As a longtime professional contract negotiator,
and now-adult daughter of a profoundly impoverished, stigmatized single mom
who died because she feared the costs of U.S. doctor visits,
and newfound public health student,
I’ve been thinking a lot about
the word “deaths.”
A few times daily, I check the L.A. Times for its updates on measurable local COVID-19 impacts. I then check The Guardian for its broader US coverage.
Each time I close these pages, the word “deaths” lingers with me. I’m disturbed by how passive and neutral is the phrasing compared to the reality, which is that Continue reading “extinguished”
Waiting in line at the bookstore a couple of months ago, I saw copies of Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal.
I’d checked out the audiobook from my local library before, but I’d never listened for more than two or three minutes before falling asleep. I’d later awaken to some random excerpt, think that’s lovely, and then tumble right back to sleep.
Seeing a copy of the book in print in line that day, I thought I might enjoy actually reading it—all the way through, from its beginning to its final word.
Until finishing Being Mortal last week, I’d read three or four pages at a time.
Having spent the years 2016 through 2018 plowing through a couple of non-fiction books a week, I’ve slowed down when reading those books that touch my heart. In a world currently so full of fear and condemnation, I want to touch in frequently with those things—those words, those hearts, those authors, those places—that fill me with the wonder of being deeply, achingly human. Continue reading “there in love”