we will find healing from COVID, but not just the virus itself, but all that has been lost because of it. Hopefully, we can find healing from the loss of mourning, the loss of celebration, of community, of sacred expression. The sickness from the virus is only one thing of many which can bring devastation. To fight the virus is only part of the process of restoration. We also need to recover everything else in our lives the virus ripped away.
• 
  2020-06-28

  Distansya [Distance]

  Namatay yung tito ko during the pandemic. Pinayagang mauwi yung bangkay dahil di naman ito covid related, pero request niya na i-cremate siya. Dinala siya sa bahay para makita ng lahat sa huling pagkakataon. Isa-isa kung lumapit at di maaring magkalapit. Ang pinaka masakit pa dito, di man lang kami magkayakapan para magluksa para sa namayapa naming kapamilya. Ang eksena, umiiyak kami ng magkahiwalay sa loob ng iisang bahay dahil ilan sa mga kamag-anak ay dating positive sa virus at kasalukuyang naka-quarantine.
• 
  2020-04-01

  How to Dress for an Online Memorial

  A pandemic death and the new mores of mourning and condoling, viewed from the everyday minutiae of clothing.
• 
  2020-06-15

  Lima's archbishop makes blesses photos of 1000s of Peruvians lost to COVID-10

  This is a news clip from ABS News showing the archbishop of Peru blessing and making the sign of the cross over 1000s of photos representing people who have died from COVID-19 in Peru. It's sometimes so easy to feel like COVID isn't happening and that social distancing is blown out of proportion, or to question if we're overreacting. And then on seeing this video, all I feel is pain. So much pain for the lives lost, both young and old in what seems like a never-ending public health crisis.
• 
  2020-04-04

  a nationwide mourning for the death from Covid-19 in China

  On April 4th, China established a nationwide mourning for the martyrs died in the conflict with Covid-19. This is a significant moment when Chinese showed compassion for the compatriots and carried the hope to move forward.
• 
  2020-05-12

  New Zealand's ban on large funerals during Covid-19 criticised as 'inhumane'

  "New Zealand’s ban on large funerals and tangi has been described as 'inhumane' by the opposition leader, and 'disappointing' and 'cruel' by indigenous funeral directors."
• 
  2020-04-20

  Black Deaths and Black Mourning in the Time of Coronavirus

  A piece published on the AAIHS' blog, Black Perspectives, looking at West Indian death in the building of the Panama Canal and relating it to the current coronavirus crisis.
• 
  2020-04-11

  Chalk Drawings at Altar Honoring Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, Owner of The Candlelight Lounge, New Orleans, LA

  Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, owner of The Candlelight Lounge, passed away due to COVID-19 on April 9, 2020. Friends and family erected an altar in her honor outside of The Candlelight Lounge to allow people to pay their respects while maintaining safe social distancing practices. Visitors decorated the sidewalk with chalk in front of the altar.
• 
  2020-04-11

  Altar Honoring Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, Owner of The Candlelight Lounge, New Orleans, LA

  Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, owner of The Candlelight Lounge, passed away due to COVID-19 on April 9, 2020. Friends and family erected an altar in her honor outside of The Candlelight Lounge to allow people to pay their respects while maintaining safe social distancing practices. Grandison was born and raised in the Treme, and opened Candlelight Lounge with her brother, Landry Grandison, 40 years ago. The Candlelight Lounge typically hosts live music throughout the week and is the last remaining live music venue in the Treme.
• 
  2020-04-11

  Letter at the Altar Honoring Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, Founder of The Candlelight Lounge, New Orleans, LA

  Ms. Leona "Chine" Grandison, owner of The Candlelight Lounge, passed away due to COVID-19 on April 9, 2020. Friends and family erected an altar in her honor outside of The Candlelight Lounge to allow people to pay their respects while maintaining safe social distancing practices. This letter, accompanying the altar reads: "Thank you for coming to pay respects during this time of COVID-19 to Leona "Ms. Chine" Gradison. Know that you are not alone in your grieving. As we weep at the loss of Ms. Chine together though apart during this time, know that she dwells in your heart now where no pain can reach her. We will join together in some months for a secondline and proper sending home. We cannot see her with our outward eyes but we know she is smiling back upon us from within everything. Please add to this altar honoring her as you feel called. Kindly do not remove any items from the altar. Thank you, Your community member who cares for you, loves you, and prays for you every day."
• 
  03/17/2020

  Darlene Kimball, one of the first US fatalities of Covid-19

  From The Washington Post: “Darlene Kimball, 72, was one of those who died of covid-19 after a stay at Life Care Center. The avid gardener, animal lover and grandmother of five had been living with ovarian cancer for four years when she fell in mid-February and went to Life Care Center for rehabilitation, said her daughter, Tami Kahler.” https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/us-coronavirus-death-toll-reaches-100/2020/03/17/f8d770c2-67a8-11ea-b313-df458622c2cc_story.html